Escape Artist Bondage Stories

Escape Artist Bondage Stories

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tip: katekyou "alternate universe" sort:>words

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To convince Peter that's its okay to bring his handcuffs into the bedroom, Neal brings them onto center stage.

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Darkfang-Thwackerr just joined the crew!
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7 years after the end of hundred year war, Princess Azula was still kept in very tight bondage to stop her from attacking her jailers. This however didn’t help her addled mind. That's why they brought in her old friend Ty Lee to help her. Ty Lee prepared to do her best to help her old friend, even if it meant using unconventional therapy techniques on the helpless princess. Tigther straitjackets, bigger gags, spanking, even forced orgasms and any sadistic torment that came to the contortionist's head was used on Azula. Only vengeance would sooth the firey princess's rage and thanks to a mistake she'd have it soon... find out more in our newest series!
Authors: Dracowhip (art), Alt Cover (BONDAGARNA), Red´s ABDL CREATIONS and LOMBOMB (corrections), Linda (texts, lettering), Boob2003 (author)
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You are free to copy, distribute and transmit this work under the following conditions:

These stories first appeared on a site run by Jennifer, and tell of a young girl discovering tie-up games in the late fifties and early sixties in Britain...
This story is an account of my earliest experience of being tied up.
As we played more games, the issue was could we escape - and could Mum stop us from escaping...
My cousin Annie would babysit when our parents went dancing - and she would play the games with us. Then she started to use rope...
After Annie left the ropes, we started to use rope in our games. Then came the day our brother wanted to be tied to the chair...
When looking in the back of a second-hand store, my sister and I found a box of old handcuffs - and we asked Dad if he could fix them...
Watching an escape artist on a variety show, we wondeered if we could create something like the jacket he wore for ourselves...
What Karen and I really wanted to do was go out in public tied and gagged - and one cold winter's day gave us the chance...
I became friends with a girl down the street - and we learned from each other...
Three short stories which lead to a Christmas surprise...
After Christmas, we always visited my grandparents - and this time, we asked if we could go as hostages...
On a summer visit to Grandma, my sister decided not to help with the chores...
On another visit to our grandparents, my Canadian cousins were there, and they suggested a game of Capture the Flag...
When I came down with Chicken Pox, my mother had to take unusual measures to stop me scratching...
After the events of Canadian Invasion, I was surprised by my cousins - and my aunt was not happy...
I had an idea of how to tie myself with rope - but it had one problem...
The challenge was simple - to enter the park, deliver something and leave without been spotted...

This story consists of three linked episodes. The second episode
also links to my previous set of reminiscences about handcuffs, but, other than
that, I can't really date these with any degree of confidence. Possible years
are anything from 1958-1961. I have written them us as if they followed on
fairly closely after each other, but that's really just a device to make the
narrative flow better. Similarly, I have injected dialogue where necessary, but
I can't honestly claim to remember the exact words that were spoken so many
years ago. On the other hand, I do still seem to be able to remember how my
sister and I were tied up in vivid detail.
I don't think I had heard the term 'straitjacket' until I was about nine
years old (or if I had, it didn't make any impression on me). It was while
watching children's television with my sister one afternoon (this was back in
the late 1950s, when British television was small, flickery and black-and-white
and there were only two channels) that we saw a straitjacket in action for the
first time. I haven't a clue what the programme was that we were watching, but
this particular segment of it featured an escape artist who specialised in
doing a very quick straitjacket escape.
The sequence began with the performer being inserted into the jacket.
The compère of the show pointed out the strength of the jacket's canvas
construction and the robustness of its leather straps and big metal buckles. We
saw the performer being helped into the jacket. The compère showed us
that the long sleeves of the jacket completely covered the artist's arms and
hands and had no hidden openings in them. We watched while two assistants
fastened the back of the straitjacket shut with a series of leather straps and
buckles. Another strap went between the performer's legs and was buckled to the
back of the jacket. The escape artist then crossed his arms in front of him and
the assistants pulled the ends of the straitjacket sleeves around behind his
back and buckled them together.
Karen and I were fascinated by how neatly packaged and thoroughly
trussed up the performer now was. Surely nobody could escape from that? The
escape artist dropped first to his knees and then right down onto the floor as
he engaged in a titanic struggle against the straitjacket. We watched
spellbound as his strategy became apparent. He was using his body weight to
force one elbow as far across in front of his body as he could and then to work
the sleeve containing that arm over the opposite elbow and up towards his
shoulder. Eventually, he got the sleeve up over his shoulder and was able to
get it over his head. (I'm sure you've seen escape artists, or at least
pictures of them, using just this method to escape.) The sleeves of the
straitjacket were still buckled together at this point, but the performer was
able to get his arms in front of him. He reached behind his neck and seemed to
be fiddling with the highest strap securing the jacket, manipulating the buckle
with his fingers through the thickness of the canvas sleeve. Suddenly that
strap was undone and some more intense wriggling ensued. Soon, the escape
artist's fingers were visible at the neckline of the straitjacket. He undid
another, possibly another two, of the straps securing the back of the jacket.
The performer got back up onto his feet and, with a little more wriggling, the
straitjacket slid down his body and he was able to step out of it.
My sister and I were enthralled by seeing this and, as soon as it was
over, we went off to tell our mother what we had seen. It was she who explained
to us that the garment we had seen was called a straitjacket. (We thought that
was a funny name as it didn't look to be any straighter than any other kind of
jacket, but she explained that 'strait' was an old-fashioned word meaning
'narrow'.) She also explained that it was used to restrain mentally ill people
who might be a danger to themselves or others.
Naturally, being the kind of little girls we were, Karen and I decided
to try to replicate the straitjacket at the earliest possible opportunity. We
decided that a sweater with its sleeves knotted together might present a
similar challenge. Although my sister is over a year older than me, I was
significantly taller and more heavily built than her (and indeed still am as an
adult), so we tried one of my sweaters on her, a heavy winter one. It was quite
roomy on me and vastly too big for Karen. The sleeves came right down over her
hands, which was exactly what we wanted. She crossed her arms, as we had seen
the escape artist do, and I pulled the ends of the sleeves round behind her
back and knotted them together. Given the enormous struggle the performer we
had watched put up in order to make good his escape, we thought that Karen
might well be completely helpless. However, very much to our surprise, Karen
found it quite easy to work one sleeve up to her shoulder and over her head,
without any of the thrashing around on the floor that the escape artist seemed
to need. We tried again, this time pulling the sleeves much tighter, but it
made almost no difference to how easy it was for Karen to escape.
We wondered if the sweater was actually too loose on Karen, so I put it
on instead. The sleeves were too short to be knotted together on me, but could
still be pulled down over my hands. We linked them by using one of the old
winter scarves in the box of tying-up supplies we kept in our wardrobe. We
tried several times, pulling everything tighter each time, but, just as Karen
had found, I had no real difficulty escaping.
We tried again without the sweater but with my arms in the same position
and with my wrists linked together by a scarf going behind my back. Once again,
I could free myself within seconds. It was a little more difficult without the
stretchiness of the sweater sleeves, but not significantly so.
Finally, I wore a pair of mittens to protect my skin and Karen used rope
to link my wrists in a sort of straitjacketless straitjacket position. There
was a small amount of struggling to get the rope to ride up over my elbow and
then over my shoulder, but it really wasn't difficult. Years later, I
discovered that this tie-up, done with rope, as we had done it, is called a
'Jacobi tie' and it was popular both with stage performers and fraudulent
spirit mediums precisely because it looks so utterly incapacitating yet is
simplicity itself to get out of.
Karen and I were driven to the conclusion that the performance we had
seen on television was just that: a performance, an act. The escape artist's
predicament looked quite impressive, but on the basis of our own experience, we
reckoned that he could have escaped from his straitjacket with far less effort
and in a fraction of the time. Of course, it would have been much less exciting
that way and he would never have been on television doing it.
We were disappointed, but nevertheless puzzled. A straitjacket was
clearly a perfectly genuine piece of equipment intended to restrain unruly
psychiatric patients; our mother recognised it from our description and a quick
check in an encyclopaedia confirmed her explanation. (There was even an drawing
of a man strapped into one.) The question remained, however, if they were as
easy to escape from as we believed, why were they used?
Months later, possibly over a year later, enlightenment came in the form
of a newspaper advertisement. I no longer remember what it was advertising, but
it was one of those ones with a slogan along the lines of "You'd have to be
crazy not to...". The picture was of a middle-aged woman in a straitjacket,
gagged with a handkerchief and with her ankles roped together. My mental image
of the picture is crystal clear, so much so that years later I was able to
identify the straitjacket as a Posey, just from memory. The interesting thing
for Karen and me was that the straitjacket had a loop of fabric on the front,
through which the wearer's arms were passed, and just visible in the shadow
under one arm was another smaller loop through which the strap attached to the
opposite sleeve went. Now we understood that the makers of real straitjackets
had anticipated the escape strategy that the escapologist had used. To our
eyes, the arrangement looked to be inescapable. While it was interesting, Karen
and I couldn't think of away of applying our new-found understanding, but we
kept the newspaper cutting anyway.
Having failed to produce anything remotely secure, my sister and I gave
up on trying to devise our own straitjacket until the incident I described in
my story "Handcuffs", when I got stuck after tying myself up and handcuffing
myself. I came away from that with badly and deeply bruised wrists. For some
time afterwards I couldn't tolerate pressure on my wrists, so being handcuffed
or tied with rope was completely out of the question. We experimented with our
old standby of using winter scarves, but although that was less painful than
rope anything tight enough to be even remotely secure still hurt too much.
After some thought, Karen pointed out that our attempt at using a
sweater as a straitjacket didn't put any pressure on the wrists at all. I
agreed with her but reminded her that we had never managed to make it
escape-proof. Karen took the optimistic view that re-visiting the problem might
suggest a solution. My sister tended to take a slightly Micawberish view that
'"something would turn up", and her optimism was often vindicated, so I
concurred with the suggestion.
It was a weekday afternoon and I was still dressed in my school uniform
dress, a grey tunic (one of those pinafore dresses that are sometimes
mistakenly called 'gymslips'). It was a chilly November day, so I had worn a
thin white sweater underneath it instead of the proper shirt and tie. I removed
the grey cardigan I was wearing on top and shed the tunic. I dithered about
putting a skirt on, but decided that I would be all right in my sweater and red
school tights. Karen put a pair of socks over my hands to stop the sleeves of
my sweater from rucking up then helped me put my heavy navy blue sweater on
top, the one we had used in our earlier experiment. I crossed my arms and Karen
pulled the sleeves down over my hands. She took one of the old scarves from our
tying up box and knotted it to one sleeve then pulled it tight across my back
as she tied it to the other sleeve.
We pondered what to do next, then my sister suggested enlisting some
help from our mother to see if she could make any suggestions.
We went downstairs from our bedroom and found our Mum in the kitchen. We
delivered quite a long complicated explanation about the escape artist we had
seen on televison (which she knew about), the experiments we had carried out
(which she was only vaguely aware of) and our conclusion that the television
performer had been pretending his escape was much harder than it really was.
Finally, we showed her the newspaper cutting and pointed out that the straps
over the photographic model's arms would prevent the type of escape that we had
found so easy with our improvised straitjacket.
"There ought to be a strap between her legs too," I pointed out, "but
you can see that it's been tucked up inside the jacket for the photograph."

"They probably couldn't do it up because she's wearing a skirt," Mum
suggested.
"How can we do something to keep Becca's arms down like that?" Karen
asked, pointing to the newspaper advertisement and bringing the conversation
back to the point.
Mum thought for a moment then said, "I think we can do it quite easily."
She described one of the scarves in our collection of tying-up material and
sent Karen to fetch it.
Karen ran upstairs and returned about half a minute later, handing the
scarf, one about four feet long, to our mother. Mum shook the scarf out (it was
a trifle crumpled) then found the centre. She hung it over my forearms (which
were parallel across my tummy) with one end going down between my arms and my
body and the other hanging free in front of me. She took hold of the two ends,
passed them between my legs and tied them together around the scarf that linked
the sleeves of my sweater and ran across the small of my back.
Karen and I were delighted at the ingenuity and simplicity of Mum's
solution. My sweater had been transformed in an instant into a very effective
improvised straitjacket. There was now no way that I could raise either arm
enough to get the a sleeve over my head and thus escape. At the same time,
there was no stress whatever on my bruised wrists. I was completely helpless
but perfectly comfortable.
"Do you want to try it too?" Mum asked Karen, who was very obviously
just as taken with my predicament as I was myself.
"Let's go upstairs and find a sweater then," our mother suggested.
Without waiting another instant, Karen ran out of the kitchen and I
could hear the thumps as she took the stairs two at a time. Mum followed at a
more sedate pace and I brought up the rear. I was not about to risk falling on
the stairs, so I took them slowly and carefully.
By the time I arrived in my bedroom, Karen had already divested herself
of most of her school uniform. Unlike me, she had been wearing a grey ski
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