Secrets of the Women's Self-Bondage Cult (22 page)

       I remember that Donna, the woman making the suit, who was about my age, looked carefully at me, then smiled a secret smile and went on measuring the inside of my thigh. We became close friends, even though our homes were nearly two thousand miles apart and happily, over time, she helped me design several rubber apparel items that were not, at the time readily available on the market. Among other things, she made a heavy duty ball seal for me. This is a large rubber ball, made somewhat like a diver’s dry suit. It has a heavy duty, water tight zipper for entrance and exit, a series of air and water valves and an optional watertight collar. The function is simple, but making it for SB proved more challenging because I needed to get myself in and out of the ball alone, plus I had some special projects involving my staying sealed in the ball for a long period of time. This was, of course, my fantasy and the cost of such a toy was nearly prohibitive, but when it finally arrived, I was both anxious and a bit fearful of actually carrying out my plans. Although I originally planned to totally enclose myself in the ball, I had to settle for my entire body in and my head out, for obvious reasons of survival. Still, the thrill of being inside this rubber globe with only my hooded head sticking out remains one of my favorite games. Dressed in latex bra, dual dildo panties with garters, hose, knee high rubber boots with impossible heels, I slide through the tiny zippered opening. I then bind my feet and legs to rubber straps arrayed on the inside of the ball and well fastened to the internal frame. More straps go around my waist and torso. I do this all in the darkness of the interior. My hands must remain free at this point so I can get into the external hood. Then, when everything is as tight as I can make it, I force my head into the heavy latex hood and pop it through the top seal. Finally, I tie my hands as best I can behind me, using a set of stretchy rubber cuffs. These clamp snug around my gloved wrists and I am done. I stay as long as I can stand it as the temperature inside rises and I sweat pints of water, rolling about in the ball, bumping into walls and furniture, care to protect my hooded head.

       The ball is an aberration. I know of no other like it and Donna, even though she has photos of it in her catalog, has never made another one like it. This is the first and perhaps only time I will talk about it.

       Back to the frames. Pleading back problems and the need to have traction stretching in my home, I had a contractor build me a steel pipe-based frame that could stand upright or lie flat on the floor. I don't know, or care, what he thought it was really for, but he did a good job. I modified it with hardware and other items so that I could place myself in this rack and stay there for many pleasant hours, enclosed in rubber. The rack has to be prepared first, so my plan is usually to lie down inside the frame and set up the attached cables so that once I am dressed and inside, I can easily hook up the cuffs and straps and have a jolly old time by myself, stretched and suspended a bit.

       Right. That's the concept. I have been doing this for nearly five years. No one else knows. I don't want anyone else to know. And, since you asked, no, I have not had any close calls. Nothing in my SB program is really very dangerous. I do not get thrilled so much by the threat of not escaping as I do by the purely vicarious experience of dressing slowly in multiple layers of rubber and then being captured in the rack, there to wiggle and struggle as long as I like, experiencing the up and down physical and mental coach ride in rubberized restraint.

       Details. First, a bit about my attire. I put on a rubber panty-girdle with double penis probes mounted inside the crotch. This item is so standard for me now that it just goes on easily and as long as I watch my weight, it fits fine, smoothing out my tummy and emphasizing the curves of my ass. I then put on a rubber bra that has open, or partly open, holes in the cups. The fully open version allows my entire breast to poke through and be unsupported and available for other ventures. The semi-open bra has smaller holes that allow the nipples to protrude. Both bras are exciting as my breasts are extremely sensitive and it is often hard to decide which to wear for the coming engagement.

       The next trick is to get the very tight rubber hose on and attached to the suspenders mounted on the legs of the girdle. There are ten suspenders and hooking these up takes some time.

       The next item is a full rubber body suit that must fit over everything else, and this can be almost impossible unless you use an intermediate Lycra body suit as I do. The Lycra suit has all the appropriate openings that the final latex suit has and it goes on more easily. The final rubber suit then goes on without too much trouble. I then put on the double helmet/hood and check my breathing. Completing the outfit is a pair of rubber boots that have six-inch stiletto heels and come to my knees, snugly enclosing my lower legs once the side zips are closed. Rubber gloves, also with long zips, finish the ensemble. Although it is totally unnecessary, I finish up the rubber treatment with black liquid latex on all of the seams, smoothing it out nicely until I appear, in the mirror at least, to be one seamless rubber doll with my waist tightly constricted and my breasts well-emphasized by the custom tailoring of the suit and the bra. Only my eyes remain visible.

       Yes, of course, there are other details. First, as I said, I set up the rack with all of the attachments needed for this particular venture. Normally, I decide whether to have my arms at my side, behind me, or pulled above my head. Each position has its advantages and its particular pleasures. For a time, when I began this, I used steel cuffs and collars, but my newer suits have heavy rubber cuffs built in, so that all I need to do is attach the various hooks and locks to the suit and then activate the electrics that pull the cables taut. The frame has, at present, eight small electric winch motors positioned around its circumference. They can be positioned along the frame as I desire, but this means adjusting the location and length of both the power cords and the control wires, a time-consuming feat. For most use, I position two at the base, where my feet will be, two at the top for either wrists or wrists and head harness and two on either side where I can connect leg, waist or chest restraints. In the nearly perfect situation, I lie on my back, feet pulled to the sides at the bottom of the frame and a series of three graduated spreader bars attached to my ankles, legs just below the knee and again slightly above the knee. Two side winches are cabled to my waist, connected to large, heavy rings mounted and well supported on the wide and heavy rubber combination belt and corset embedded in the suit. If I am up for it, two of the side winches are linked to my permanent nipple rings, which extend through zippered closures on my chest. As a variation here, I can open the zippers, fully expose my breasts, which are already somewhat compressed inside the pen cups of the rubber bra, and attach thick rubber bands to the base of each breast. The effect of this alone is almost overwhelming, but I do it more and more often. Recently, I got the brainstorm of doing both the breast bands around the bases of my breasts and hooking up the nipple rings as well. Now THAT was interesting.

       If possible, I have the side winches also attached to the built in rubber collar on my neck and I save at least one winch at the top for the sturdy D rings mounted at the crown of my rubber helmet/hood. Sometimes, since my hair is now long enough, I pull my pony-tailed hair out through the circular opening in the hood and, with a braided-in ring, attach it to the top winch.

       I have already put a gag of my choice into my mouth, often using the "breather's gag pear" because I am not interested in controlling my air sources or having trouble breathing through the helmet. Once everything is attached and I am comfortable, I make sure that my emergency release switch is fixed near where my hands will be held. The winch motor controller is also mounted near the other hand. (Details about the motors and controller are at the end of this writing, for those who enjoy reading such tech stuff).

       I close the eye coverings on the helmet, reach up and connect my hands to the waiting cables, then press the controller to withdraw the cables into the winches until I am well stretched among the eight winches. If I do this right, my ass levitates slightly off the floor and I am actually suspended from the frame, hanging in mid air, already sweating into my rubber suit. As they say, time stands still. I have no conception with time passing and the combination of mind-and-body fuck is so very strong that at some points it is very difficult for me to focus on what is going on outside the perimeter of the frame.

       As to what fantasies I indulge in while bound, this is difficult to answer. The correct answer is that I see self-restraint as a very private and personal thing. When I am rubber bound, my body and mind are linked to what is happening then and there. I really have no need to extend this into fantasy.

       I am sure that from time to time my mind takes off in some fantasy, but most of the time I am very personally engaged in this rubber/bondage experience. I feel each restraint, savor it, and wonder if I can make it tighter. I mentally debate the efficiency of the internal probes in use at the time and contemplate perhaps a modification or substitution for them. (I have experimented with many different inserts, from weighted metal balls to fully accurate, simulated penises. Some are static and some are very, very excitingly active. I have used both battery and electric powered devices and they all work well; it's just a matter of selecting what I want that day. At times, I have tried other kinds of security, using metal and leather cuffs, chains instead of cables, (they do not work well with winches), and rubber or bungee cords. The present system I have described seems to work best, but there is always room for improvement and more creative approaches.

Special electric information for those who care.

       The winches are small, low amperage, commercially available motors that operate on UK 220VAC power. They have three operating modes: forward, reverse and release. For emergencies, the release mode disengages the drum from the drive and the cable is free. There is only one speed in forward or reverse. The units are packaged in a small plastic box about 10 cm square and weigh considerably less than a kilo each.

       I run the power and control wires along the frame, securing them with cable ties. The controller is the result of a lot of trial and error test to find a reliable switch that will control all eight motors while I am blind and bound. I now use a lovely single control switch that allows me to easily dial each motor and then use a rocker switch to control the direction. To illustrate this, I dial in motor #1 at my feet, press the accompanying rocker and the cable withdraws onto the drum, pulling my foot towards the motor on the frame. If I hit the release button, all motors instantly release their cables and I can quickly get free. Because there is a small amount of power always going to the winch motors, in the event of a power failure, all motors automatically release.

Chapter Twenty-Six

A competitive angle adds excitement

to a secret group’s activities and one woman demonstrates

 escape from a highly complex and difficult position.

Gerry - Competition

       I've done the interviews and filled out the questionnaire, but I then thought it might be useful to write a bit about another gathering, somewhat like this one.

       More than one friend of mine has, over the years, wondered out loud about my twice a year disappearances. This is when our little cult gathers in some remote location in privacy and isolation for our SB convocations. Weird as this sounds, it's all on the up and up and nothing illegal or anything like that. We have all taken the pledge of secrecy and we are no different than the Elks or Moose or whatever other secret societies abound throughout the country. We gather and socialize and drink and dine like any other group. We are, of course, a co-ed group and there is a certain amount of "connecting" and "hooking up" going on, but in general we just get together to update each other on things that pertain to our particular fetishes.

       One of the highlights of our meetings is both formal and informal contests in which we can demonstrate our skill and creativity in SB. For outsiders, this would be almost an impossible thing to do, but we all know what is going on and seek to observe and participate from time to time so as to better understand what is happening in The Scene. Recently, we met at a hunting lodge in Canada that we rented for a week. The place is vast and isolated and getting there takes a day or so and means flying to one place, getting a smaller plane to the next place and finally a chartered plane to the lake at the lodge. It is not cheap. We all work at keeping costs down, but in the end, we don't all always go to every meeting, mostly because of costs. While we have tried other kinds of venues which are less isolated, we have experienced some problems, usually just accidents, which hurt the overall theme and intent of the session, so we have sought more and more isolated locations.

       The contest I mentioned is really just a demonstration of one or more of us showing off our personal SB tastes and skills. We do this at the luncheons and dinners, with the most formal and fascinating demos usually coming at the last dinner of the meeting. Anyone can volunteer to show off, but we also draw "chances" out of a hat and it is bad form to decline to demo unless there is a really good reason. The hackneyed line about not having your stuff with you doesn't work because no one brings much of their gear with them because of the weight limits on the small planes. So, sooner or later, everyone must do their thing.

       We gather for cocktails in the main room, then move to the dining room for dinner. The cooking and services are provided by ourselves and we alternate. The best cooks get that duty and that leaves the rest of us for serving, clean-up, etc. The lodge is stocked in advance according to our dining committee's specifications.