by A Reader in Australia

Illustration by unknown artist

Originally published in Bondage Life No. 2, March 1978

Scanned and transcribed by guardian46w

Story Codes: Self-bondage female, ropes, scarves, gagged, heels, stockings

Most times Ronnie could truss herself up very thoroughly, but for obvious reasons, she could not go all the way and experience the feeling of complete helplessness that she had at the hands of a strong male she could trust or a like-minded girlfriend.  Then one day she read about a new technique which would allow for total helplessness while on her own, together with a means of freeing herself, albeit with difficulty.

At the end of the week she locked herself up in her isolated old house by the sea, turning out the lights so that she would not be disturbed by visitors, and spread out a selections of soft cotton ropes and scarves in her large basement room.  One of her favorite bondage fantasies was to imagine herself as a movie or television heroine captured by the villain and awaiting rescue, and she dressed the part; dark black high-heeled shoes, black sheer seamed stockings and suspender belt, a billowing blue velvet skirt which cam to mid-calf and a wide black belt, a white satin blouse and at her throat, a gaily colored silk scarf.  Properly tied, she could pose in front of the full-length mirror set into the wall for hours.

She set to work preparing herself for this fantasy of capture, but first she placed a pair of scissors on the floor of the adjoining hallway as the essential safeguard for freeing herself later.

To her pretty mouth she applied a very intricate and tight gagging arrangement using scarves.  She folded a thick chiffon scarf into a tight square wedge and rolled it up in a flimsy silk neck-square from the apex of its triangle.  This pad fit neatly into her mouth between her teeth, pressing her tongue down.  the ends of the scarf were drawn back against the corners of her mouth and knotted securely beneath her dark shoulder-length hair at the back of her neck, and another scarf folded into a pad was placed between the knot and the soft skin of her neck to take some of the pressure  she next folded a rayon scarf over several times into a rectangle until she had a long narrow band of cloth about two inched across, placed another flimsy silk scarf folded into a square pad into the front of her mouth just behind her teeth and bound it tightly in place with the narrow bandage.  Finally, she took a large square Indian scarf of pure silk, crisp and new, (she had bought it that morning for this purpose), folded it like the rayon bandage into a strip three inches wide, and bound it over the lower part of her face, covering from just below her nose to the tip of her chin.  Like the other scarves, it was tied tightly at the back of her neck below her hair.  Its newness and crispness meant that the silk was non-slip.

Starting with her ankles, Ronnie wound the first length of cotton cord, made a double know, a reef-knot which would not slip, and cinched it by winding the cord ends between her ankles, taking several turns each time.  She did the same below and above her knees and around her thighs, cinching as well.  The knots were very tight but the windings were made so as not to cut off circulation.  For her arms and body, she used two separate long pieces of cord wound about four times about her waist, just below her breasts and above her breasts.  They had sufficient slack for her, with some effort, to force her arms down into them.  As she worked with the ropes, she tested the effectiveness of her gag.  Trying to free her mouth and experimenting with the sounds she could make.  She could not budge it, nor could she do more than whimper faintly in her throat.

Next came her wrists, the key she knew to making anyone helpless.  She forced her arms behind her as far as they could go, fighting the very tight bindings above and below her breasts.  At the beginning she had prepared two small 17” x 17” rayon scarves, folding each into a triangle, rolling it from the apex into a narrow band, and tying the ends together, non-slip.  Each scarf when it had been twisted and doubled made a circlet just narrow enough for her to force her wrists into, and this she did now with the first of the scarves so that it made a snug band about them.  At this stage she could still free her hands.  She made a circlet with the other scarf and into it slipped one wrist, and paused, her other hand next half-way into the circlet from the other side.  Taking a deep breath, she tested the gag as a precaution against choking or suffocating, but it seemed safe although it was very tight and silenced her thoroughly.  Trembling, this is it, she pushed her other wrist fully together and worked both wrists firmly in.  The two scarves together formed a crisscross which effectively prevented her from getting loose.

She struggled now in hot panic, trying unsuccessfully to fight it back, as helpless as if trussed expertly by another, only here there was no one to free her if she could not free herself.  She twisted and struggled on the floor, whimpering frantically through the gag, the pressure of which made her hot and flushed, dried her mouth and made her jaw ache.  She had tide herself too enthusiastically.  The bonds seemed to grow tighter around her arms and they began to cramp, especially above the elbows.  Try as she might she could not free her hands.  But the scissors were not far.  She should have kept them in the room with her for this first experiment at least.  In the mirror, as she struggled upright, she saw a wide-eyed dark-haired girl staring back frightened.  It was time to get the scissors.  The scarves would cut easily.  A lot would be ruined if she kept this up, she thought.

It proved harder to reach the door than she expected.   Her struggles which were real had almost exhausted her and she could not move her arms at all, pinned back as they were.  The door was standing part-open and in her eagerness to get through she misjudged the awkwardly swing of her legs and nudged it the other way.  A light draught from the hallway was enough; the door swung closed before Ronnie could do anything to prevent it. Her frantic struggles succeeded only in exhausting her still further to the pint where all she could do was lie still the next hours, heaving for breath, sobbing against the gag.

AUTHOR’S NOTE: The girl Ronnie in the fantasy above is perhaps too stringently gagged.  Anyone who practices self-bondage and wants to try out the method described of tying the hands should act with extreme caution.  In fact, probably the strongest warning that should be made over the lady ‘victim’s’ discomfort in bondage concerns the use of gags.  In fantasy the binding of a lovely prisoner seems incomplete without the gag, which in adventure films and serials is usually no more harmful than a single handkerchief or scarf either tied over the lips or between the teeth.  There are three cardinal rules about the use of gags:

a) The gag should not be too tight.  Tightness restricts breathing and a gag can become torture if left for too long.  One tied too tightly in the mouth can also cause choking.  Certain materials which make for extremely non-slip ties should be used with care; silk if large and crisp enough, strips of sheeting, elastic bandage (especially the adhesive kind), and toweling.

b) The gag should not prevent breathing.  Make sure that your willing victim does not have a head cold, and if she does then any elaborate gagging should be dispensed with for that bondage session.  If being gagged is part of your fantasy and you both do not want to omit it, then perhaps a soft scarf could be tied between her teeth.  Its symbolism is the most important thing anyway.  This also goes for tape, and whether there is a head cold or not cars should be taken to leave clear the nasal passages at all times, a rule which applies to all gagging, of course.  The nose should never be covered.

c) A cloth gag should not really be stuffed into her mouth unless some means of preventing it from slipping into the throat and causing choking can be devised.  A gag should be firm, not loose, comfortable (up to a point) and quick-release.  One way of preventing a wad from slipping deeper into the throat is to wrap it in a small scarf in the way described above in the fantasy.  A gagged victim should never be left, or at least kept within ear-shot, to enable trouble signals to be made.  Nothing should be tied around the neck.

If theses straight-forward rules are observed the victim’s comfort and safety is fairly well assured.  I feel that gagging should not be left out.  The symbolism surrounding the gagging of a beautiful girl is perhaps the greatest of all turn-ons in bondage.  It has a peculiar eroticism.  A gag enhances the heroine’s helplessness and by covering her mouth it accentuates her eyes, one of the main features of a woman’s beauty.  The areas covered by a gag are major erogenous zones; mouth, lips, cheeks, jaw, the sides and back of the neck, and hair.  The texture of a gag has both erotic and fetishistic significance; silk, satin, chiffon, velvet or fine linen; scarf or stocking.  Color, too, plays its part, black to contrast with the heroin’s eyes, hair color and fair skin, which in contrast with fair hair, etc., as in many films.  The similarity of gags to masks is another element one notices sometimes.

Her large basement had no window, nor was there a clock in the room so Ronnie was unable to tell whether it was still night or Saturday morning daylight.  Intermittently she struggled till exhausted, rested, then struggled again but she could make no headway on the bands of rayon cloth which circled her wrists snugly.  The tightness of the cords wound around her arms and body above and below her breasts interfered with circulation.  Her arms were numb and her hands and fingers tingled and prickled uncomfortably.  Even if she could reach the pair of scissors lying in the hall tantalizingly on the other side of the firmly shut door, she doubted whether she could now manipulate them sufficiently well to cut the thin material.  Although it was ordinarily soft to the touch, the rayon when stretched tight could chafe, she found, making her wrists a little raw.

It could be days before anyone found he, or longer.  Work at the secretarial agency was slow that month and if she did not turn up on Monday she would not be missed, not until a day or two later.  “I’ve really done it now,” she thought, “but I can’t just lie her.  Please, please someone come.”  She strained her ears, listening, but all she could hear was the distant susurration of the surf, her stifled breathing and, it seemed, the rapid beating of her heart.  Then there was something else.  Usually in this beach house she had no visitors, no deliveries, could spend a weekend reading and writing without seeing anyone until her return to the city.  And she liked it that way.  Now, the sound of the car approaching along the gravel path filled her with hope.

There was silence.  She listened fearfully.  Had she been mistaken?  Then the sound of the door chimes tinkled through the house.  Her answering cry seemed to be entirely in her head.  She tried again but could make only a muffled sound in her throat.  The gagging arrangement in and over her mouth was immovable and totally efficient.  When the chimed did not sound again she screamed desperately, but could produce only a thin throaty squeal.  There was no sound that she could make, even by thumping with her heels on the floor or the door, which could be heard from the other side of the door, let alone the house.

The visitors had gone, whoever they were.  They would not think to look in the garage where she had parked her car, and anyway she had locked the garage door.  Ronnie tossed her head from side to side, fighting hopelessly against the gag.  At least she was not choking or suffocating.  However, what distressed her most was the gag.  She could neither close nor open her mouth properly and the attempt to bite at the wedge jammed firmly between her teeth only muffled her more.  She wondered how long she could last without water, especially with her mouth filled with cloth.  Choking might come with dryness.

In a book on survival she had read how to cope with being bound.  It described how to flex her muscles and stiffen her limbs when the ropes were being tied and she had used that trick with some success when a friend was practicing knots on her.  The book had recommended that if she were ever tied inescapably, she should not panic but simply wait until someone came and freed her.  That was not relevant now, she thought bitterly, remembering how she had succumbed to panic from the start and how it was still very close to the surface.  Secure bonds and tight gag reduced the outward signs of hysteria to a minimum.  The book had suggested, too, that a gag might be loosened if rubbed against a rough surface like a carpet or hooked on something like a handle.  Ronnie had not been thinking straight for hours; this might give some relief.  However, she was doomed to disappointment.  The scarves bandaged taut about her face could not be moved.  Either against the carpet which was deep and soft or on the smooth rounded plastic handles of the chest of drawers, the only items of furniture it was possible to catch the cloth on.

She rolled awkwardly away from the drawer handles and lay on her side, her knees bent slightly, her hair drooping tiredly to the floor.  Her luxurious mane of dark hair was tousled about her face and she shook some of the heavy locks out of her eyes.  Her blue velvet skirt had ridden up and bunched high around her thighs during her struggles.  The third top button of her white satin blouse had come adrift and the flimsy lace of her sheer black bra peeped from the upper curves of her breasts.  Her silk scarf had slipped around her neck so that its knot was at the back close to those of her gag.  Even in such a disarray or perhaps because of it, in the plight she was in she would have been devastatingly beautiful to the eyes of many men (and women) had they been able to see her.

An hour later after she had recovered a little from the disappointment and exhaustion from fighting her gag, Ronnie lifted her head and looked around the room, which had to all intents and purposes become her prison.  “What would a film heroine have done in this situation?” she asked herself.  She would have made a small grimace if not for the tightness of the gag because it was the very enjoyment, she had of the bondage scenes in B-grade mystery and detective stories on the screen which had helped get her into this mess.  She had certainly overdone this experiment!  What possibilities were there?  Ignoring as best she could the numbness and ache in her arms and the smothering constriction of the gag, she did her best to remember how it was done so often in the films.  There were no heroes to rescue her.  In the film “Artists and Models” Shirley MacLaine had been able to bounce the chair to which she was tied close enough to a door to allow her to open it with her teeth (she had been gagged with a white cloth tied between her teeth).  Could Ronnie somehow open the door and reach the scissors in the hallway?

She lifted her head and looked at the lock.  It was high and the handle was small, no more that half an inch thick.  Twenty minutes later she lay on her face near the door, once more exhausted.  She had succeeded in working to a standing position against the door but, as she had suspected, it proved impossible to raise her arms further because they were secured immobile in the small of her back.  When she did attempt it by bending forward, she lost her balance and fell heavily, almost winding herself.  She had not strength left to try again.

Closing her eyes, she sobbed quietly in frustration and hopelessness.  She felt lassitude and coldness; she was slipping into shock.  She lay there for agonizing hours before she could again think clearly.  When she did she rolled onto her side once more and looked wearily around the room.  Was there no hope?  How else did a screen heroine free herself?  She searched her mind for other films she had seen.  In “Apache Woman”, the cowgirl heroine had been tied to a chair by the villains with plenty of rope and gagged by having her own white neck scarf tied between her teeth.  She had freed herself by cutting her bonds on the sharp edges of glass from a bottle broken when she knocked it off a table.  A long sequence had shown this.  But there were not bottles in this room; nothing that could be broken.

Ronnie lay with a moan onto her back and closed her eyes again.  She could not shut out the situation.  Surely something could be done.  She rolled to her side and lay staring ironically at the reflection in the mirror of tousled hair, the heap of silky and now bunched and creased garments, the ropes, the face half hidden in a broad silk bandage; herself.  “I wanted to play the part of a captive,” she thought, “and I certainly have my wish.”  For a long time, she stared at herself, then her eyes grew wide and her heart began to beat with excitement.  “The mirror!”  Of course, the way out had been staring her in the face all the time.  A mirror was glass; it could be broken, and seven years bad luck could not be worse than lying for day bound and gagged like this.

With a tremendous effort, the pain of her arms and the acing in every muscle of her body bringing tears to her eyes, Ronnie sat up.  Slowly, she wriggled her way closer to the mirror, her skirt riding a little higher.  She kicked awkwardly with her heels at the glass, at first weakly then stronger as her hopes rose.  If only it was not too tightly glued to the wall behind!  It took many blows to crack the mirror and many more before a large chunk fell onto the carpet by her feet.  There followed another hour of wriggling and straining agonizingly, with many pauses to rest, before Ronnie felt the bands of rayon slacken and fall away one by one.  Very slowly and with great difficulty she worked one arm out from the two sets of windings around her body.  Circulation was restored.  Her arms and hands burned and prickled and she could not prevent herself from whimpering behind the gag.  It was a long time before nerveless fingers could pluck at the knots at the back of her head with any chance of loosening them.

It was Sunday morning Ronnie found when se staggered weakly upstairs and ran a glorious hot bubble bath to soak out the aches and bruises.  “My God, I was tied and gagged for more than thirty-six ours,” she said to herself shakily.  There would be a next time, and she would use far more care with the future experiments.