In John Stapleton ’s short story ’HI MIKE’, which is written in the form of a letter to a mutually kinky friend - a session with a would-be amateur Escape Artist who has failed to escape from a strait-jacket challenge, is described.
Having chosen to wear his P VC motorcycle rain suit over his one-piece bike leathers before being strapped up in a very challenging leather strait-jacket, all struggles to escape have been fruitless.
Even after opting to spend all night tussed rather than admit defeat - the contest looks set to continue. The writer writes …
In the morning he refused to ask me to let him out. He refused to say those words humiliating himself. I wanted him begging. I decided to give him time to think.
“I’ll get us some breakfast then I’m going to make life really hell for you.”
He glared at me but said nothing as I left him lying there.
Well anyway, after rattling around in the kitchen for a while, I returned. He eyed me, but still said nothing.
So, I unlocked his ankles and got him into a sitting position, but not before strapping his legs together at the ankles and above and below the knees. How smooth his warm legs were in that black vinyl!
I fed him toast and gave him water and juice which he ate and drank without looking me in the face. I bathed his face with a moist cloth and gave him some chewing gum to freshen his mouth. I like to look after my prisoners!
I told him it was his last chance to ask me nicely, very nicely, to let him out.
For a while he didn't answer, just sat there propped up, strapped up like a madman but still looking macho and powerful. "Well?" I asked again. He said nothing. "I want an answer!" I said.
Then they came, three words that decided his own fate. "Go fuck yourself" he said slowly and deliberately.
I just got off the bed and went to the closet. I got out that black oiled canvas sack that you're so scared of.
He watched me silently.
Getting him into that was not easy. There was this guy, strait-jacketed, his legs bound together, still making life difficult for me by wrenching, kicking, twisting and turning on the bed as I tried to get him into the greasy, clinging bag. I got there in the end. Holding him down by sitting astride him, I gathered the top of the sack around under his chin and eventually got a length of chain threaded through the steel eyelets and tightly padlocked. I got up to admire my work. He was jerking and kicking in the sack, his every twist wrapping the clinging canvas tighter around himself until he was looking like a mummy, encased from head to toe in the gripping black oilskin. I got out the roll of that strong, broad black cotton tape that ties so effectively. I wound and knotted it several times tightly around him at ankle height, around his knees, around his waist under where his arms were strapped around his body and finally around his upper arms. I was in a bit of a frenzy, tying and binding him. We're going to have to order more of that tape, Mike.
I've left him to it, Mike, and I'm killing time by writing this to you. Yes, he's still upstairs now, sweating and rolling around, probably regretting not backing down and now being free, especially now he's discovering what a torture that greasy sack is. He must be bathed in sweat in that suit, he might have had to piss in it, too, but he definitely knows how to take his punishment like a man. It's seventeen hours since his arms went down into those straitjacket sleeves and nearly four hours since I locked that sack shut around his neck. I don't know how long he'll keep this up, but I know I'm not going to let him out until he begs me to. I've been trying to think what to do next. I don't think I'll strap him down to the bed, it's just so wonderful watching him roll around, struggling and straining. Maybe I'll lock his head in a thick leather hood! Yeah, that's it, Mike, a couple of hours in darkness will have him begging me for mercy! He, what am I doing sitting here writing all this to you? I've got work to do. I'm gonad mail this off to you now, just to keep you in suspense. To hear the next thrilling instalment you're going to have to give me a call!
Cheers, John.
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