This 46,000 word story which launched the web site of the same name ... is about relishing challenge and experiencing different restraint 'predicaments';

Married-with-kids British fire-fighter A.J. ‘Chunky’ Proctor has always been turned-on by ‘tied-up’ fantasy situations.
Opportunity to learn more about a group of guys who play games in and around a store called ‘The Inner Man’ leads him into another world.
An invitation to get photographed tied-up in his fire-fighter gear and mask is something he can’t resist - and the opportunity offers him a range of challenging experiences.

EXCERPTS which involve roping in fire kit include …

AMERICAN FIRE-FIGHTER sequence:

After the photos session locked into his heavyweight British fire kit and then manacled in various ways, CHUNKY is now reassured that he is in wildly imaginative - but responsible hands.
The young photographer ROBERT, who is experienced in all the things CHUNKY has ever fantasised about trying, talks amiably as they share a beer after the session.

CHUNKY, amazed that he is so relaxed, remains fully suited up … with chain padlocked around his collar, another around his waist, and neat individual wrist shackles which prevent his thick work gloves from being removed.

As the two men chat and drink, CHUNKY acknowledges that he is also still locked into leg-irons which link his booted feet together. ROBERTsmiles …

“You look good manacled - you should wear them more often.”
The fire-fighter remained non-committal, and Robert continued “I’d like a shot at doing some rope-ties over that gear.”
Chunky considered the proposal. “That might give you a bit more of a challenge ... for you. I’ve had a bit of experience with rope.”
“Tying or being tied?” asked the younger man.
“A bit of both,” said Chunky becoming slightly evasive, “just messing around ... ".
“Are you good at tying?
“Yes,” said Chunky without any hesitation or modesty “Why?”.
“Well now,” said Robert, “I was hoping you would say that. Let’s take a tour of the premises. There are some interesting spaces - but don’t get out of the suit ...
“As if I could,” said Chunky indicating the efficiently locked-on suit and boots.
“Can’t have you running around loose” grinned Robert, “you’re here for the ‘Houdini experience’, as you call it. You might as well make the most of it.”
With that, he headed out of the photo studio with Chunky rattling behind him, because of the chain still linking his heavily booted ankles.

Across the cobbled yard, the two now enter a small building which Chunky immediately recognise, having seen it when Robert demonstrated the video surveillance system that covers the entire premises.
The tiled Wet Space was once a small Victorian back street dairy.

The cool bright space had been adapted imaginatively; high bricked-up windows were now covered with mirrors. A sleek but functional overhead system of metal bars, lights and pulleys (and at least two CCTV cameras) offered the same sort of facilities as the indoor photo studio-cum-SM playspace. But the original tiled walls and floor with several inset drains, promised different opportunities. Apart from some neat chrome wall racks in one corner, it was not quite an empty space because ... close to the far wall a figure stood strung up spread-eagled, tightly roped between two metal uprights.

Chunky’s heart leapt as he recognised the dull yellow of a genuine American fire-fighter’s waterproof call-out suit complete with rubber thigh-high boots with day-glow stripes and toe caps (steel toe-caps, he had no doubt). The mask under the authentic-looking safety helmet looked strangely dense - the visor had been blacked out. He moved towards the figure as if drawn by a magnet.

Inspecting the tethered wrists, he discovered that the hands were covered with solid horse-hide mitts which disappeared inside the bulky cuffs of the over-coat. There, neat wrist shackles locked the mitts. Chunky realised that his own wrists were locked into identical manacles. But, on closer inspection, the leather restraint mitts were sufficiently well locked on that rope attached to ‘D’ rings at the end of each was secure enough to anchor ropes that held the whole body stretched and rigid.

Chunky, tense with excitement, peered closer at the mask before turning questioningly to Robert - who beamed back at him.
“Thought you might appreciate that. Rigged it up specially for you. Don’t worry, the mask is blacked out and he’s gagged underneath it”.
“How long’s he been here?” asked Chunky.
“Not as long as he would like -- but trust me he’s happy as a pig in shit. Do you get a bigger kick out of tying than being tied? ”
“Well - I don’t know - but this American gear certainly gets my imagination flying ” he said, his hands roaming over the trussed figure as he savoured the tough yellow fabric and then the surface of the rubber of the hip-boots.

“Wanna give him change of position?” asked Robert. “Some shots of one kitted-out fire-fighter untying and re-tying another will make good viewing for us all later. I think Larry could survive a quite stressful position - if you could dream one up - and manage to get him there. But ... a word of warning about Larry here,” Robert continued, “he’s a mean bugger - and if given half a chance he’ll take control. So watch out. I wouldn’t trust him an inch. He’ll grab at any opportunity you give him while releasing him from this spread-eagle and repositioning him somewhere else. Are you up for that?” asked the youth.

Chunky considered his options as Robert continued, “Consider me a fly on the wall ... but if you get yourself into difficulties or leave yourself open ... I’m not here to help ... just record the action. You up for it? It’s a risky business.
Chunky was a man who could never resist a challenge - and Robert knew it.
“OK - any preferences? ” asked Chunky
“Surprise me - and him. Do your worst. Our Larry here enjoys stressful positions.”
“Then he shall have one” said Chunky setting to work. His locked-on suit and gloves were cumbersome but he was used to working in them. Fire-fighter Proctor hitched up his pants and spread his feet as far apart as his manacled boots would allow, as the camera lined up to start recording.

Chunky decides on rope. Having circled a substantial rope sling around the spread-eagled figure’s chest, this is attached it to an electric chain hoist. Activated, this soon lifts the yellow-suited figure until his booted feet are practically off the ground while remaining very tightly tethered to wide-spread floor anchor points.
Even through the thick face mask and gag, resentful shouts and growls are audible - which makes Chunky even more determined to add to the challenge.

Taking his time, Chunky selected what he needed from the wall rack and turned his attention to a low kick-stool, the sort used for reaching high shelves in a kitchen. Chunky knew from his training that working with his hands high was a strain in heavy gear - but he’d decided to next release the mitted hands of his victim; he could never resist a challenge!

With his booted feet still manacled together by the leg-iron chain, Chunky risked the precariousness of the low stool. Before releasing the rope that held each wrist aloft and wide apart, he first threaded an extra piece of rope through the wrist ‘D’ ring of each mitt. This would give him total control of a wrist as he separately released and repositioned it.

Robert moved in close to capture the process on video, but keeping far enough back in case Larry pulled one of his familiar tricks. The experienced prisoner, as soon as he sensed one wrist being released, grabbed for a chance to make life difficult for whoever this stranger was.

The camera shifted quickly to capture the moment when one wrist was released - and Chunky struggled keep control of the wildly flailing arm. Using the previously added safety rope, the arm was eventually wrestled down and around, to twist it up behind the angrily bucking back. There, the wrist rope was soon made off well out of harms way to the central pulley chain above the violently thrashing head. It was a neat arrangement.

Releasing and twisting the second mitted hand behind the now furious captive’s back and tying it off, was easier and more fun for Chunky. He grinned into the camera.

Next, as an experiment, Chunky winched the chest rope higher. Because it was now trapped under the bent arms, the tightening rope took full body weight, while putting no extra strain on the hands neatly tied-off between the shoulder-blades.

Robert moved to record this ingenious and stressful position from the back, before closing in to show how the legs were stretched tighter by the upward pull of the chest rope. Chunky smiled and stooped down to explore the insides of the now straining canvas covered legs inside the hip boots from behind. Rubbing his hands around them, he provocatively brought his head forward through his victim’s legs and grinned at the camera. Then with the back of his neck and shoulders, pressed upwards under his captive’s crotch ... causing the tethered boots to leave the floor temporarily.
“Is that stressed enough for you?” he asked Robert, lifting his victim higher as the camera panned across the furiously writhing yellow-suited body.

Chunky, encouraged by Robert, next decides to release each boot separately and force both legs to bend so the ankles can also be tied off behind the waist. Releasing and bending the first leg becomes a violent battle - and Chunky enjoys the challenge.

With one bent and one ankle still tethered to the floor, the victim was totally off-balance but full of fight. Because the victim now knew what was to happen next, releasing the second leg from the floor and getting it to bend became a battle of wills. Chunky was well out-of-breath by the time the writhing figure eventually dangled from the single winch rope, the thick chest rope biting into the tough yellow canvas. The trussed figure revolved slowly - but, for the benefit of the camera, Chunky steadied it and stood beside it, spread his rubber booted feet as wide as the leg-iron chain would allow and struck a heroic pose, like a fisherman with a prize trophy.

Invited by Robert to extend the predicament, Chunky lowers the American fire-suited figure almost to the floor. The roping is by now virtually a face-down hogtie, except that mitted hands are forced up between the shoulder blades while ankles are tethered to the waist chain Chunky has added. Still attached to the winch line, most bodyweight is now on the floor but is still slightly lifted.

Kneeling beside the fuming but powerless Larry, Chunky takes a breather and chats casually with Robert.

“How’d you think he’s coping in here? ” asked Chunky
Don’t know - not a position I’ve ever found myself in.” observed Robert.
“Me neither” said Chunky,
“How do you think you would deal with it? ” speculated Robert.
The two men looked at each other steadily.
“Don’t know.” responded Chunky, knowing where this conversation was leading. “Like you said earlier ... you can’t really imagine what something like that feels like ... until you’ve tried it.”
“Wanna try it now?” There was a pause “Shots of the two of you, both tied exactly the same would look hot”.
“If that’s what you’d like ... sure.” a greed Chuky.
“If that’s what I’d like? Yes. that’s what I’d like” confirmed Robert emphatically.

The trussed oilskin-clad figure on the floor stirred suddenly, and booted ankles began to jerk violently against the ropes anchored to the waist chain. This was followed by determined struggling against the rope that held the bodyweight up on the winch rope.

“Is he OK?” asked Chunky, concerned.
“I think you will find he’s deliciously OK” said Robert. “Larry enjoys serious strugglling and thrash around. He’s safe to indulge himself. We have a pre-agreed, very easy to read signal if there’s a real problem. Three measured grunts or three distinct nods of the head. Only use it if you want the game to stop.”

While he was talking, Robert had walked to a store cupboard close-by and causally collected sash-line and a thicker chest rope (as Chunky had chosen to use on Larry). As he returned, Chunky saw that Robert also carried another of the blacked-out masks - and some sort of gag. Fire-fighter Proctor’s heart missed a beat. He’d tried a gag on himself once - but had no idea how he would deal with it for any length of time … or in a stressful situation … or inside a face mask.

“You sure you’re up for this?” asked the younger man, but the look in Chunky’s eyes told him all he needed to know. “Can never resist a challenge, huh?” he smiled.
“If he can deal with it so can I” determined Chunky, rashly.
“That’s the spirit” cooed Robert as he got stuck into the work he so much enjoyed.

By the time Robert had efficiently lashed Chunky’s wrists and booted ankles and systematically circled his chest with the thicker rope in preparation for suspension (just as had been done to Larry) it was time for the mask … and the gag? The confident Robert gave Chunky a final option to back off - but it was a foregone conclusion - Chunky was here for the experience.

Now kneeling, the silenced and blinded bundle of fireman’s kit, felt his already roped ankles being lashed to his already roped wrists - but he was in no position to see or hear another figure silently enter the tiled room. Robert smiled at his partner Alan as the willing (but no longer quite so confident) victim was shifted from a kneeling position onto his face.

Alan had taken up the video camera and started filming the process as Robert worked efficiently and quickly. A second winch was lowered - about six feet away from where Larry lay trussed and tethered slightly upwards. The hook was soon attached to the back of Chunky’s chain waist belt and tightened very gently skywards until his bodyweight was just slightly off the floor.

What follows next is a dynamic action sequence in which the two trussed men in waterproof gear are hosed down, first while hogtied and semi-suspended - and then released from the winch ropes so they can roll around as strong jets of water are aimed at them by two rubber-clad ‘assistants’ as the cameras roll.

A final development is; the two now struggling furious trussed and dripping fire-fighters are semi-released and dragged to their (still bound) feet by the still attached winch lines. Although still sightless and gagged and roped hand and foot, it proves to be no easy task to reposition them yet again … but the two guys in diver’s dry-suits a match for any resistance the two dripping victims could put up … a tussle enjoyed by the tiers, the tied, the video operator and the men on the hosepipe.

In a chaos of struggling and continued drenchings, the two prisoners are systematically roped inescapably bicep to bicep back-to-back with each ankle connected one to the other, making them dependent upon each other if they want to retain a footing on firm ground - although the two winch ropes from the ceiling were together now, preventing them from falling.

The water suddenly off, the dripping divers used floor fixings to drag the jointly roped ankles until the two men were standing unsteadily back-to-back, both with legs spread wide (but jointly supported by the winch rope).

Alan, having put down his video camera, placed himself before Larry and jabbed him a couple of times in the gut. This pushed him hard back against Chunky, suddenly, throwing them both off balance. Having regained their mutually dependant footing, one of the divers found Chunkys’ rigid cock through his thick pants and grated the end of his knob against the tough fabric. This produced violent squirming which immediately transmitted through to his yellow-clad Siamese Twin.

The exhilaration having subsided, four pairs of eyes silently agreed that a final phase would be for the two victims to be left alone to experience their predicament for a while and, perhaps, find their own solution to their problem. Ankles were released from the wide-spread floor fixings, leaving the two back-to-back men a slight independence, and the winch ropes still held them upright.

Robert could not resist a few final shots of the still dripping pair joined only at the elbows and ankles trying to get used to the necessarily co-operative movement. A few final soggy knots were partially untied to allow some chance of escape if they, sightless and gagged could co-operate to work out a solution in their mute blindness.

Finally, in a voice loud enough for the masked men to hear, Alan asked them, individually, if either had any problem with the gag or breathing … to which each man clearly indicated ‘No problem’.

He explained to them that the remote cameras were still running and there would be no further help without a ‘danger’ signal of three nods by either of them - in which case the one who didn’t nod had ‘won’. So, the new game was for them to, between them, find a way out of their predicament, however long it took. There would be no outside help. Keys to the metal manacles that locked each of their suits were upstairs - but getting free of one another must be a joint effort.

With that, there was a general exit and silence fell in the echoing damp darkness of two rubber masks.

The next chapter begins …

IN THE DARK
Chunk’s head ... was somewhere else. His response to the question about the gag and his breathing being OK had been a spontaneous defence against the experience ending ... but the experience, he suddenly realised, was happening to somebody who was not him. His head ... his brain had become detached from his physical body.

In the darkness, the pressure of the roping was nothing compared to that which gripped his entire skull. The smell of rubber and sweat, the sound in his ears of his own laboured breathing ... laboured because the pressure of the gag pad and strap on the outside of his cheeks was matched by the pressure of the massive bung that filled his mouth and made his jaw virtually immovable. Forget the ropes outside his padded suit. But the overall encasement was so total that, in his mind, the rest of his body was somewhere else. Only his head. Only his head was ... aware.

How long these complicated and new-to-him thoughts engaged him he had no way of knowing ... but an insistent tugging at his finger-ends brought him to a consciousness that someone, somewhere was doing ... something. One of his gloves! One of his gloves was being ... gripped. It was being jerked. It was being tugged. He tried to concentrate, formulate a picture in his otherwise occupied brain.

In the darkness he dragged his mind from it’s reverie. The cuff, the locked cuff of some far away sleeve of some half-remembered suit was feeling something - the knitted cuff of his glove was moving reluctantly, grating his wrist. His glove was being forced out from under the retaining band of metal and ... he remembered (before the darkness) his wrists had been roped together ... under the rope a single metal shackle, one glove was ... moving.

His distant fingers began to sense the glove ... sliding and suddenly coldness and wetness. He knew the feel of his call-out suit ... it was very wet ... and what else was there? Oilskin ... and was it leather? An urgent prodding at his fingers intruded into his isolated headspace.

As if somebody had switched on a light he could suddenly visualise two fire-fighters, one dark charcoal colour the other dull yellow, lashed bicep to bicep, back to back standing with legs roped to one to the other, and heads imprisoned. He was back from wherever he’d been. One of his hands was now gloveless and leather mitts urgently prodded his fingers. He gripped a leather mitt end with his thumb and finger - gave an experimental tug. The solid hide mitt removed itself and from above his hand he felt the rope-lashed wrists of the man fixed to him as they move closer to his fingers. Chunky (his predicament suddenly a clear picture in his mind) became the man he used to be. His exposed fingers again squeezed the wrist of the man who had freed his fingers, it was a signal - a ‘thank you’. The wet rope that circled the leather mitts was easier to reach than his own ... but he could perhaps first pull off his own second glove to better tackle the knots embedded into wet leather. This took a struggle but his other glove eventually escaped from underneath it’s metal shackle.

Now, in spite of his wrists being tied together, he attacked the ropes around the soggy leather mitts wondering as he did if anything would release the mitts from under those shackles as he remembered them. The knots were not too complicated but, blind and breathing with difficulty, Chunky fought to concentrate his minds-eye. At last his slightly numb fingers felt the wrists separate. Mitted hands stayed to clasp his own fingers in a gesture of thanks or congratulations but, of course, the battle was far from over.

It took two gloveless hands pulling downwards and the wearer of the mitts co-ordinating the upward pull to free first one hand and then, as their mutual excitement grew, the second reluctant mitt was after a serious struggle dragged clear and fell away. Four unseen wet hands grasped one another. The flats of palms greeted one another in triumph. Chunky’s wrists were still roped but it would be an easy task now to unrope them.

Fingers picked at the lashings, feeling for knots. It wasn’t so simple. The bulk of the oilskin jacket and limited arm movement between them made it slow going. Suddenly the foreign hands removed themselves and Chunky felt the dragging of an oilskin sleeve between their backs as an elbow bent and newly released fingers began tugging at the rope that joined their biceps together. In his mind’s eye he watched the lashed together bodies squirm. He felt the straining to reach between the two bodies to release at least one elbow to make it easier to un-rope his wrists. Chunky collaborated to help the severely restricted arm get closer to the bicep. He felt the warmth as the two upper backs writhed and pressed together. Even through his thick suit he felt the two different fabrics rub. He heard the surfaces dragged against one another ... and he could feel the warmth. Then he felt the binding loosen and suddenly they could move apart ... at least on one side.

In the darkness he now felt an eager hand reach between them to tackle the remaining roped pair of biceps. He felt a sudden broader movement as his ‘partner’ decide to turn and bring them almost face to face so he could work in front rather than behind his back. It was easier. Smart move! The second elbow lashing fell away and they stood separate. Oilskin arms hugged him in triumph, a long, firm, warm hug ... and then he heard movement and waited for his wrists to be untied.

He felt hands around roped ankles, one by one, and felt them freed. ‘Good move’ thought Chunky as the unseen partner was now able to stand free and help him.

He next heard what sounded like the chest rope being removed from around oilskin and felt the two winch ropes separate. The one around his own chest slackened slightly - but then a motor whirred into action and … inside his head he heard a hollow echo, Robert’s remark “If he gets half a chance he’ll take control and then watch out. I wouldn’t trust him an inch.”

Chunky tried to back off slightly, but the winch motor continued and his jacket began to bunch up under his armpits, his still bound wrists keeping the chest rope in place as it shortened upwards slowly.
In blind fury he lashed out with his steel-toed rubber boot ... and the action caused him to swing off balance, and his second boot left the slippery floor ... but he didn’t fall. The winch rope left him swinging before he could eventually regain his footing.

For Larry, unable to see anything because his mask was still tucked down inside his locked-on coat collar, it was not a simple task for him to blindly locate one of the discarded ropes and circle Chunky’s knees - who, bucking and struggling, fought the grip in spite of the increasing pull of the winch. He felt his legs clamped against something solid ... and decided it was Larry’s chest - he must be kneeling. Chunky fought to kick into the mass that was hugging his legs - but all too soon his feet were leaving the floor.

Could he drop-kick? ... no he couldn’t. A violent push sent him spinning and he was swinging ... aimlessly. In the darkness he felt arms encircle his boots and there more rope lashed around and between. In spite of a serious tussle, the ankles were soon as fixed as his knees. Shit! The winch stopped ... Chunky dangled and seethed ... there was nothing more he could do.

A dangerous silence developed and Chunky’s ears began to tune in to pick up whatever sounds might penetrate his mask. He controlled his breathing to hear better. A zipper opened - Larry’s mask! Fuck, had this guy done the chest rope and both leg ropes blind? ... including the winch control ... or was there somebody else there helping him?

Again he listened, breathless after the struggle. Oilskin creaked and rustled away into the distance and returned. An unfamiliar voice said loudly for his benefit “Oh, this water tastes great. Shall I tip some down your neck? No, I don’t think I shall come near you yet, you might lash out with your big black boots. But you look great there, mate. Bob told me you were bringing that suit. It looks fucking great just hanging there dripping. Did you know you were still dripping? None of the water got into my suit ... how about yours? I might have a look in a minute. Strip it off you. Strip you naked and have my wicked way with you!”

Chunky sensed a movement but had no way of knowing from which direction it was coming. His feet were suddenly dragged backwards in mid-air, which held him hanging at an angle. He didn’t swing back because his feet had been tied-off to some distant anchor point. Chunky again bucked and jolted his knees and hips to test the tethering rope. It held ... which was no surprise. He just hung there ... at an uncomfortable angle ... knowing that he had no decisions to make. Was this really what he wanted?! Is this what he’d fantasised about? Whichever way, he was in no position to argue or complain. He could nod his head three times. It might be tempting to test the signal to find out if it really worked or would just be ignored. He decided not to risk it.

The next sounds he heard were difficult to interpret: A door had opened; somebody coming in? Somebody going out? Silence! Was he alone?... but he guessed the cameras were still running ... so Chunky thrashed and jerked within the limits. If it was still a fucking photo session he’d give them their money’s worth. The rope around his chest was cutting into the padded jacket and his lashed wrists were useless. By twisting his stressful body angle, he could be lying slightly on his back like in a hammock or with his chest downwards, which was not easy on his spine. He worked out that his ankles must be tethered to something about three feet off the floor ... a wall bar, he concluded dispassionately. With an effort he switched back to the hammock position ... he was in no position to do anything but wait.

Yet another roping episode adds to Chunky’s experience.
After being returned still masked and gagged to the photo studio, Robert gives him the option of being freed - or watching some video footage shot previously - but remaining suited up and restrained. Chunky being Chunky nods to indicate staying restrained.

Robert uses straps to fix the fire-fighter to a metal chair, and changes the rubber mask for a mesh hood which will allow him to see while remaining anonymous in any pictures which might be taken.

Given yet another choice, Chunky opts to deal with staying gagged for a while longer - and Robert is happy to have added another ‘bondage pig’ to their little play-group.

In the mirror in the photo/SM playroom behind the shop ‘The Inner Man’, Chunky watched as young Robert finished lacing the back of the dark mesh hood which had now replaced the rubber blacked-out mask.

He could see himself clearly in the mirror, but the strapped figure sitting before him in the well-used Call-out suit he saw, was totally unrecognisable. The black mesh of the hood that allowed him to see out so freely, looked from the outside dense even under the bright photographic lights. Were there CCTV cameras still running, he wondered?

Robert walked to a TV monitor on a trolley - and re-positioned it so Chunky could watch comfortably.
'A captive audience' thought Chunky, somewhat absently. How could he feel so relaxed in this wildly improbable situation? He must be fucking mad .. or had he died and gone to heaven? Whichever, he was in no position to argue ... or go anywhere ... and certainly nothing was going to make him nod three times, the pre-agreed 'get out' signal.

The screen flickered into life and Robert walked towards the door, where he adjusted the lighting so that there were dark shadows but the featureless figure strapped to the metal chair was brilliantly illuminated as he sat before the mirror and TV screen and the show began.

SHOWTIME
… Somebody dressed in motorcycle leather; heavy pants and jacket and boots ... plus a tight fitting leather head mask ... standing elaborately roped to a metal grille ... fixed at neck, chest, waist, upper arms, wrists, thighs, above the knee, below the knee and ankles ... legs well spread. The white rope showed up clearly against the dark leather.

Just when Chunky started to wonder if it was a still photo he was watching, a knee moved. Not much could move. Chunky saw how the rope pressed into the thick leather (armour padded motorcycle stuff) so the rope sank in noticeably. ‘I bet it’s hot in there’ the voice of recent experience told Chunky as his own situation trapped in the padded waterproof call-out suit re-entered his consciousness.

He looked away from the motionless figure in the video to the mirror where the equally anonymous bundle sat strapped to the metal chair. Chunky felt a sense of kinship. He knew how it felt.

On the screen a tentative flexing of the leather torso produced a creak, and as an arm flexed within it’s tight lashing Chunky knew there was sound. The pelvis began to twist tentatively inside the waist and thigh bindings. Chunky noticed for the first time that ropes passed tightly down the crotch area and between the legs from two angles, making a central bulge, a black mass the shape of a jockstrap. ‘Fucking hell’ thought Chunky, ‘I bet that’s tight!’ as he continued to watch the almost motionless but creaking figure.

The camera made no movement. Unlike watching regular TV and films where changes of angle and camera movement produced the effect of action ... the stillness of the camera emphasised the stillness of the figure ... immobilised ... helplessly ... fixed.

After what seemed like a long stillness, the leather-clad figure flexed a knee tentatively ... and suddenly a roped wrist strained sideways towards the knee and hooked two fingers under the knee rope. The effect was dramatic after the long stillness. The immobilised body was writhing against the metal frame. The fingers tugged at the knee binding and succeeded in dragging some slack down from the thigh roping and up from below the knee. It was so minimal but so intensely dramatic to watch. High drama in the context of almost total immobility of both camera and subject.

… He watched the leather-clad torso scrunch sideways, encouraging more slack onto the left side of the body as fingers blindly felt for a knot. Chunky could see that the knot was higher on the thigh, and wanted to shout a word of warning to the writhing figure ... ‘Feel higher!! You’re nearly there!’ But the gag in Chunky’s mouth reminded him that he was totally powerless ... and this was a video he was watching but it had become very real to him. Was he losing touch with reality?

The static camera frustratingly refused to move ... or pan ... or tilt or zoom as the virtually immobilised figure gave up the struggle. The slight slack in the rope near the left knee seemed to melt back into the elaborate lashings, and all the ropes soon looked as tight as ever. But Chunky watched the sightless, mouthless leather encased head and he could have sworn he could read it’s thoughts. He was attuned ... tuning in. The leather-man was taking stock. Considering alternatives. Subtle body language told Chunky that a new plan was afoot.

In turn, the left boot and then knee and then thigh and then crotch flexed imperceptibly. Then the same on the right ... exploring. The right elbow stirred, then wrist ... same on the left ... suddenly a few powerful jerks forward of the chest brought extra tightening to the upper arms. More slack in the body ... resulted in less in the arms.

Chunky was mentally inside the leather suit considering the options; tighten the chest loosen the arm ... tighten the left side ... perhaps loosen the right. He felt excitement. In his mind he transmitted information to the leather-clad figure ... before remembering …
‘It’s a video, you cunt!’ ... but he realised he was experiencing what he seldom got from watching TV: a sense of involvement …

Suddenly the firmly roped left elbow was jerking side-to-side. The whole body was writhing within it’s limits to throw slack towards the left elbow. The plan was working. As other areas began to tighten a lot of slack was gradually appearing above the left wrist and around the elbow. The result of this was serious tightening elsewhere ... but could the slack be transferred down to the wrist? This was high drama in Chunky’s new world of skilful wrapping, strapping, chaining and tying.

He held his breath as the upper arm rope slid to below the elbow, which allowed the elbow to escape sideways, which in turn relaxed the wrist roping. The crotch lashings now looked as if they would strangle the cock as it strained in increased tightness ...

The wrist rope remained tight as ever - and the struggling opposite hand was too far away to reach across to help ease the visible slack down to the wrist where it was needed. Chunky realised he was holding his breath.

The roped figure’s featureless leather head ... was thinking ... reconsidering it’s options. Chunky could see it. Then, suddenly, the left hand began to flop around determinedly ... and a general shimmying of the whole body almost wrecked the progress that had been made, sucking back the slack.

Chunky realised he was sweating ... and he was not doing anything. The standing figure made another stab at wriggling some slack into the wrist rope. Methodically and without undue struggle, almost gently fingers curled upwards to tease some slack into one of the two ropes that circled the gloved wrist … but not enough slack yet!!

‘The glove! The glove!! Dump the glove!!!’ willed Chunky. He watched the hand begin to flick ... being careful not to tighten the one slightly loosened wrist rope. The weight of the thick glove began to slide it down the hand. It took time! A long time. With obvious sensitivity and technical skill, the escapee coaxed the glove down the hand and from under the wrist ropes. Chunky watched the painfully slow process ... and, after a lot of patient work, the glove fell away. Without the thickness of the glove, the wrist ropes were now slackened. The hand and arm were soon eased free from the tangle of slackened ropes.

Such a little victory but Chunky mentally applauded the skill and determination. Virtually motionless TV. To some people, Chunky guessed, this would be like watching paint dry ... but to him it was riveting.

Sightlessly, the still elaborately lashed figure explored the roping at the collar with his one free arm ... and then the crotch ... and the opposite arm. ‘Go for the neck!’ willed Chunky and again the standing figure was of the same mind. Unfortunately, the knot of the single rope that wrapped twice around the leather jacket collar and the metal grille, was not only out of reach but out of sight ... somewhere behind the grille ... so plan ‘B’ looked like being to explore the waist and the by now painful crotch bindings. It took a struggle and some (for Chunky to watch) interesting gyrations ... and as the waist and crotch roping reclaimed slack left by the escaped arm … the crotch and thigh ropes loosened and sagged down around the knees … and elation was in the air.

With the neck still firmly tied, total escape was not exactly in sight ... sight! ... the one free hand could perhaps unlace the hood! Two minds with but a single thought!

Although inexperienced in these matters, fire-fighter Proctor was suddenly aware he was making the right choices. He looked forward to learning more about ‘escapes’. He was certainly getting a lesson in determination, perseverance and clear thinking. Skilful fingers were working on the hood laces. He saw the tightly clinging leather second skin ease loose on the face and eventually peel forward. The sweating fireman almost tasted the fresh air ... his own gag dribbled but he didn’t care. The face that emerged red and perspiring was not one he had seen before ... but the smile he recognised as the same he had felt earlier. ‘The Bondage Smile’.

Now the process he watched was more methodical. Knots could be seen if not reached immediately. More tightness here, some serious strain ... a lot of frustration ... a few rest periods as aching fingers tired. But ... more strain more gain! The chest rope connected to the arm rope, the arm rope connected to the other wrist rope. The second glove shed, dropped with a thud. Two arms now grabbed at the neck rope and pulled one wrap dangerously tight to loosen the second and drag the knot within reach of ungloved fingers. The knot was picked undone.

Another smile of triumph directly into the camera before the Leatherman bent forward to tackle the spread ankles. First one knee and foot eased free and then the other ... and then a cautious movement away from the metal screen ... followed by a wide and satisfied grin.

Chunky could have cheered had it not been for the soggy plastic bung that filled his mouth behind the padded leather cheeks of the near enough sound-proof mouth-cover. The screen went suddenly white. The fireman half expected the adverts to come on ... Commercial Break. He could murder an ice cream like at the interval in the cinema in the old days.

Among other video sequences shown to Chunky, rope was very much part of a disturbingly aggressive sequence for cammo-clad army types

ARMY GAMES
An army Land Rover drove in through the double gates to ‘The Inner Man’ cobbled yard. This sequence of clips had music behind the fast action, like a parody of an old fashioned cinema adventure. Two army types (one was Charlie ) hopped out of the cab, and a third appeared in the back of the Land Rover. The camera (obviously hand-held) was allowed into the back of the vehicle to see two guys in combat gear with wrists lashed to the roof supports. Each had a canvas sack over his head. Wrists were released from the metal structure but remained roped in front of them. They were hauled out of the jeep pretty roughly and, as their ankles were also lashed together, they were dragged across the yard and pushed against the horizontal metal hitching rail. Chunky realised that their cammo combat gear was paint splattered, bright blue. Paint Ball games, he thought ... and then he also noticed that Charlie s’ army jacket had a splodge of yellow on one arm. Was this a game where the losers really got worked over.

The two hooded men were being deliberately roughed up and shouted at (although there was no sound, only music). One of them made an effort to fight back but got a punch in the stomach and fell to his knees. As the other was held painfully against the waist-high horizontal rail, the other was dragged to where two posts with a high cross bars stood in a corner of the yard. A longer rope was soon attached to his wrists and thrown over the high bar, the hands unstoppably hauled skywards until the bound guy was almost off the ground. The other end of the rope was then very efficiently tied around the neck of the struggling man, rendering him helpless and vulnerable. Dangerous stuff, thought Chunky. And that was before the army guy who Chunky didn’t recognise pulled a truncheon from his belt and jabbed his prisoner hard enough to warn him to stop struggling. The prisoner was breathing heavily as the camera closed in on the canvas hood, with the guy in charge still shouting in his prisoner’s ear.

Now attention was turned to the guy pinned standing against the waist-high hitching rail. He was persuaded to kneel, and his bound wrists were hauled up and behind his neck before being tied to the rail. Only then was the hood removed. Looking defiant, he was being asked something but seemed reluctant to answer ... for which he received a back-hander across the face. This was too rough for Chunky ... but he was in no position to do anything but watch. The guy was being forced to admit or agree - there was just drumming music ... that seemed to be inside Chunky’s head. Could he stand up to that sort of treatment? Did he even want to try? No, he didn’t. He wanted out.

The guy on his knees was getting desperate as the verbal abuse continued ... and then Chunky saw him nod agreement. He nodded ‘Yes’ ... Chunky didn’t know what he was agreeing to ... but it was not three nods. He wasn’t ending the game ... he was agreeing to do whatever was being demanded of him. His hands were untied and the three cammo-clad men standing close, lifted him to his feet where he stood unsteadily, boots still lashed close together. Slowly he began to remove his paint-stained jacket. This was handed to Charlie and, after a hesitation and a subtle threat from the truncheon, he began to remove his shirt and sweat-stained tee shirt. As his head emerged from this, a look of apprehension crossed his face and he was prepared to put up a renewed struggle. But behind him an arm circled his neck pulling him back painfully over the hitching rail ... and a strait-jacket was held up in front of him. Although his arms were unbound, the arm locked around his neck and bound feet while pulled leaning back against the bar, it was not difficult for two of the men to expertly manoeuvre his arms into the jacket ... which looked like the real thing to A.J although he’d never actually seen one. The coarse canvas and leather straps looked the way he imagined a military prison restraint should look and he was sure that once in it you stayed in it until you were let out. ‘Houdini stuff’. This was like an old dream come to serious reality. Roughly, the two long jacket sleeves were crossed in front while the back of the jacket was being efficiently strapped by the third man. Soon the ‘victim’ stood totally trussed and a long end of a jacket strap was cinched around the horizontal bar ... so the three men were now free to turn their attention back to the other man, still strung up in his hooded and dangerously stressful position.

The three gathered around him but left room for the camera to record the action. The guy with the truncheon was talking into the captives’ ear - and a firm shake of the head told the story - he would not submit. Chunky expected more beating or other violence ... but the three men just smiled among themselves and two stood back as Charlie dropped the cammo jacket he was holding over the captive’s head and closed it tightly around the neck, just holding it there shutting out any air supply. It was not long before the roped figure began to writhe and buck. Rope was produced and quickly wrapped around the already bound ankles and two men held the ends. Chunky knew this would not be a long struggle, but he was breathless before Charlie released the struggling man’s head.

More talking into his ear - and yet again the hooded figure refused to submit. The guy with the truncheon stepped forward but Charlie motioned him back, and with a smile suggested something else. The two men disappeared from shot as Charlie continued to talk into the hooded ear. A fist emphasised whatever point he was making by dragging the canvas hood backwards and forwards. Next strong fingers claw-like, found the jaw under the rough hood and squeezed, which Chunky knew must have been extremely painful. Next Charlie turned his attention to the front of the jacket of the helpless ‘squaddie’ and roughly pulled it open and then, more carefully, opened the khaki shirt down the front to expose a heaving chest.

The two returned and Chunky sat mesmerised as two buckets of water were flung without warning at the unsuspecting man. He stood, arms raised and neck stretched, feet tethered - running with cold water. The breathing was intense as he was unable to lower his arms and relieve the strain. Now Charlie ripped the tee shirt down the front and the pants were suddenly down around the bound ankles and the heaving chest and soaking thighs were naked. The cock was limp Chunky noted; this guy was seriously not enjoying this ... but he also realised in his own mind ... that the game he was watching was, however extreme, by mutual consent.

Chunky arrived at this unbelievable thought. These guys had agreed to this no holds barred scenario. He knew there would be no serious complaints or recriminations when the game was over ... and it looked to him as if it was going to get even heavier before it ended. The trio were now ignoring the part stripped and sagging strung up figure and were escorting his strait-jacketed comrade away to the cell block. Charlie hesitated and came back to collect the two buckets, obviously informing his captive that he would be returning with more water ... and much, much more. Chunky watched the strung up by the neck and wrists figure who knew he was now alone (except for the cameraman) ... and braced himself to withstand and resist whatever would come next.

For more excerpts from this story see Houdini Connections

INDEX TO ALL 'STORYLINE' ROPING DESCRIPTIONS

Black Prince
Initiative Test
Man-to-man Stuff
Top Ridge Farm
Tricks of the Trade
Well Waxed & Waterproof