By Bind

I have had several close calls with self bondage.  It is a very dangerous activity.  Here are four times when I was a teenager when I nearly killed myself by accident, or caused serious damage to myself.

 

Story 1:  The Dog Chain

 

We owned the stupidest dog in the world.  It was completely un-trainable.  It couldn’t even learn “sit.”  Every time anyone went into the back yard the dog jumped all over them and sniffed their crotch.

I used to take him on walks with one of my sisters or younger brother.  The dog would get so excited about going on a walk that it would run all around the yard if it heard the sound of the dog chain.  We had a choke chain that went around the dog’s neck for taking him on walks.  The dog was so stupid and excited about going on walks that he pulled very hard on the leash and would choke himself on the choke chain.  One day I got the choke chain and took it into the bathroom where I could get some privacy.  My oldest sister was the only other person in the family who was home.  First I tried it out around my neck to see how it felt.  Then I put the chain through the loop and started to wrap it around my wrists.  I twisted my hands around and around causing the chain links to knot and catch.  Eventually the chain was very tight around my wrists and I could not twist the chain any tighter.  I could not get my hands out of the chain unless I twisted it back in the other direction.  The chain was so tight around my wrists that I could feel my fingers going numb as my circulation was being cut off.  So I tried to twist my wrists back in the other direction to loosen the dog chain.  But my wrists had become swollen and the chain had become caught in the middle.  I kept trying to get it undone, but I was stuck.  I had succeeded in chaining my hands together in such a way that I could not escape.  I felt a sense of panic as my fingers continued to lose feeling.  The chain around my wrists were cutting in painfully and I could feel and smell the sweat that was dripping from my face and soaking the under arms of my shirt.  In desperation I unlocked the bathroom door and looked for my sister.  I was very embarrassed to show my sister the predicament that I was in, but I knew that time was running out before I caused major damage to my fingers and hands from the loss of circulation.   When I found her I made an excuse that I was just messing around with the dog chain and it got stuck.  She tried to work it off, but was unable to free me.  My hands at this point had nearly lost all feeling.  Finally we went out into the garage where my Dad had an old handsaw for cutting metal.  I held my chain bound hands against the vice and she started to cut through the chain that was twisted between my wrists.  Suddenly I felt a burning in my wrists.  The friction from the saw had heated up the metal chain, and it was burning me.  I screamed for her to stop cutting.  She let the chain cool down, and then sawed just a little bit at a time to keep it from getting too hot.  The saw blade, which had probably not been replaced since 1950, was dull so it took quite a while to cut through.  Suddenly the chain snapped and I was free.  There were red indentations in my wrists from the chain, and eventually most of the feeling came back into my hands and fingers.  But the feeling on the top of my hands did not fully return.  They continued to have a loss of feeling that lasted for a few months.  I feared that my sister would tell on me, but she protected my deep dark secret.  I threw the chain away in the trash can outside under some garbage.  I wore a long sleeve shirt for a day until the marks went away on my wrists.

 

Story 2:  Garage Suspension

 

I found an old belt in the trash.  I got a ladder and set it up in the garage.  I took my new belt and strapped it around my wrists binding my hands together.  I climbed up on the ladder and strapped the old belt though the rafters and around the belt that tied my hands.  My hands were now bound together above my head to the rafters of the garage.  I was shaking in a nervous excitement and felt compelled to knock the ladder down from under my feet.  I kicked it down with my feet which made me drop down a couple of feet.  The belt tightened around my wrists.  I was now suspended by my bound hands.  I squirmed around as I hung there; my feet were dangling several feet off of the floor.  I realized that I was screwed.  There was no way to raise myself up in order to reach the buckle and undo the belt.  I was home alone, trapped.  Already the weight of my body was causing the circulation to be cut off of my hands.  I felt the stress on my shoulders and arms.  Without any physical stimulation, I had a full orgasm as I hung there.  Sweat poured down my face as I felt the panic knowing that I was in deep trouble.  I kicked and swayed, but there was no way for me to release myself.  I prayed for God to help me out of this situation.  No miracle happened.  I kept twisting and turning though, and I noticed that as I did this, the old belt was beginning to tear a little bit.  I kept twisting and fighting my bonds until suddenly the old leather tore though and I fell to the concrete floor.  My arms ached and I was soaked through with perspiration.

The suspension by my wrists had been scary, but also very exciting to me.  I wanted to be suspended again, but this time by my feet.  It took several weeks until I was alone in the house and had the opportunity to try it.  I found some rope in the garage and tied my legs together.  Then I wrapped the rope around between my legs lashing them together.  I threw the end of the rope over the exposed beam in the rafters and started to pull down on the rope.  I was able to pull my feet up right off of the floor as I pulled.  I nearly hit my head on the concrete as I shifted from standing to dangling.  It took some strength to hoist up my body, and the rope burned in my hands.  Blisters quickly developed in both of my hands as I continued to pull myself up, and eventually my legs were up to the beam.  With quite a bit of effort I was able to tie the rope off at my feet with a knot.  I hung there dangling from my rope bound feet.  I felt a strong feeling of helplessness and danger as I hung upside down. The rope around my ankles was painful, but bearable.  As I hung and swayed there I felt the bodily fluid run through my pants and up my shirt.  I felt an exciting sense of euphoria as I fantasized that I was a prisoner who had been hung upside down like this as a torture in some horrible prison.  I had not hung myself in this position before, so I was not certain that I would be able to release myself.  This added to the thrill of my bondage.  After a while, I began to get dizzy and a little bit sick to my stomach from the blood rushing to my head so I did an upside down sit up and reached up to untie the knot.  It was not easy to do.  The knot had tightened.  I put one arm around the beam to hold me up, and used the other hand to untie the knot.  As I tried to free myself, my stomach suddenly cramped from the stress.  It was very painful, but I knew that I needed to get the knot undone quickly before I lost my strength to hold my body up.  I felt a sense of panic, but worked hard to keep my wits about me.  I kept working at it and eventually the knot loosened and I dropped suddenly to the floor hitting my head on the concrete below.  I got a bump on my head, a strain on my neck, and two popped blisters on my hands from pulling the rope that held up all of the weight of my body.  Fortunately, I didn’t break my neck.  I knew that what I had done was dangerous, but my desire to do it again outweighed any common sense (if any) I may have had.  Over the course of my high school years I suspended myself several times in the garage when I found myself alone.

 

Story 3:  Wire Bondage

 

In the 1970’s there was a T.V. show called “Mission Impossible,” which my Dad used to watch.  I started to like the show myself because of the bondage that they had in it from time to time.  I remember one episode quite vividly.  One of the “good guys” in the show, Mr. James Phelps, (played by Peter Graves), was taken prisoner by a “bad guy.”  The villain took some metal wire and wrapped it around Mr. Phelps wrists.  Then he took some pliers and twisted the ends of the wire together until it was tight around his wrists and quite inescapable.  Of course the hero did find a way to escape, but as I watched that episode, I became quite excited and aroused at the severity of a captive being bound with wire.  I thought about the idea for weeks after that.  The thought became a fixation and desire that I found hard to suppress.  One afternoon I found myself alone again for a couple of hours at the house.  Every time I was alone at my parents’ house was an opportunity for me to engage in self bondage; I took that opportunity almost every time.  My dad had a vice that was attached to a work bench.  He had another one with a heavy base that was not attached to anything.  I got the unattached vice and put in on the floor of the garage.  I found some wire and used a pair of wire cutters to cut it to the correct length.  Then I took the two ends of the wire and secured them tightly in the vice so that they would not come out.  This created a loop that I could put both of my hands through.  The loop was just big enough to get them through.  The next thing I did was to move myself around the vice, with my hands though the loop, so that the wire would twist and tighten around my wrists as I turned.  I went around and around until the wire became snug around my wrists so that I could not free my hands.  My idea was to eventually escape by just reversing my direction to make the wire unwind.  It may have been a good idea if it were not for the fact that I was using a fairly thick wire that was quite soft.  I was also so bent on making my predicament severe that I did not stop twisting around when I should have.  The wire suddenly snapped off at the vice leaving my wrists tightly bound and unattached to the vice.  There was now no way to reverse direction and get free.  I felt that wonderful feeling of helplessness and excitement which I had felt before, knowing that I had succeeded in binding my hands together with wire in such a way that I could not escape.  I pretended in my mind that I was James Phelps in a terrible predicament.  After a while, my wrists started to get sore from the wire cutting into me, so I tried to find a way to get free.  The broken ends of the wire were too short to put into the vice.  I did have the wire cutters, but with both of my wrists tied together it was not going to be possible to use my hands to cut the wire.  I tried putting the wire cutters between my knees, but it was way too clumsy and I couldn’t get the cutters to grab onto the wire.   Finally I tried using my teeth to put the cutters in position: open against the wire and wedged down to the top of the workbench.  With my chin I pushed carefully down on the wire cutters and I heard a snap as the wire was cut.  I had some nasty red marks on my wrists from the wire and a red mark on my chin from the wire cutters.  I kept my wrists hidden from view as best as I could until the marks almost completely disappeared a day or two later.

 

Story 4:  The Time I Buried Myself Alive

 

I remember something that was scary and dangerous.  It was also a very foolish thing for me to do.  It was perhaps the closest I ever came to ending up dead in a grave.  It involved a grave; a real hole in the ground grave.    From a young age I liked the feeling of being buried in sand.  The pressure from the weight of it felt really good on my body.  But my desire was to be trapped in it.  My real desire with all bondage was to be so stuck that I could not escape from it.  When I engaged in self bondage, I would need to be able to eventually get out, but if I could make it so that it took a long time to escape, I would get very close to that feeling of being trapped which I craved.  I saw a few westerns and spy movies where men were buried alive in sand or dirt up to their necks with only their heads sticking out.  Those scenes were always a turn on for me.  Burial was, and still is, a major fantasy for me.  We lived only ten miles from the beach, so during the summer I went often with my brother or friends that could drive.  I discovered when I went to the beach that I could bury myself with my arms sticking out, but once buried, it could take quite a long time to dig myself out.  Knowing that I could not get out for a period of time was great.  I remember one time when my friend went with me to Laguna Beach.  I dug a trench and asked him if he wanted me to bury him.  Of course I was thinking that if I buried him, he would want to get revenge and bury me, hopefully for a long time.  He got into the hole in the sitting position with his arms down and I proceeded to bury him.  Within a couple of minutes he panicked.

“Oh my God!  I can’t get out!  Get me out of here!”

He was really scared.  I could see the fear in his face.  He did not like the feeling of being trapped like I did.  I dug him out quickly.  He got out of the hole and told me what a horrible experience it was for him to be buried.  I asked him to bury me, he said no.  I can’t remember if I ever did get buried by my friends at the beach when I was in high school.  I know that when I was in my twenties I was buried alive several times and not able to escape.

The side yard of the house was devoted to growing a garden.  There was a section of ground that for a while was just dirt.  For weeks I had been severely fixated on the idea of being buried alive.  It was another one of those rare times when no one was home.  I had the idea to bury myself in the backyard.  I remember that I put on my swimsuit and went out to the garage to get a shovel.  I was shaking with anticipation as I walked outside and started to dig a trench.  I dug the trench as long as my body and nearly three feet deep.  It looked like a grave and it nearly became mine.  I stacked the dirt right on the sides of the trench so that I could get to it when I was in the hole.  Once I had dug the hole sufficiently deep, I sat in the trench with my legs straight out.  Using the shovel I began to shovel and collapse the damp cool dirt onto my legs.  The dirt was heavy and I buried them so deep that I could not move them at all.  Then I lay back in the trench.  As I looked up, I could see the sky surrounded by the dark dirt sides of the hole.  I was completely below ground level.  I felt like I was lying at the bottom of a grave.  What I didn’t realize was that I had really just dug my own grave.

I began to shovel the dirt onto my stomach until I couldn’t use the shovel anymore.  I threw it out of reach just to make me more trapped.  Now I knew that it would take a very long time to get out because I would have to dig myself out with my hands.  My heart was pounding with excitement as I felt the arousal of knowing that I was buried alive.  I was so driven that I couldn’t stop myself from making my situation worse.  With my hands I continued to collapse the dirt on top of me.  My arms were buried up to my elbows as my hands stuck out above me.  The dirt was surrounding my head so that I could not move it from side to side. The dirt was compressing my chest so that it was hard to take any deep breaths.  The heavy pressure was intense all over my body.  I could smell the organic nature of the dirt.  Suddenly the dirt pile stacked above the right side of my head collapsed right onto my face.  I was plunged into total darkness.  I was completely buried alive except for my hands and upper arms.

I panicked and tried to get my arms around in a position to dig the dirt away from my face.  But the dirt around my arms was up to my elbows and it prevented me from getting my hands to my face.  I cried in terror as I tried to breathe through the dirt.  I could only get the tiniest bit of air.  I opened my mouth to breathe and dirt dumped in filling it up.  I swallowed three large gulps of dirt to get rid of it.  I was suffocating and I knew that I was going to die in the blackness of this grave.  I had finally done it.  I was in a bondage that I could not escape from.  In fact, this was going to be the end of my life.  I continued to try and get my arms loose enough to get my hands to my face.  I did not think that there was any hope of survival.  I did not feel ready to die, yet I knew that in only a few minutes I would suffocate, and be a dead body, already buried in his grave.  I fought to survive and finally got one of my arms free enough to get my hand down to my face.  I quickly dug away the dirt so that just my mouth was exposed.  I gasped for air.  A little more dirt went into my mouth and I breathed some of it into my lungs.  I tried to spit out the dirt.  The muddy spit landed back on my lip.  I pushed back a little more dirt from my face and dug out my eyes.  I could see the light, but my vision was blurry because my eyes were full of dirt.  I was starting to get a little bit of hope that I would survive when suddenly a large chuck of dirt that I had just dug away from my face collapsed right back down plunging me back into the darkness of the grave.  I felt a horrible pit in my stomach and a feeling of terror as I realized that I was not going to survive this after all.  Gravity was working against me.  Any dirt that I removed was going to just collapse back down.  I had buried myself too deep.  This was the end.  I was going to die.  It was an awful frightening realization.  I thought that I should just relax and just accept death.  This feeling only lasted a couple seconds. I was going to fight my way out until I passed out.  I really needed some air fast and I frantically pushed the dirt away from my mouth and nose.  This time I made sure that as I pushed away the dirt, it would be far enough away as not to collapse again on my face.  Then I tried to pack the soft sides as much as I could to try and stabilize the dirt.

I was exhausted from struggling and my panic was causing me to breathe harder, but the pressure of the dirt on my chest was not letting me get enough air.  I realized that if I was going to have any chance of survival, I would have to slow down my breathing and not panic.  I could not think clearly while in a panic.  I lay in my grave with just my mouth and nose exposed for several minutes as I caught my breath and tried to reduce my panic.  I managed to slow down my breathing and calmed down enough to think more clearly.  I thought about just waiting for someone to rescue me but discarded that idea quickly for two reasons.  First, I was afraid that I wouldn’t be able to get enough air over time if I just waited because of the pressure on my chest.  Second, the embarrassing mental picture of being discovered by my parents buried in this hole with only my hands sticking out made me shudder.  I had to dig myself out in such a way that I would not have to breathe too hard.

I began to slowly remove dirt, one small handful at a time.  First I got it all off of my face and then started to work on getting the dirt off of my chest.  I would throw each handful of dirt as far away from me as I could.  After about twenty minutes I had enough dirt removed from my upper body that I was able to breathe just fine.  Both of my arms were now free so I was able to sit up a little and push some dirt under my back to lift me up a little bit.  I wanted to make sure that if there was another cave in, my head would be up and out of the hole.  With my chest free, I dug as quickly as I could.  I was exhausted and thirsty.  My mouth and tongue were dry.  I blew muddy mucus out of my nose into my hand.  My eyes were irritated from the dirt that was in them.  Eventually I removed enough dirt that only my legs were buried.  I tried to pull out my legs but the dirt was too heavy and packed and I got a painful cramp in my calf.  I was still very stuck.  I could not believe how long it took just to dig out my legs.  I was now sitting up and was anxious to get free so I dug faster.  I wasn’t paying attention to where I was stacking the dirt and the pile of dirt caved back in on me burying me back up to my chest.  I was frustrated as I dug because I would seem to have myself pretty well dug out and there would be another cave in to delay my escape.

I have no idea of how long I was trapped in the dirt, but when I got out my whole body was filthy.  My mouth was dry with dehydration and my muscles ached from struggling. I had abrasions on my elbows and knuckles, as well as broken and ripped fingernails from digging.  I got out of the hole, and with the last energy that I had left, I filled in the hole and cleaned everything up.  Getting cleaned up was a chore in its self.  After my shower it took about a half an hour just to clean the dirt from the shower.  I went into my bedroom exhausted and plopped myself onto my bed.  I lay there not moving at all, just relaxing feeling clean again and free.  Laying my head on that soft foam pillow felt so luxurious to me in comparison to the predicament I had been in an hour earlier.  For a few days I was coughing up mud that was in my lungs.  Surprisingly, this brush with death did not remove or even reduce my fixation to be buried alive and within two weeks I buried myself again in the same place, but this time I kept my head above the ground.

 

Final Note: 

 

Unfortunately in my adult life I have been foolish enough with self-bondage to have had several other very close calls.  Thousands of people die every year because of self-bondage that went wrong.  Do not be one of those numbers.  Get a bondage buddy and play safe.

 

Metal would like to thank Bind for sharing this here. You can find Bind on Recon and on FetLife, and he is also featured at Serious Male Bondage