HOUDINI CONNECTS - THE STORY

EXCERPT - DOUBLE BONDAGE

7850 WORDS - prints as 10 pages

Married-with-kids British fire-fighter Chunky Proctor has for years fantasised about man-to-man bondage. Now, in a back-street ‘kink shop’ in a Northern industrial town he has been given a safe opportunity to explore.

After a photo-session manacled in full fire-fighting gear, Chunky with hands still locked to a chain around his neck and with booted ankles manacled together by a short chain, the young owner of the set-up, Robert, is enjoying showing off more of the facilities.

A PRISONER FOR A PRISONER TO PLAY WITH:

Across the cobbled yard, what used to be a small Victorian dairy had been adapted imaginatively into a cool bright, totally tiled wet-room. High bricked-up windows were now covered with mirrors; while sleek but functional overhead metal bars, lights and pulleys (and at least two CCTV cameras) fired Chunky’s imagination. The tiled floor with several inset drains promised different opportunities. It was virtually an empty space apart from, in one corner, some neat chrome wall racks ..... and close to the far wall between two metal posts a figure stood tightly spread-eagled.

The fire-fighter’s heart leapt as he recognised the dull yellow of American heavy-duty fire kit complete with rubber hip boots with day-glow stripes and toe caps (steel toe-caps, he had no doubt). The mask under the authentic-looking safety helmet looked strangely dense - the visor had been blacked out. He moved towards the figure as if drawn by a magnet.

He peered at the tethered wrists. The hands were covered with rigid-looking horse-hide mitts which disappeared inside the bulky cuffs of the over-coat, where neat wrist shackles locked the mitts, while at the same time serving as anchor-points to string up the arms high and tight. The fact that Chunky’s own wrists were locked into identical manacles currently attaching his gloved hands immobilised on either side of his neck, fired a shot of excitement through him. He turned to Robert - who beamed.

“Thought you might like this. Rigged it up specially for you. Don’t worry, the mask is blacked out and he’s gagged underneath it”.

“How long’s he been here?”

“Not as long as he would like -- but trust me he’s happy as a pig in shit ... but you may come as a bit of a surprise to him. He wasn’t expecting a stranger - were you Larry?” the young man shouted at the rubberised all-over mask under the exotic looking American safety helmet. The immobilised figure stared back blindly and mutely as Chunky continued to drink in the sight before him.

“Larry, this is A.J.” Robert continued talking into the cheek of the mask. “Say Hello to A.J.” he continued loudly, but the figure remained impassive. “He’s come to play with you - in the nicest possible way”.

Robert turned to Chunky and prepared to unlock the chain around his neck “But ... let me tell you about Larry, A.J” Robert explained, “He’s mean - and if given half a chance will take control and then watch out. I wouldn’t trust him an inch. He’ll grab at any opportunity you give him - so, I’d like to get some pictures of you releasing him from this spread-eagle and repositioning him somewhere else. Are you up for that?” asked the youth as he released Chunky’s wrists (but leaving the single locked shackles that circled each cuff making the thick work gloves impossible to remove). Robert made no move to unchain Chunky’s hobbled boots.

“I’m off to get the cameras - there’s some gear hanging on the rack over there” announced Robert leaving the two soon-to-be adversaries face to face. Chunky’s heart was racing. He checked first the cuffs of the spread-eagled man and then stooped to inspect the ankles. He had always envied the American fire-fighters their rubber hip boots and always wanted a pair. He ran a firm hand slowly up them from ankle to thigh - and then explored the canvas pants that disappeared under the waders. These intrigued him; were they oilskin or waxed waterproof. His hand felt the surface exposed above the waders ... and then slid between the spread legs of the helpless man - who suddenly bucked fiercely within the limits of his chains. Being only attached at wrists and ankles the body movement was considerable ... but Chunky held his ground and, grabbing a fistful of jacket, kept his other hand firmly under the stranger’s crotch, pressing against him with his full bodyweight to stop the violent bucking. It must have been painful on the guy’s hands shackled as they were to the top of the wide frame. Having demonstrated his control, Chunky smiled into the sightless face and proceeded to grope the sizeable cock. “Don’t like that, huh? Good!” he said continuing to massage harder. “Let’s hear just how much noise you can make, chummy” and with that he suddenly squeezed.

A muffled roar penetrated the mask. “Gagged are we?” hissed the newly liberated Chunky Proctor. “How gagged? - very gagged or only slightly gagged? Let me hear you, matey”. Again a vicious twist of the cock and balls produced thrashing and something resembling a scream.

“I think we can live with that noise level” said Chunky, surprising even himself.

But Robert was returning, so Chunky turned his attention to the wall rack and cupboard that contained a useful selection of ropes and chains and straps. The ceiling had winches and a couple of hanging bars, there were wall bars and several useful looking floor fixing points. High-level mirrors gave the place a light airy feeling, but there was also a mirrored section of wall, Chunky was please to see.

“I think,” said Robert, “ some good shots of one semi-chained fire-fighter untying and re-tying another is what’s needed. I think Larry could survive a quite stressful position - if you could dream one up - and manage to get him there. I leave it to you, A.J. Consider me a fly on the wall ... but if you get yourself into difficulties or leave yourself open ... I’m not here to help ... just record the action. OK? You up for that?

Chunky shrugged and considered his options. His suit and gloves were cumbersome but he was used to working in them. The suit felt strangely loose because he’d risked wearing no clothes under it and without socks his booted feet were more in contact with the floor than usual and chained together - but he would enjoy the challenge. Robert was already filming - this time with a video camera. Chunky realised his face would be visible in these shots - but somehow he didn’t care - there was a challenge to meet. This guy was well secured in a quite stressful position - so where should he take him next?

CHANGE OF POSITION:
Suddenly working quickly, Chunky selected a short but heavy piece of rope and, returning behind his quarry, circled the rope around the guy’s chest from behind in a smooth move. Robert knew that he could keep his video coverage in close-up because the two remote-control cameras were recording long-shots from different angles; his partner Alan panning and zooming skilfully as he watched on the monitors in the shop.

A low kick-stool, useful for reaching high shelves in a kitchen, was standing near the cupboard. This Chunky moved cautiously with his (chained) feet in the hope of standing on it behind his victim to reach the wrists shackled high on the frame. But first the rope that circled the yellow oilskin covered chest was attached to a hook hanging from a chain and pulley directly above the spread-eagled figure. Finding the winch control, the rope soon began to tighten until it was almost under the armpits below the victim’s raised arms.

Taking his time, Chunky selected what he needed from the wall rack and turned his attention to the kick-stool and his own metal-circled wrists. He was used to the bulkiness of his jacket, but working with his hands high was going to be an added challenge, so he risked the precariousness of the low stool. It was quite trickly to get both his feet onto the top of the stool - but he managed it. Steadying his balance, he set to work.

Before releasing the clips that held each of the spread-eagled man’s wrists aloft, he first threaded a piece of rope through the anchor point on each. This would give him total control of a wrist as he separately released and repositioned it.

Robert moved in close to capture the process on video, but keeping far enough back in case Larry pulled one of his familiar tricks. The experienced prisoner, as soon as he sensed one wrist being released, grabbed for a chance to make life difficult for whoever this stranger was.

The camera shifted quickly to witness the moment as Chunky determinedly dragged the flailing arm down and, after a slight struggle, twist it up behind the wildly bucking back. There, the rope was soon made off well out of harms way to the central pulley chain above the violently thrashing head. It was a neat arrangement. Releasing and twisting the second mitted hand high up behind the now furious captive and tying it off was easier and more fun for Chunky.

Next, as an experiment, Chunky winched the chest rope higher. Because it was now trapped under the bent arms, the tightening rope took full body weight, supporting the body but putting no extra strain on the hands, helpless between the shoulder-blades.

Robert carefully recorded this ingenious and stressful position, because now the still wide-spread feet were almost winched off the ground by the upward pull of the chest rope, but still anchored to the floor. From behind, Chunky smiled and stooped down to explore the insides of the now straining canvas covered legs inside the hip boots, rubbing his hands over them and bringing his head forward through his victim’s legs, the back of his neck pressing upwards under his captive’s crotch ... causing the tethered boots to leave the floor temporarily.

“Is that stressed enough for you?” he asked into the camera. and Robert panned the camera up the writhing body.

Chunky stood up and walked away as fast as his hobbled ankles would allow, and returned with chain, a padlock and more rope. First he added a waist-chain just like the one still locked around his own waist. The heavy yellow oilskin jacket creaked and bundled up very satisfyingly as the chain was pulled as tight as he could get it before pad-locking it.

This achieved, Chunky hitched up his own cumbersome pants and knelt to attend to the still spread wide and not quite off the ground waders. Again he attached a rope to each ankle shackle separately before releasing either. Sightless, the victim did not know what was going to happen until too late. The first ankle rope, already threaded up through the back of the waist chain yanked the first foot upwards bending the knee without warning. The victim, now suspended by the chest and with one foot still tethered sideways and the other leg hauled back and upwards, roared with rage inside his mask. When the second foot left the ground the trussed bundle just hung there for a moment, boots twisted upwards and arms twisted backwards and upwards. Then the body began to jerk and jolt helplessly, the full bodyweight now hanging from the thick rope loop around the heavily padded jacket. Chunky gave his victim a hearty push before turning and giving a grin directly into the camera. The expertly trussed oilskin and rubber-booted bundle continued to swing and twist and then began to revolve slowly ... as three cameras recorded the development.

Pleased with himself Chunky clanked his way back to the wall cupboard where he had seen a towel. He mopped some sweat from his face and rubbed his short hair while looking to Robert for approval ... but Robert was occupied filming the ingenious predicament as the seething, suffering bundle continued to revolve.

“You want to take a break?” the sweating fireman asked Robert and then loudly into Larry’s rubber-covered ear asked “You want to take a break?”. He gripped two fistfuls of the tough yellow jacket and pulled it towards him. “I asked you a question, Buddy! Let me hear something from you?” Muffled cursing from within brought a smile from both Chunky and Robert.

WHAT NEXT?:

Having switched off the camera Robert asked “Do you get a bigger kick out of tying than being tied?”

“I think it’s just the American gear that got to me. It’s great - where did it come from? It’s authentic - and used - I can smell the smoke - you can never get rid of it!”

“There’s a British company imports it - new or used stuff - they also sell your sort of suit. Pukka stuff - used”

“Yeah? - I wouldn’t mind owning my own set - but these are great” said Chunky, his hands roaming over the trussed figure.

“Wanna give him another change of position?” asked Robert.

“OK - any preferences?”

“Do your worst - our Larry enjoys stressful positions.”

“Then he shall have one” said Chunky setting to work.

As the camera lined up for a low shot of the dangling figure, Fire-fighter Proctor hitched up his pants and spread his feet as far apart as his manacled boots would allow. In this heroic stance he slowly winched down the revolving figure until the bent knees were just touching the tiled floor. Winching further the trussed body began to tilt, balancing lightly on the rubber covered knee-caps. A few more inches and the bodyweight was sagging heavily to one side. A playful push sent the body falling to tilt helplessly in the opposite direction. A quick press of the electric winch control allowed the body to subside gently to the floor with the twisted figure lying face down, ankles tethered to the waist chain, arms attached above the back of the neck but attached only to the winch rope ... so they were now not as tight as they had been previously.

Roberts’ camera was alert to this possible danger point and watched in close-up as the bulky, rubber booted British Fireman knelt to untie and re-tie the American hip boots together although still attached to the back of the waist chain - and the leather-mitted hands missed a chance to lash out ... before Chunky noticed the slack in the rope. He calmly guided / dragged the two reluctant hands and roped them to the ankles. Just for good measure this fierce hog-tie was then re-connected to the hanging winch rope and the line tightened just enough to pull wrists and ankles slightly upwards.

As Robert filmed enthusiastically, crawling around the floor, Chunky sat on the kick-stool and admired his handiwork ... but after what seemed to him to be quite a long time just drinking in the sight of the struggling figure, he asked “How’d you think he’s coping in there?”

“Don’t know - not a position I’ve ever found myself in.” observed Robert.

“Me neither” said Chunky,

“How do you think you would deal with it?” speculated Robert.

The two men looked at each other steadily.

“Don’t know.” responded Chunky, knowing where this conversation was leading. “Like you said ... you can’t really imagine what something like that feels like ... until you’ve tried it.

“Wanna try it now?” There was a pause “Shots of the two of you, both tied the same would look hot”.

“If that’s what you’d like ... sure.”

“If that’s what I’d like?! Yes. that’s what I’d like” decided Robert emphatically.

PHASE FOUR

Chunky promptly hobbled away towards the cupboard again and returned with two lengths of the thinner rope and a thicker piece like the one around Larry’s chest.

“I think we’re going to find we have a lot in common, you and I” smiled Robert as he put down the camera. “Hands behind your back”.

Chunky obliged and an efficient rope square lashing soon rendered him helpless.

“Kneel down” ordered the younger man, and Chunky knelt cautiously, aware of the chain between his manacled rubber boots.

“There is another blacked-out mask if your game.” offered Robert.

“Game for anything, that’s me” joked the man who had for years resisted imagining situations of this sort. Robert looked at him quizzically and, having replaced the leg-irons with another neat piece of rope lashing, walked away to the wall cupboard while Chunky knelt looking at the painfully hog-tied other ‘victim’, wondering what it was going to feel like and whether he could deal with it - and how long he might get left in it.

When Robert returned with the mask he also carried a padded mouth cover and strap.

“He’s gagged under his helmet. Can you deal with that?” Chunky licked his lips and nodded determinedly. It was only then that he saw what sort of gag it was.

“Open up” said Robert as a substantial black plastic mouth stuffer shaped like the head of a penis approached Chunky’s open mouth.

‘This is no time to chicken out’ Chunky told himself silently as his lips received the stumpy veined head of a penis. He watched his own eyes in the mirror as Robert stood behind him securing the strap, Their eyes met in the mirror.

“Usually I advise against having a gag under a full helmet ... but a zip-closed is quicker to get off than laces. How’s that feel?” Chunky’s eyes bulged at him for a moment before his head gave a solemn nod. “Sure you’re OK?” confirmed Robert. Again Chunky nodded very deliberately.

The trussed figure on the floor stirred suddenly and booted ankles began to jerk violently against the waist chain. This was followed by determined struggling against the rope that held the bodyweight up on the winch rope.

Chunky suddenly desperately needed to say something ... and Robert whipped the gag out with surprising speed.

“Is he OK?” asked Chunky, concerned.

“I think you will find he’s deliciously OK” said Robert. “We have a pre-agreed, very easy to read signal if there’s a real problem. Three measured grunts or three distinct nods of the head. Only use it if you want the game to stop. There lies the danger ... If you use the signal the game will stop immediately - but it won’t start again - not that session anyway. He’s just enjoying the luxury of a good self-indulgent struggle. So ... remember that, three grunts or nods and you’re out ... but only if it’s a serious problem. Agreed?”

“Oh ... OK. Agreed.” agreed Chunky, wondering in what circumstances he might ever be forced to use the ‘let out’ signal.

Robert was holding the gag up in front of his face “OK?” he was asking again “under a blacked out helmet.

“If he can deal with it so can I” determined Chunky, rashly.

“That’s the spirit” cooed Robert as he pushed the gag home, strapped it tightly and proceeded to encase Chunky’s head with inescapable rubber.

By the time Robert had circled Chunky’s chest with the thicker rope in preparation for suspension ... and lashed his already roped ankles to his already roped wrists, another figure had silently entered the room. As Robert helped his now not quite so confident victim from a kneeling position onto his face Alan had taken up the video camera and was filming the process. A second winch was lowered - about six feet away from where Larry lay. The hook was attached to Chunky’s connected wrists and ankles and tightened very gently skywards.

Chunky felt the rope pull his weight half off the floor. The plug in his mouth, the effort of breathing inside the mask, his naked skin inside the suit (including a very sticky crotch but once again stiff dick) ... all sent unfamiliar messages to his brain. It was too late to wonder why the fuck he’d thought this would be fun - but he intended to survive it. After all it was the position he’d put the other bloke into. Had that been a deliberate invitation? Is that how it works? Well, that’s worth remembering for the next time - and there would be a next time. He already knew this. Trying to imagine what his contorted body must look like from outside ... remembering how his yellow-clad counterpart had looked - Chunky settled in to savour the sensation of being totally, for the second time in one day, without responsibility for or power over what was to happen next.

ONSLAUGHT

And what was to happen next was to live on for years in the minds of all those involved ... plus the many who later saw the video. Robert had planned well, and Alan had managed to whistle up the ideal person to handle the next event. While Robert tightened the winch pulling Larry a little further off the floor and Alan filmed the process, another figure silently entered the tiled room. He was already dressed for action, being totally encased in a full shining black commercial diver’s dry suit, booted and with neck and wrist seals tight shut.

As the two trussed figures shifted, almost floating face-down but with some weight still on the floor, the three figures swiftly prepared the necessary equipment. Two pairs of rubber boots ensured that Robert and Alan would not get wet feet once the water started to fly. A substantial hosepipe was rolled out from it’s special rack by the black-suited figure as both cameras were made ready.

At a give signal a surprisingly strong jet of water hit first one and then the second trussed figure, causing them to twist and swing. Robert deftly adjusted a lamp so the spray bouncing off the charcoal suited fire-fighter and his yellow clad American counterpart glittered and splashed. The rubber covered hose operator gleefully moved into shot as he dowsed the couple who reacted violently within their bonds as they lay/hung/swung hog-tied and partially suspended face down with water thudding onto and running off them.

Then reducing the flow, the suitably protected rubberman stooped to un-hitch first one and then the other fireman from their winch ropes ... before hosing them both down again at full pressure as they adjusted to their new positions, now free enough to roll around hog-tied on the wet and slippery floor.

Next, having turned the water off, the diver knelt firmly on Chunky’s shoulders and released the rope that connected ankles to wrists. Chunky, relieved from his stressful position but still bound hand and foot, sightless and gagged, thrashed around on the wet tiles as the diver also released Larry’s ankles. In a pre-planned development, Alan now stepped in, the rubber thigh-high waders he’d chosen equipping him for the developments ... and with Robert still filming plus two CCTV cameras also recording (in the capable hands of whoever was currently ‘minding the store’) two chest ropes around two dripping figures were quickly re-attached to two winches and both were soon being remorselessly dragged upright.

The water was soon on again and Robert, flushed with excitement was getting shots of cascades of water bouncing off the two now standing but part-suspended bound figures. Hose still spurting, the diver’s boot set first one and then the other figure swinging violently. Because their ankles were tied, the two ‘victims’ lost and regained their footing on the slippery floor as the jet of water and well aimed prodding kept them off balance.

As an impromptu extension of the scene, Alan signalled that he should take over the hose so the totally rubber-clad guy could be free to harass the two suspended figures and at the same time be a target for the jet of water. This inspired new ideas and a rope soon tied the two trussed figures back to back, suspended jointly because the two winch ropes were now dragged together. Upper arms on each side were roped as water splashed and bounced, directed by enthusiastic Alan. The happy rubberman knelt and, in a chaos of struggling and drenchings, released and re-tied ankles one to the other, the two men suddenly connected to and dependent upon each other if they were to retain a footing on firm ground.

The water suddenly off, Alan and the dripping diver used floor fixings to drag the ankles until the two men stood back-to-back, both with legs spread wide and jointly supported by the winch ropes. Alan placed himself before Larry and jabbed him a couple of times in the gut. This pushed him hard back against Chunky suddenly, throwing them both off balance, Having regained the footing the diver found Chunkys’ rigid cock through his thick pants and grated the end of his knob against the tough fabric. His violent squirming immediately transmitted through to his yellow-clad alter ego.

The exhilaration subsided and three pairs of eyes decided that a final phase would be for the two victims to be left alone to experience their predicament for a while and perhaps find their own solution to their problem. Ankles were released from floor fixings leaving the two back-to-back men a slight independence. But the winch ropes that still held them upright lashed at the elbows, was lowered enough for the trussed pair to perhaps sit or kneel even though still attached to the winch and each other. A few knots were partially untied to allow some chance of escape if they, sightless and gagged, could co-operate to work out a solution in their mute blindness.

Then, in a voice loud enough for the masked men to hear, Alan asked them, individually, if either had any problem with the gag or breathing, to which each man indicated ‘No problem’.

He explained to them that the remote cameras were still running and there would be no further help without a ‘danger’ signal of three nods by either of them - in which case the one who didn’t nod had ‘won’. So, the new game was for them to, between them, find a way out of their predicament, however long it took ... there would be no outside help.. The keys to the metal manacles that locked both suits in place were upstairs - but getting free of one another must be a joint effort.

With that, there was a general exit and silence fell in the echoing damp darkness of their two masks.

IN THE DARK

Chunk’s head ... was somewhere else. His response to the question about the gag and his breathing being OK had been a spontaneous defence against the experience ending ... but the experience, he suddenly realised, was happening to somebody else. His head ... his brain had become detached from his physical body.

In the darkness, the pressure gripping his entire skull, the smell of rubber and sweat, the sound in his ears of his own laboured breathing ... laboured because the pressure of the gag pad and strap on the outside of his cheeks was matched by the pressure of the massive bung that filled his mouth and made his jaw virtually immovable. Thank God there was an air hole through the gag. He sucked in the warm damp air from inside his gasmask. His tongue struggled within the unfamiliar confines to deal with saliva that built up and dribbled away beyond his control into the darkness of the rubber head-prison. The encasement was so total the rest of his body was somewhere ... other than where his brain was dealing with the sensations that were not going to overwhelm him (he had decided that) but he remained centred within this little sphere of ... senses.

When the gag and blacked-out mask had first gone on, his body was ready to deal with the insistent sensations; the padded suit against his skin, the newly roped wrists and ankles inside gloves and boots, the challenging hog-tie and unfamiliar but survivable tensions of the partial suspension. Trapped in this sensual web, the water had come as a welcome distraction. He was used to water hitting the outside of his padded suit, but as his brain tried to read the signs he felt and heard, he realised that the brain had stopped trying to visualise. It had withdrawn to concentrate on his enclosed scalp and unusable mouth and eyes. His brain, this centre for all his senses, was still able to hear his breathing and smell the pungent odours ... but beyond this, his memories of images seen or imagined seemed somehow ... what? ... separate from what he was feeling.

This was a state of mind he had perhaps sometimes ... sensed, that ‘bondage’ could achieve, even before he had experienced it. Was this a moment in life he had been aiming for instinctively. Was it a memory of the womb - that sounds like crap, but it’s a way he’d read it described - and now he knew what they meant. He was in limbo ... a warm, damp, dark, physically confined limbo ... with some sort of limited consciousness within this dark but red-hazed other world. Why slightly red? Was it the blood pressurised in his temples and the arteries of his neck. He stopped thinking to listen to the pumping - the thudding as his blood forced it’s way past the unusual pressure all over his scalp. Only his head. Only his head was ... aware.

How long these complicated and new-to-him thoughts engaged him he had no way of knowing ... but an insistent tugging at his finger-ends brought him to a consciousness that someone, somewhere was doing ... something. One of his gloves! One of his gloves was being ... gripped. It was being jerked. It was being tugged. He tried to concentrate, formulate a picture in his otherwise occupied brain.

In the darkness he dragged his mind from it’s reverie. The cuff, the locked cuff of some far away sleeve of some half-remembered suit was feeling something - the knitted cuff of his glove was moving reluctantly, grating his wrist. His glove was being forced out from under the retaining band of metal and ... he remembered (before the darkness) his wrists had been roped together ... under the rope and single metal shackle, one glove was ... moving.

His distant fingers began to sense the glove ... sliding and suddenly coldness and wetness. He knew the feel of his call-out suit ... it was very wet ... and what else was there? Oilskin ... and was it leather? An urgent prodding at his fingers intruded into his isolated headspace.

As if somebody had switched on a light he could visualise two fire-fighters, one dark the other dull yellow, lashed bicep to bicep, back to back standing with legs spread and heads imprisoned. He was back from wherever he’d been. One of his hands was now gloveless and leather mitts urgently prodded his fingers. He gripped a leather mitt end with his thumb and finger - gave an experimental tug. The mitt removed itself and from above his hand he felt the rope-lashed wrists of the man fixed to him, move closer to his fingers. Chunky (his predicament suddenly a clear picture in his mind) became the man he used to be. His exposed fingers again squeezed the hand of the man who had freed his fingers, it was a signal - a ‘thank you’. The wet rope that circled the leather mitts was easier to reach than his own ... but he could perhaps first pull off his own second glove to better tackle the knots embedded into wet oilskin. This took a struggle but his other glove eventually escaped from underneath it’s metal shackle.

Now, in spite of his wrists being tied together, he attacked the ropes above the heavy leather mitts wondering as he did if anything would release the rigid mitts from under those shackles as he remembered them. The knots were not too complicated but blind and breathing with difficulty Chunky fought to concentrate his minds-eye. At last his slightly numb fingers felt the oilskin wrists separate. Mitted hands stayed to clasp his own fingers in a gesture of thanks or congratulations but, of course, the battle was far from over.

It took two gloveless hands pulling downwards and the wearer of the mitts co-ordinating the upward pull to free first one hand and then, as their mutual excitement grew, the second reluctant mitt was dragged clear and fell away. Four unseen wet hands grasped one another. The flats of palms greeted one another in triumph. Chunky’s wrists were still roped but it would be an easy task now to unrope them.

Fingers picked at the lashings, feeling for knots. It wasn’t so simple. The bulk of the oilskin jacket and limited arm movement between them made it slow going. Suddenly the hands removed themselves and Chunky felt the dragging of an oilskin sleeve between them as an elbow bent and newly released fingers began tugging at the rope that joined their biceps together. In his mind’s eye he watched the lashed together bodies squirm. He felt the straining to reach between the two backs to release at least one elbow to make it easier to un-rope his wrists. Chunky collaborated to help the severely restricted arm get closer to the bicep. He felt the warmth as the two upper backs writhed and pressed together. Even through his thick suit he felt the two different fabrics rub. He heard the surfaces dragged against one another together ... and he could feel the warmth. Then he felt the binding loosen and suddenly they could move apart ... at least on one side.

In the darkness he now felt an eager hand reach between them to tackle the remaining roped pair of biceps. He felt a sudden broader movement as his ‘partner’ decide to turn and bring them almost face to face so he could work in front rather than behind his back. It was easier. Smart move! The second elbow lashing fell away and they stood separate. Oilskin arms hugged him in triumph, a long, firm, warm hug ... and then he heard movement and waited for his wrists to be untied.

He heard what sounded like the chest rope being removed from around oilskin and felt the winch rope around his own chest slacken as the two linked winch ropes were separated ‘Good move’ he thought as the unseen figure was now free to help him ... but then, like a hollow echo he heard inside his head Robert’s remark “If he gets half a chance he’ll take control and then watch out. I wouldn’t trust him an inch.” Chunky backed off slightly, but now he heard the winch motor start and his jacket began to bunch up under his armpits, his still bound wrists keeping the chest rope in place as it shortened upwards slowly.

RETRIBUTION:

In blind fury Chunky lashed out with a steel-toed rubber boot ... and the action caused him to swing off balance, and his second boot left the slippery floor ... but he didn’t fall. The winch rope was not high enough to lift him clear of the floor yet but he swung with bent knees before regaining his footing. Unable to see anything, it was not a simple task for Larry to use one of the discarded ropes to circle his opponent’s knees. Bucking and struggling Chunky fought the grip in spite of the increasing pull of the winch. He felt his legs clamped against something solid ... and decided it was Larry’s chest - he must be kneeling. Was this bastard still masked or could he see, damn him? Chunky fought to kick into the mass that was hugging his legs - but all too soon his feet were leaving the floor.

Could he drop-kick? ... no he couldn’t. A violent push sent him spinning and he was swinging ... aimlessly. In the darkness he felt arms encircle his boots and there more rope lashed around and between. In spite of a serious tussle the ankles were soon as fixed as his knees. Shit! The winch stopped ... Chunky dangled and seethed ... there was nothing more he could do.

CREATIVITY:

A dangerous silence developed and Chunky’s ears began to tune in to pick up whatever sounds might penetrate his mask. He controlled his breathing to hear better. A zipper opened - Larry’s mask! Fuck, had this guy done the chest rope and both leg ropes blind? ... including the winch control ... or was there somebody else there helping him?

Again he listened, breathless after the struggle. Oilskin creaked and rustled away into the distance and returned. An unfamiliar voice said loudly for his benefit “Oh, this water tastes great. Shall I tip some down your neck? No, I don’t think I shall come near you yet, you might lash out with your big black boots. But you look great there, mate. Bob told me you were bringing that suit. It looks fucking great just hanging there dripping. Did you know you were still dripping? None of the water got into my suit ... how about yours? I might have a look in a minute. Strip it off you. Strip you naked and have my wicked way with you!”

Chunky sensed a movement but had no way of knowing from which direction it was coming. His feet were suddenly dragged backwards in mid-air, and held him hanging at an angle. He didn’t swing back because his feet had been tied-off to some distant anchor point. Chunky again bucked and jolted his knees and hips to test the tethering rope. It held ... he would have been surprised if it hadn’t. He just hung there ... at an uncomfortable angle ... knowing that he had no decisions to make. Was this really what he wanted?! Is this what he’d fantasised about? Whichever way, he was in no position to argue or complain. He could nod his head three times. It might be tempting to test the signal to find out if it really worked or would just be ignored. He decided not to risk it.

The next sounds he heard were difficult to interpret: A door had opened; somebody coming in? Somebody going out? Silence! Was he alone?... but he guessed the cameras were still running ... so Chunky thrashed and jerked within the limits. If it was still a fucking photo session he’d give them their money’s worth. The rope around his chest was cutting into the padded jacket and his lashed wrists were useless. By twisting his stressful body angle, he could be lying slightly on his back like in a hammock or with his chest downwards, which was not easy on his back. He worked out that his ankles must be tethered to something about three feet off the floor ... a wall bar, he concluded dispassionately. With an effort he switched back to the hammock position ... and suddenly he was alert to more sounds.

Metal? - Wheels? “Getting uncomfortable?” asked the voice. “You were experimenting with stressful positions earlier. You did a good job on me, but you’ll discover that what goes around, comes around in this place. You stretch my back and I’ll stretch yours, you might say! But now, I think you’re going to appreciate this ... not a lot ... but with a little good luck I can soon make you more comfortable ... just for a little while.” With that the winch sprang into life and Chunky’s buttocks started to descend slowly while his ankles stayed tethered off to one side. He thought he would end up sitting on the floor, but with a little scuffling around he felt something move beneath him before he reached floor level. Was it a chair or stool? His whole body sprang into action again - but a hand grabbed the neck shackle from behind a high metal chair back and Chunky wasn’t going anywhere.

“I’m making you comfortable!” insisted the firm voice reasonably but Chunky decided that a bit more fight was in order. “Sit fucking still!” the voice insisted as his wrists were jerked roughly downwards. There was obviously space in the back of the chair for manacled or roped hands to fit through. Chunky felt his wrists fixed to something below seat level. “Now, just to give you a sporting chance I’m going to tell you that I’m going to untie your feet next ... because I like to see you struggle blindly ... and the camera guys like to see you struggle ... and Charlie likes to see you struggle. He told me. He’s got plans for you. Here goes with the feet. Go for it!”

And with that Chunky felt his feet released from whatever had been tethering them and he was ready to kick out at anything that moved ... but from behind the chair far away from his feet ... something was being passed low around his waist and was soon pulling him back firmly into the seat. A strap, identified Chunky. This was followed by a strap around each bicep fixing them immovably to the sides of the chair back and forcing his bound wrists uncomfortably apart. More movement behind him and he felt his wrists being loosened. “Don’t want you uncomfortable” said the commentator as the right wrist was pulled sideways and quickly strapped to the chair directly below his elbow. This left the other wrist free, except that it was already strapped at the elbow so could reach nothing ... and so waited for the inevitable. A firm hand took hold of it ... and it did not resist. “There’s a good boy” cooed the voice as the second wrist was strapped. “No point in inviting trouble - unless you enjoy a bit of trouble. After what you did to me when you first got to me ... expect trouble, Chunky - or A.J. Oh, I’ve been well briefed. I know how to freak you out.”

A hand landed heavily on Chunky’s crotch. His legs, although bound at knee and ankle, were free to kick out ... but the hand came from behind the chair. “Sickening, isn’t it, when all the cards are stacked against you - so, just sit back and take it like a man ... Chunky old mate ... new mate ... playmate”. The knees were un-roped and pulled apart to strap them to the sides of the seat, followed by ankles that put up no further struggle. “Good! Okay ... now where do we go from here?” questioned the guy who Chunky now thought of as his Controller ... and suddenly the seat tilted backwards.

TAKEN FOR A RIDE:

Like a porter’s trolley, the chair had wheels that only touched the ground when it was tilted back, and behind the chair there were grip handles. Chunky felt himself trundled forwards, and after a slight hesitation at the door, cobbles jarred the padded seat. Without this, Chunks would not have known he was out of doors because his suit and boots and mask still totally sealed him in. Only un-gloved hands felt the October air.

“Now which way shall we go?” teased the pusher of the chair “In which direction shall I push you? I hear you want to be pushed, Chunky-baby. So ... to our left we have the wrestling room. Padded floor and walls. Lot’s of fun and testing goes on in there. Or ... straight ahead, the cell block. I could wheel you right into a steel cage and if necessary chain you down ... or hang you up. You already have nice neat shackles at neck and each wrist and around your waist. Easy to add ankle shackles to match and, if necessary, another one around your scrotum. Nothing like the ball-sack for anchoring a man down ... or up. An unslippable circle of steal around your scrotum? How’s that sound?” A heavy hand again fell on his crotch and squeezed ... and Chunky just sat there. What else could he do?

After this token demonstration, the voice continued but the chair didn’t move. “What will be the padded cell one day, isn’t ready yet ... but young Bob has developed a neat way of getting somebody into a strait-jacket without there being a fucking thing they can do to stop it. He maybe a lightweight but it doesn’t matter how much of a fight you put up, he’s worked out a way to get you there, like it or not. Believe me, I know from experienced! He used me to practice on - and once he gets you there, you stay there until he decides to let you free. Another nice alternative is to load you into a van and whisk you off to some un-named destination. Great psychological trip ... being taken somewhere ... who knows where. Maybe out into the countryside ... maybe a cellar somewhere, never to be seen again”.

The chair began to move again but stopped suddenly. “But, of course, we’ve got the new cellar here. Once down there nobody would hear you even if you weren’t gagged. I like to hear a bit of unbridled yelling. I guess I could get the chair down the steps ... might be a bit of a bumpy ride ... and you’re in no position to argue at present! ... are you? Are you!!” insisted the voice. A sudden whack across the rubber-encased head resounded inside Chunky’s re-breather mask, making him bite down on the bung with his aching jaw. “Answer me when I’m talking to you, fucker!! You are in no position to argue ... but you can communicate - can’t you!?” Chunky hesitated for a moment before giving a single nod (as far as his anchored collar would permit). “Yes! Exactly! So, are you ready to give the three nod signal yet? ... so you can get let out?”

Chunky sat motionless. Another whack across the head made Chunky nervous and frustrated rather than angry, but he remained motionless. The hand grabbed his crotch viciously. “Answer me, dammit! The choice is yours - out now or stay in for at least another two hours. Nod for get out, shake for stay in”. Although he desperately needed a drink and was beginning to feel the need to piss ... another consideration took priority in Chunky’s mind ... and a controlled shake of the head opted for the experience to continue uninterrupted.

Larry smiled up at the CCTV camera directly in front of them in the floodlit yard as he began to wheel the chair to the door of the main building. There Robert joined them and Chunky was back in the Photo Studio - ready for yet another learning experience.

FULL TEXT OF ‘Houdini Connections - The Story’ AT

www.houdini-connections.co.uk/Printer friendly/Page-Houdini.htm