Prison | water bondage story

I sat on the bed and contemplated my lot. At that moment, I had a feeling that my voice could not be heard through that door. Only then did it occur to me that the cell was as silent as any tomb. Not a sound reached me. The silence was palpable; I felt I could reach out and touch it. The chain jangled and I realised that I had indeed tried to reach out! It may sound daft but that silence could be HEARD.

I supposed it must have been around eight o'clock. The man had arrived at my house at 6.30 and so I guessed he had taken me away at about seven o'clock or perhaps a bit later. Say thirty minutes or so drive to this place and then the rest of the induction "ceremony" - yes, it couldn't be far short of 8 p.m. I was without a watch, a television or radio, without a companion or fellow prisoner, without a book or magazine, without a window out on to the rest of the world - in short, nothing!

I don't really know when I first became interested in bondage. It seems to have grown up with me. Right from my very earliest memories, I laid in bed, snug under the covers, and peopled the darkness of my bedroom with all kinds of exciting characters. Early adventures of course were based on fairy stories; lost in woods; captured by bad elves; rescued by fairy godmothers.

As I grew so, inevitably, my fantasies grew in their sophistication. A film seen on television switched me to pirates, lashed to the mast, hanging from the rigging in a bamboo cage, tied to a tree and left on a desert island only to be rescued by a shipwrecked... ? I can't remember how that one ended - probably in sleep?

Later my parents parted and I lived with my mother. When I was approaching my eighteenth birthday Mother finally succumbed to cancer and I was left alone. The feeling of isolation drove me ever deeper into my world of fantasies. The desire to be conquered, to be taken against my will, to be held as a helpless captive grew steadily and, in its turn, fed my feelings of isolation. I looked on would-be boyfriends as either villains waiting to enslave me or as heroes but, unsure as to the category in which each fell, I feared to broach the subject so dear to me. Fear? Yes, I feared to make a fool of myself as much as I feared to commit myself to someone who might prove untrustworthy.

Outside my working hours, life became filled with reading romantic adventure novels, listening to music and experimenting with self-bondage. When I first saw the advert in a bondage magazine, I felt a thrill of excitement but, once again, I feared to entrust myself into someone else's keeping. Such a wonderful thought to be helplessly locked up, chained up, tied up... yet... supposing they never released me ? But was not that the ultimate fantasy?

I dismissed the idea but it would not go away. A private prison. For about the cost of spending the time in a reasonably-priced hotel I could be truly imprisoned. Think about it... overheads were small; food would be a minimum, room service zero, maids and servants... you do your own! They could afford to keep the price low and if there were other idiots like me around, they were on to a good thing. I wrote off for the information. Of course, I wasn't serious but it would be something to dream about.

And that was how it all started.

Just after dark, at exactly 6.30 on a Friday evening, my front-door bell rang. I hesitated for two or three seconds but then resolutely went to the door and opened it. Outside stood a man in a blue gabardine belted raincoat with a small matching beret over dark hair. In his hand he carried a small attache case. "I've come to collect you for your weekend." They were the correct words and so I stood aside as a silent invitation to enter.

He laid the case on the table and I saw that one side of it, uppermost, was green while the other side was coloured red. He got straight down to business. "First there are some details we've got to settle first," he said and drew from the case a folder which, I noticed, bore my name on a large label. He proceeded to check my name and personal details and requested identification. He photographed me using an instamatic camera and then asked me to sign the resulting portrait.

"You have received our full brochure?" he queried.

I nodded like a deaf mute. It was all happening so fast.

"And you have elected for the weekend in solitary confinement?"

I nodded again. My feet were getting cold; I couldn't think of anything intelligent to say. In truth, I didn't care too much for the idea of solitary but at least it would ensure that nobody would recognise me.

"Are you sure you understand what this entails? You will be locked up alone for the next forty-eight hours. You will see nobody except your jailer when food is brought to you. Conversation will be forbidden. You will wear our prison standard clothing and you will be kept manacled throughout as well."

After a short pause, he went on, "You will be given a safeword - or rather you will supply that safeword - which you may use to terminate your captivity at any time you choose but, and I must emphasise this, if you use that safeword, you will be released immediately and there will be no going back, no second thoughts. Do you understand?"

Again I nodded.

"This may sound a little bizarre but there are legal constraints here; we cannot hold you against your will and we cannot risk any misunderstanding."

"Yes," I stammered. "I have been thinking about all that and I wish to go ahead."

"Very well. If you would be good enough to read this declaration and then, if you so wish, sign it at the bottom... the copy also please which we will leave here for your records. I will sign also."

He put the signed declaration into the folder and returned the folder to his case. When he had closed it, the case was turned over so that the red side was uppermost and then he began to open it again. "Now," he said, "we are ready to take you into custody. Turn around please."

He took my right hand in a strong grip and I felt his thumb in the centre of my palm. My arm was pulled back, turned up behind me and such was the twist he applied to my wrist that it was locked and I was powerless. I felt a hard contact and heard a series of clicks. Before I had time to realise what was happening, he had seized my left hand in a similar manner and I was handcuffed behind. "Do you have an outdoor coat?"

I nodded toward the coathooks beside the door and, as he crossed the room, I pulled experimentally on the cuffs. No doubt about it - I was securely held and there was no escape. I felt a little tingle... a sort of... a feeling...

"Don't want your neighbours to see you leaving in handcuffs." Was there a smile around those dour lips? He draped the coat over my shoulders and fastened two of the lower buttons. "Now, have you checked that your house is secure? All windows closed and locked? Doors locked? I noticed you have a double-locking Yale on the front door."

Again I nodded not at all sure what to say. "Then we are ready to go." So polite, so formal, I thought. The man closed the case from which presumably the handcuffs had come and, taking my elbow, propelled me to the front door. He put me into the back of his car and fastened the seat belt - tightly! I could feel a strange mixture of excitement and fear assaulting my stomach. It was the first time I had ever been helpless - really helpless. My hands were locked behind me, trapped between my body and the car seat, and all was held securely by that tight belt. And this was a man I had never met before?

It took about thirty minutes to arrive at the "prison". Eventually, we stopped outside a forbidding looking gate and, at a gentle toot from the horn, the gates swung open and we drove inside. It was really and truly a forbidding place, as befitted a Victorian prison, and I had understood that to be exactly its origin. Now surplus to requirements, it had been acquired with the idea of making a living by satisfying the cravings of the bondage world. I was to learn that its facilities had been 'enhanced'; how, I had yet to discover.

Released from my seat-belt, I was led into a reception area where my coat was removed and then I was photographed in the time honoured fashion with a board hanging around my neck with my name and prison number prominently displayed. Next my jailer took me to a small completely bare room. In one corner on the floor, there was a heavy-guage plastic bag and a heap of canvas.

"Take off all your clothes, put them in the bag and then don the uniform. You have ten minutes." While saying this, he unlocked the cuff on my left wrist then left the room closing and locking the door behind him.

I was grateful that I was not required to strip in public or in front of this stranger. The room was not particularly cold and I hastily obeyed his instructions. However, when I picked up the uniform, I was somewhat appalled to find it consisted of a canvas tube with a hole at the end for my head and two side holes for the emergence of my arms. It was a little difficult to wriggle into and the cuff dangling from my right hand did little to help. The garment was so long that it reached about two inches below the floor. It was virtually a hobble skirt and I grimaced as I realised that it made flight a somewhat whimsical idea. There was a leather strap stitched into the neck closure and this I contrived to buckle up without risking strangulation.

Hardly had I finished this performance than I heard the key in the lock and a woman entered. She ran her hands over me to ascertain that I had not concealed anything under that grotesque garment and then moved behind me. She slipped fingers between the neck strap and my neck and was presumably satisifed with its tightness. I heard a click; she had locked the buckle of the collar. Now she repeated that slick handcuffing manoeuvre that the man had demonstrated earlier and my hands were once more secured at my back.

She led me down a long stone-flagged passage which was decidedly cold to my bare feet. I had to walk carefully because, with my hands behind, I was unable to lift the front of my prison garb and was in imminent danger of treading on it. She stopped me outside a heavy-looking door in which the provision of a small door obviously allowed the guards to peer within. With a key from the bunch hanging from her belt, she unlocked it and shepherded me in.

I found a small cell about six feet wide and perhaps ten feet long. In the right-hand rear corner was a single cot with a couple of blankets folded on it. In the left-hand rear corner, there was a flushing toilet. Besides the toilet there was a small stainless-steel washbasin over which a steel spout issued from the wall. She showed me that, by pressing the button beside the spout, I could cause water to flow from it: "It's drinking water."

Between the basin and the bed, there was an iron-framed table that clearly was cemented into the floor. Later I discovered that behind the table there was a short steel shelf also wall mounted that could be used as a seat. Over the seat, a stout iron ring was cemented into the wall and from this dangled about four or five feet of chain on the end of which was a single cuff. She unlocked the cuff on my left wrist and then quickly re-cuffed me in front. She then locked the single chain-mounted cuff to the links of my handcuffs. Because I was busy testing this new restraint, I didn't realise that she had gone until I heard the clang as the door closed and then the key grating in the lock.

Taking stock of my surroundings took less than a few seconds. Apart from the details above there simply was nothing else. Nothing whatever. The chain tether allowed me access to the bed, to the toilet, to the basin with its water and to the table... and there was nowhere else to go. To drink, I had to use one hand to press the button while the other, to which it was manacled, had to serve as a cup. What on earth had I gotten myself into? Certainly I hadn't expected this sort of thing but then... just what had I expected?

I had craved helplessness and that was exactly what I had landed myself.

Locked up, chained like an animal, trapped in a shapeless garment that was as good as any manacles, cut off entirely from human association. Of course... I could always use that safeword but was there any point in wimping out? I decided to investigate the door; was it truly locked and impregnable? But the chain which tethered me by the wrists quickly decided that issue. I could go as far as the end of the bed and that was it. I turned around and reached behind with an outstretched leg but my foot could barely brush its surface. There was only one course of action; I unfolded the blankets and went to bed.

I was awakened by an iron-on-iron clang and opened my eyes just in time to see the door close and I heard the key rasp in the lock. On my iron table was an iron plate with three substantial slices of bread. Well, at least they had been buttered - no, it was margarine - and spread with strawberry jam. But not a sign of coffee, not even a cup or mug. Oh well. I took myself back to the water tap. Returning to the table, I saw one other item - a toothbrush with a blob of toothpaste on the bristles! Thoughtful lot of b....s.

Soon my jailer returned and silently picked up the plate and toothbrush. "Please," I ventured, "is it really necessary to keep me in these handcuffs?"

She looked at me steadily for a few moments. "Do you want to use your safeword?"

"Well, no. Not really. But I can't go anywhere or do anything so I thought ... "

"It's the rules," she said and once again the door clanged and the key grated out its message.

Now I had a new problem. Was that meagre meal Friday's supper or was it Saturday morning breakfast? It crashed in upon me that I had not the slightest idea how long I had slept. How long had I been here? How much longer had I to serve? If they fed me at regular intervals then I could count the days but, I had no idea of the passage of time, of the duration between meals, of the number of meals I would receive each day; perhaps they would vary all these just to keep me in ignorance? Ah, wait a minute. Was it not normal to give prisoners a daily exercise period in the prison yard? That way I would learn at least the approximate time and the passage of days. BUT, and it was a big but, I was only there for a maximum of thirty more hours or so and they might not grant me an exercise period.

AND NOW... seeing that I had no concept of time, there was nothing to stop them refusing to let me out at all. Back came my old fears; held in eternal captivity with nobody aware of my plight, nobody to look for me. I could have disappeared from my normal world. Suppose they simply sold my helpless body - that would explain their apparently low fees for this prison service. They could crate me up and ship me abroad. They could use me as a sex slave. They could...

Whoa. It might be getting me excited but it was completely daft. I got back under the covers, closed my eyes and took myself again into the dank dark hold of the pirate ship to await the coming of my cruel captor - the terror of the high seas. His chains were heavy on my wrists and I struggled vainly against their inexorable grip. I was bound tightly in a cocoon of ...

I awakened once again to that iron clang. My jailer's face was hanging over me. "Are you OK, dear?"

Feeling foolish, I fought my way out of the entangling blankets. "Yes... Yes, thank you. Just a bad dream, that's all."

She grinned; what a difference it made to her face. "Didn't look all that bad to me. But you were protesting about something. I don't for one moment believe that you came here to suffer."

"No. You're right. I was being held in chains, that's all."

She actually giggled. "You don't say? Want to use that safeword?"

"That depends on what time it is."

"Now I don't say."

"Have you tried this? Any idea of the feeling of complete isolation it gives you. I... I have nothing. I'm so helpless. I can believe that real prisoners give up all hope."

"Perhaps you'll try it for six months some time?"

I started to say something but she placed two fingers across my lips. "Against the rules. No talking." Once again that door clanged; again the key grated.

Because I retreated into my fantasy world and constantly fell asleep, I quickly lost all count of time but was conscious of an ever-growing feeling of anxiety. I had no fear of being alone - I always was - but it had occurred to me that, had I not opted for this solitary business but was secured in a communal gaol, I might have found a fellow bondage freak. It was too late now but, if the isolation wasn't worrying me, certainly the inability to control any facet of a completely pointless life was an unnerving experience. But that had been the sole reason for this adventure; I wanted to know what it was like to have your freedom and choices taken away.

I was awakened by a hand gently shaking my shoulder. "You are to come with me." Like I had choice? I struggled out from the tangled blankets and she released the wall tether. She uncuffed my left hand but, with the same ease as before, immediately recuffed my hands behind. We went back along that stone-flagged corridor and entered a more civilised area to stop outside a door marked "Governor". She opened it to usher me inside.

A grey-haired man was seated behind a desk. "Ah! Come in, Miss Dolland. You've probably guessed that your release time has come?"

"Er... no. Actually I've lost all sense of time."

He smiled. "As well you hadn't booked a month, perhaps? Have you any complaints about your stay with us?"

"None at all. It's been quite an experience."

"Excellent. Then you will be taken now to the changing room to have your own clothes and possessions returned, for which you will sign, and we'll also get you to sign a release to say that you are satisfied with your treatment here. Then you will be driven home."

I half turned shaking my cuffs. "We have a rule that all prisoners are restrained while within the prison. You will be freed in the changing room. But first there is one other matter. Do you think perhaps you might return?"

"I'm certainly thinking about it but... I don't think I want to know anything more about solitary."

"I am wondering if you might be interested in another aspect of our premises here. Apart from the prison as such, we also operate a medieval dungeon. You, I believe, are a suitable subject and I can offer you a free trial before you are released. Your choice, of course, but it will be difficult to make it of less duration than thirty minutes."

I tugged surreptitiously on my cuffs as my insides began to churn. "I would... well... it could be... sounds interesting... at least... "

"Your safeword will still be operative."

"OK."

"May I suggest thirty minutes for your first try? "

I nodded, somewhat dry-mouthed and my jailer led me away. Outside she pulled a hood over my head and drew it closed under my chin. After a short walk again on those stone floors, we stopped while she unlocked a door. She hooked something into my cuffs and, with a rattle of chain, my hands were drawn up a little behind so forcing me to bend forward. She pressed on my shoulder at the same time pushing a foot gently into the back of my knees. I dropped into a kneeling positon and the chain pulled my hands further up behind. Now I discovered another reason for that absurd garment. Because it confined my legs and feet and I was kneeling on it, it was not possible to relieve the stress on my shoulders by standing up. Leaving me thus secured, and even more helpless than before, she began some rather noisy preparations.

I don't know how long I was left in that position but it began to feel as though my arms were about to leave their shoulder sockets. There was nothing I could do but wait. Then the chain was lowered and a hand under my belly lifted me to my feet. I was guided forward, turned around and backed up against a wooden structure.

My left wrist was released from the cuffs and the right hand pulled up and shackled above me. Then the left wrist was pulled up hard and lashed with rope to some kind of cross timber. Soon my right wrist had joined it. Now came a broad leather strap around my waist which pinned me tightly to whatever it was behind me. Another strap around my ankles, one around my knees and another around my thighs followed by more straps around my chest, neck and forehead. Those last two were not pulled tight.

I felt fingers at my throat as the hood was untied and drawn away. A man, naked above the waist, was grinning at me which showed a blackened tooth. His hair was covered by a gaudy scarf and one eye was hidden behind a black patch. But I was not deceived; this was the man who had collected me from my home. When he spoke his voice sounded good - after all, I not heard a voice for two days: "Hi," he said, "I'm Eddie the Executioner and this is my dungeon. Prepare to be torn limb from limb, head from body, squashed as in Lemon... but... er... first I have to get you cleaned up. Water is such a great healer."

He leaned back and pressed a button; with the distant whirr of an electric motor, I was lifted from my feet and borne upward. I seemed to be tied to an enormous wheel which was turning with me, head first. Up I went and then over backwards eventually to start down again. Now I saw that I was headed for a small pit into which I would be carried head down. Instinctively, I struggled against my bindings but it was, of course, a waste of time and effort. Inexorably I dived into that so small-looking hole.

The dungeon lighting was not particularly bright, as was most befitting, but by contrast that hole seemed very dark. I began to arch backward again toward the horizontal and, as my eyes accustomed themselves, I became aware of light patterns coming up toward me. I recognised them with horror; they were reflections from the surface of disturbed water. This was a water-wheel to which I was strapped and I was being carried down into the water-filled pit. He was drowning me!

I don't recall that I had ever screamed before in my life but, right then and there, I opened my mouth and emitted the scream of my life. The water touched my nose and I retained sense enough to shut my mouth, shut my eyes and hold my breath. A cold clammy sensation told me that my breasts had dipped into the water and, as I struggled, it came to me that I was breathing without more than a few coughs and splutterrings.

Now I rose steadily up toward the light. At last my head popped out above floor level and the wheel stopped. Only inches from my face was that of Eddie the Executioner. He was lying full length on the floor and, with his chin resting on his hand, was eyeing me with a perfectly horrid grin on his face. "You bastard," I spluttered, "You might have drowned me."

"Now I ask you. Do I look like the sort of idiot who would drown a pretty girl who, so far, has shown me only her face? I can think of... oh, so many other things to do with an utterly helpless you."

"Keep your lascivious thoughts to yourself. I didn't sign up with this place to be raped."

"Nobody ever said anything about rape. Are you expressing a hope? Revealing your inner thoughts? I must say... you do scream remarkably well. Made this place sound like old times."

"Just get me off this thing and take me home."

"With pleasure. But... surely... I rate a little compensation for loss of my evening's fun? How about a little kiss just to untie your feet? Then another to free your hands... After that, you'll be able to free yourself."

"Get lost."

"OK. Can't say I didn't try." He reached behind him and the wheel started to turn again. I just couldn't believe it but here once again was that situation in which I had no choice, over which I had no control. I was his and he could do whatever he wished.

I gave in. "OK. OK. I'm sorry. I'll let you kiss me if that is what you want."

"You'll LET me? Lady, you don't have that option. I asked YOU to kiss ME. But it's too late now. Round you go."

"No. No. Please. Anything you... I give in. I give IN. Please, not again."

But the wheel went on turning. As I dived once more head first toward that hole he was there. He'd moved from the exit hole to the entrance, in the same position watching me, that horrid toothy grin... no, that black tooth had disappeared. It got dark and I prepared to hold my breath. I turned my head as far to one side as the straps allowed and once again my breasts signalled contact with water. It hadn't even touched my nose!

As I emerged again, he was back in the first position and gallantly blowing me a kiss. But the wheel didn't stop. He let it go on and I had to prepare for another ducking. As, for the third time, I dived into that pit he kissed his fingers and deposited it gently on to my passing nose.

Back once more in the light, the right way up and this time the wheel halted. He just lay there looking at me with a solemn expression on his face. I don't know what started it but I had a sudden irrepressible urge to giggle. It was a ludicrous situation; here, in the twenty-first century, I hung helpless, strapped to a water-wheel, unable to as much as scratch my nose or wipe the droplets of water from my eyes as they trickled down from my wet hair. There was absolutely nothing that I could do to help myself and nobody present to help me. And I had been screaming abuse at my "tormentor" as though that was going to do any good. I wasn't even afraid of him; despite my initial reaction I knew he would neither drown me nor do me any harm. And it was now abundantly clear that the amount of water down there would have difficulty in drowning a mouse.

He was looking thoughtful: "I wonder if you are as good to look at under that bag as you are above it?" I must have looked as worried as I felt because he burst out laughing; gently touching my cheek, he said, "Don't worry. Molesting prisoners is very bad for business." Now he began to rub his hands together in a theatrical manner. "But you are COMPLEEETELY in my power."

That first giggle repeated itself and I knew that I was rapidly losing control. Without a word, he shuffled closer and held out his face. It was in fact a very attractive face. I knew suddenly that I wanted to kiss it. "You made sure that I can't come any closer," I said. "It's up to you to make the running."

"Terms have changed," he said slowly and seriously. "It will now cost you one kiss for each limb, one for each strap... and... umm...one for luck. Else..." and that grin re-appeared, " it's three more times round the houses."

"That will take too long," I said. "By the time you get through that lot I shall have died of pneumonia. I'm soaking wet."

"Oh, dear." With an air of weary boredom, he reached behind and the wheel jolted into life.

"All right. All right. Whatever you say."

"To stop it now will involve another penalty of times-two. Agreed?"

"Yes. All right. Just stop it, please. PLEEEASE."

But by then I was on top of the wheel stretched horizontally. It stopped and began to tremble. I soon found out why; he was climbing up.

In truth it took him a long time to collect his fee but perhaps that was because he kept miscounting and I, unable either to pull him to me or push him away, had the greatest difficulty in getting it right. Besides, had I contradicted him, he would probably have pushed that little button again?

Eventually, he reversed the wheel to lower me back to terra firma, put boards across the pit under my feet, unstrapped me and took me across to two posts. From each of these there dangled a chain ending in a cuff and he stretched my arms between the posts. Still helpless I could only stand there while he brought a couple of fan-heaters into play to dry me off. It was a delicious experience.

"Now," he enquired. "Do I take you home or stretch you on our rack over there."

"I think I've had enough excitement for one day. Home please."

"Perhaps... " Lips pursed, he scratched his chin. "Yes. I like you as my captive. I'm going to keep you... until I can set you loose in your own place. Prepare for bondage."

"Hmm. That'll be a new experience."

He disappeared for a short while and then came back with an armful of rope. First he tied my ankles together and then my knees. He released one of my cuffs which allowed room for him to make me kneel. Then he wrapped a rope across my lap so fastening my ankles to my thighs. Lastly, with the last cuff unlocked, he crossed my hands behind and bound them very securely. It wasn't tight but he knew what he was doing. "I see this is the first time for you too," I quipped.

"Must do something about that lip," he said matter of factly and proceeded to fix something quite new to me then - a harness ball-gag. Finally, after planting a gentle kiss on the end of my nose, he pulled a bag over my head and carried me from that place.

Nowadays I have all the fun and bondage that anyone could want. I suppose it's not every silly girl who acquires a husband whose family own a prison and a dungeon. And not every girl is constantly required to serve as a captive erotic female slave both to enhance the effects of prison operations and wonderfully often for private indulgences?

Our dungeon is acquiring the reputation of being haunted by the ghost of a young girl once tortured to death there. Heavily veiled and as heavily shackled she appears to some of those near to using their safeword. She ministers to them with cool water and gentle hands only to fade slowly (behind two black gauze curtains and a final black screen) as they struggle to reach for her.

Shame! Such a shame. The proprietors truthfully deny any knowledge of a ghost although, if questioned, the Executioner could doubtless tell something of the modern girl who often languishes in certain parts of his kingdom awaiting that rescue that ever comes with a price tag. But that is another story!

END