By Bondagegimp
Reflective Interlude
I’m still staring in disbelief at the keys in my hand. What’s going on? This isn’t how I imagined the decision would go. I thought Bob and I would sit down together, talk it over again, and then I’d decide. But he’s leaving me to make this decision alone. He probably thinks he’s said everything he has to say. For him, there’s no compromise. Yes or no. Free or a slave, and that’s it, completely and without exception. No say in the matter. His property.
He’s putting me on the spot, forcing the decision I’ve been putting off until the last minute. I could have decided in the last few days. Well, now I have to decide… and Bob seems to be taking advantage of my indecisiveness. If I don’t decide, I’ll be choosing him, or “us,” as he puts it.
I’m supposed to free myself. He’s built in a hurdle. Or is it another one of his tricks? Maybe he gave me not all keys? Or the wrong keys? That wouldn’t be his style. Would it? Who knows? Perhaps I should check that first before I spend too much time pondering this. I look for the key ring labeled “Handcuffs and Leg Irons.” There are more keys than handcuffs and leg irons I’m wearing. Apparently, it’s the ring with all its corresponding keys. It takes a while until I find the right key, but it fits. Maybe that’s his tactic? Not enough time to unlock everything?
To be sure, I next look for the key that attaches my collar to the long chain. It’s long enough to move around the garden, but no further. I find that key after a short search, too. Now I could at least crawl. Next, I open the spiked booties and then the lock that connects my legs above the knees. I stand up. I can now walk freely around the garden. I’m still in the romper suit and head harness, but I could walk out the garden gate at any time. Even if a key is missing, I can leave, and with a few tools, I could remove all the other restraints.
It feels strange. For a good two weeks, I was Bob’s prisoner. I had no realistic chance of escaping; everything was always doubly and triply secured. And now it’s just supposed to end like this? Is it really that simple? But what did I expect? A brass band for my farewell? I have to laugh inwardly. But just leaving me here alone with the keys is pretty harsh. The only explanation I can come up with is that Bob wouldn’t be able to bear it otherwise.
I feel so alone. I remember the dreams. It’s the same feeling. I notice how quiet it is. Bob’s house is very isolated, not another house for miles around, there’s only an insignificant little road that runs past it, and even that’s easily a hundred meters away. Only very rarely does a car drive by.
To hear the silence, I have to stand completely still and hold my breath. Because of the hood and head harness, almost every movement creates noises around my ears, so I can barely hear anything from the outside. Even my breathing sounds are so loud that they drown out other noises. This is the case with almost all hoods, but it’s particularly noticeable with this one made of nylon fabric. At first, this drove me crazy with hoods in general, but I’ve gotten used to it by now. There have also been very few things I’ve needed to hear in the last two weeks. Except when Bob was talking to me, but then he always made sure I could hear him clearly.
Should I unlock the head harness and hood next? No, first I should check my things, just in case something’s missing. My passport or something. I’m still unsure whether Bob might have a plan after all. I mustn’t let myself get distracted! And the hood and muzzle are quite bearable. Almost kind of comfortable. Bob didn’t fasten the harness too tightly either. But yes, I should sort everything out so that I can leave at any time. Before I decide, I need to know if I truly have a free choice!
I go out onto the terrace. My backpack is on the table. My pants and shirt, my underwear, are neatly folded and hanging over a chair, and next to them are my shoes and socks. Exactly the things I was wearing when Bob picked me up from the street. Memories flood back. I realize I still have the mittens in my hand. It all started with those mitts.
I shudder. So much had happened in those two weeks! I’m a different person! In the glass pane of the terrace door, I see my reflection in this suit, which looks like a romper, with the thick diaper underneath. I can’t even close my legs completely, the diaper is so thick. And on top of that, all the leather straps, plus the hood and the head harness. What a sight! It looks so ridiculous, so humiliating, but I don’t feel it that way at all.
At first, even a diaper was incredibly embarrassing for me, and now I find all these restraints and the romper and everything normal, yes, somehow it feels cozy, safe, and comforting. That’s how far Bob brought me! Always new humiliations, always a little further, so that I hardly noticed. Using the diaper took such a lot of willpower at first, and now I use it without thinking. With the catheters, Bob had initially taken away my control over my bladder by force. And then he conditioned me with catheters and diapers until I simply forgot or gave up to control my bladder.
One thought scares me. Will I even be able to go without a diaper anymore? If I put on normal underwear and pants now, I’ll really have to concentrate to avoid wetting myself. And what will it feel like without the plug? Should I just keep the diaper on, in case I have an accident on the bus? Better to be on the bus with a diaper than with wet pants? I have absolutely no desire to take the diaper off. It’s soft and warm. The crotch straps of the romper suit keep it comfortably snug and secure. Yesterday I wanted to rip it off, but only because I was so horny and really wanted to cum. After milking today, that urge is gone for now.
Why did Bob do that? He said I wouldn’t have another orgasm until I made a decision. Well, in a broad sense, that’s true; he never specified whether it was before or after the decision. I assumed I wouldn’t ejaculate again until I’d decided. That’s why I was worried I’d have to make the decision when I was incredibly horny and dependent on Bob. I thought that was his plan. My penis was supposed to decide. But after eight orgasms, my penis is silent. Had I misjudged Bob? Was he actually playing fair? Maybe he wants ME to make the decision, not my penis. In a way, that would fit with Bob, but in a way, it wouldn’t. He’s used my horniness against me so often, lured me into traps. He’s never milked me dry like he did today. Usually, I was already hard again just minutes after orgasm. He kept me horny the whole time to manipulate me. But the last two weeks have always been a bit playful; there was always the option to leave him, there was always a back door.
But now I’m standing at this back door. Now I either have to go through it or it’s closed forever. Maybe he also sees the seriousness of the situation and wants me to be clear-headed when I make the decision. A lot is at stake.
My gaze falls on my phone and my wallet. Both are lying on the table next to my backpack. I reach for my wallet. Money, credit cards, ID. Everything is there. I stare at my phone. I have a bad feeling about it. Should I turn it on? What will I find? It’s been off for a good two weeks now. I’m afraid it’ll be full of accusatory messages. Where are you? Get in touch! But actually, I’m almost more afraid that there won’t be any messages at all. My family has been very reserved towards me since I came out. It didn’t really fit into their worldview; it was a bit embarrassing for everyone. They usually only call me when they need me, when I’m supposed to come to a family gathering or something like that, and it’s always accompanied by awkward questions like, “Are you bringing someone with you?” and then the relief that I’m coming alone. There’s still this attitude that it’s better for gay people to keep a low profile. And I’ve never made any close friends. I’ve always been a loner. Among my friends too, my coming out has rather unsettled many.
I have a brief impulse to turn on my phone to see if there are any messages. That might help me decide. I quickly dismiss the thought. That’s not how I want to decide. But the thought has taken root in my mind. Who would miss me? Who would I miss? I can’t think of anyone. Only Bob. Bob would miss me. And I would miss him. I feel like Bob is the only person I’ve truly mattered to in recent years. Sure, he’s been tough, almost brutal at times, these past few weeks, but he’s taken care of me around the clock. He’s always been there. Yes, in his own special way, he loves me. That much is obvious. But will I be able to handle it if he keeps demanding more and more from me, like he has these past two days? Just yesterday, I was determined to leave!
Damn, I’m going in circles again. I’ve had all these thoughts before! I’m not getting anywhere like this. How much time have I wasted already? I pull myself together. I wanted to check if I could really just leave or if there was some kind of trap lurking here. Backpack, clothes, wallet, phone. Everything’s there. I could run away at any time if necessary. But I’m standing here frozen. I stare at my things. Then at my reflection in the glass of the terrace door. I’d hoped I’d see things more clearly if I at least had the reassurance that Bob wasn’t playing games, no tricks, no hidden agenda. But no, it doesn’t help me one step further! I’m just as indecisive as I’ve been the whole time! It doesn’t help that I don’t know how much time has passed, how much time is left. How long are two hours anyway? That puts even more pressure on me. For a moment, I have the urge to just throw myself on the ground and wait for Bob.
But then I hear something! A car? I stay perfectly still, listening intently. Is Bob coming back already? It can’t have been two hours. I listen with bated breath to see if the car is getting closer or driving by. It’s getting closer. I run to a spot in the garden where I can see the street and the driveway to Bob’s house. Now I see it. It’s a delivery van. I’m a little relieved. It turns into the driveway to Bob’s house. I hold my breath. What’s going on? It can’t be a coincidence. Is it one of Bob’s games? I hide behind the bushes; I don’t want the delivery man to see me. Suddenly, I’m embarrassed by my outfit in the romper and diaper.
The van stops in front of the house, the delivery man takes a rather large package out of the van and carries it to the front door. I hear the doorbell inside. He’s waiting. He takes a few steps back, looks around. I press myself even further behind the bushes. He takes his phone out of his pocket, looks at the package, and dials a number. He waits. Then he talks. I can’t understand what he’s saying, but he leaves the package in front of the door, gets into his car, and drives away.
I breathed a sigh of relief. I don’t know what scared me more: the possibility that it could have been Bob, or that a complete stranger, a “normal” person, could have seen me like that. I would have been so embarrassed! The delivery man was like a window into another world, my old world, where adults don’t wear diapers, aren’t tied up and gagged. Was I so blinded that I thought all of this was normal? Maybe it was because of everyone around me, Tom, Jad, the guys at the party… for them it’s normal, but no. Three weeks ago, this wasn’t normal for me! Even if I had certain fantasies. Maybe the delivery man was the sign I needed! A glimpse into the real world! The delivery man and the fact that my balls are as drained as they haven’t been in years!
Was it a coincidence that the delivery man arrived right now? Or is this Bob’s plan? If it was Bob’s plan, it’s backfiring. Now I’m determined to end it all. Suddenly it all seems so absurd. How delusional must I have been to seriously consider becoming Bob’s slave, without any say, without any chance of escape? I’m suddenly struck again by how meticulously he planned everything, ensuring no trace leads back to him. Only his closest friends even know what I look like. Not even Doggy has ever seen my face. The phone’s been off since we got in the car. There’s no way to trace anything. If I stayed, I’d be completely at his mercy. He had me so completely wrapped around his finger that I didn’t see the threat. But now I see it clearly. And the clearer I see it, the more fear rises within me. I’m starting to panic.
Run! I have to get out of here! How much time do I have left? I run back to the blanket where the keys are still lying. With trembling fingers, I search for the keys to the head harness. But my elbows are still secured to the strap around my torso. I can’t get a good grip on the harness. The keys fall off several times. Maybe I should free my arms first. That’s not so easy either. When I reach my right hand towards my left elbow, I pull my elbow further behind my back. If I were calmer, it would probably work, but right now I’m too shaky. It’s such luck that I started to free myself enough right at the beginning to ensure I could definitely run away! It was good to act so thoughtfully; it’s proving true now.
I decide to run away just as I am. I can hide in the woods and then calmly unlock everything. Worst case scenario, I’ll just jump on the bus. Screw my pride, I just need to get out of here! I can send or return Bob’s things when I’m safe. Yes, that’s what I have to do. But first, I just need to get out of this garden, in case Bob comes back.
My hands are still trembling, so I gather up the keys. There are so many, and I’m afraid of losing them. I go to the table, wanting to put them somewhere. The backpack feels too unsafe. I can’t put it on because my arms are still tied at the elbows. If I really have to run away, I might have to leave it behind. My gaze falls on the mitts, which are still lying on the table. Bob gave them to me as a gift. I definitely want to take them with me. As a memento. And because they’ve just kind of turned me on from the very beginning. I hesitate for a moment, thinking again of Bob, when he first put them on me and how I snuggled up to his arm in the car. No! I push the thought away. But I have an idea: I stuff all the keys into the mitts, pull the straps tight as best I can, and tie the mittens together. They form a handy bundle. That way, the keys are secure and safe to carry!
I quickly slip on my shoes, then pack the rest of my clothes, phone, and wallet into my backpack. I grab the backpack. It’s heavy; I have to carry it with both hands. I can only manage to wedge the bundle of mittens securely between my hands. I glance at the table to see if anything’s missing, then I hurry to the garden gate. Bob hadn’t locked it, had he? A final surge of panic, and I run to the gate and try the handle. It’s not locked!
Freedom
I open the gate and see the path to freedom before me. Actually, it’s a meadow. I think it belongs to Bob. The grass is high, but a strip has been mowed, forming a path. It’s about 20 meters long and leads to the track that connects Bob’s house to the road. As he said, then down the road to the main road, that’s where the bus stop is. I think I know where it is. I saw the bus stop once on a car ride with Bob. Even with the heavy backpack, it’s less than ten minutes. Given my fear, I don’t care at all that I’m still wearing the romper and diaper.
I glance back at the house one last time. My heart aches again. I see Bob’s sad eyes from my dreams. I push away my tears, turn around, and leave the garden through the gate.
And yet I hesitate. Not because of Bob. He seems to be losing his power over me. I hesitate because I feel like I’ve overlooked something. Something Bob once said or hinted at.
What did he overlook? Leave a comment.
To be continued…
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The story is a mixture of different fantasies. Some scenes I have experienced myself in a similar, usually somewhat more harmless form. Some scenes came to my mind when I saw photos or videos of sessions, and some scenes were inspired by stories I read here or elsewhere on the internet. However, the feelings I am describing are to a large extent what I have actually experienced.
Romeo: https://www.romeo.com/profile/bondagegimp
Recon: bondagegimpSTGT
Instagram: https://www.instagram.com/bondagegimp/
X: bondagegimp1
Bluesky: bondagegimpstgt.bsky.social