From a very early age I knew what turned me on - and very soon I found ways of meeting like-minded individuals. All this I described in "SO I LIKE TO GET TIED-UP ... SO WHAT" (the full text is on-site) ... and that little booklet brought me into contact with many people who lived their lives in isolation ... people like the man who called himself Callum - or variously BJ or JB.

A lot of people used false names when they wrote to ‘FETTERS’... but this guy even used a Post Office reply Box number to conceal which area of the country he lived in because he was so anxious to remain anonymous.

He had spent many years trying to resist his guilty but insistent fantasies ... before finding ways to enjoy them in private. When first writing to FETTERS he had never before told a living soul about his life-long kink for rubber & self-bondage. Through our exchanges of letters he soon found out that he was not "the only one in the world". But his biggest fear remained; that anybody in his local community should find out that he was a pervert (his word).

Most of the men he knew were dangerously antagonistic to "pervs / kink-heads / sad bastards and in particular, fucking queers" which were all regular targets for their jokes, their scorn and occasionally their fists. Big Callum had good reason to keep his kinky self-abuse a well hidden secret. The web page Alias Callum Buchanan gives more details of his non-fetish related antics with these local hard-men and sports fanatics.

At least, by the time he first wrote to me, he had reached a point where he was enjoying regular complicated sessions of solo rubber bondage in secret. But never had he admitted this to a living soul because of the risk involved. His career in the navy and his entire social life would, in the early 1980s, have been at risk.

Face to face
After two years of regular correspondence, he suddenly announced that he would be in London briefly - suggesting that we might meet and talk (his stipulation, to talk only). He would be down for the Boat Show with a gang of sailing/diving buddies - and had invented an elderly relative to visit as an excuse to escape from the mates for a couple of hours.

He was fit, forty, ruggedly handsome and nervous as hell when he arrived. Never before had he met face to face with anybody who knew about his guilty secrets. Our long correspondence had reassured him and our meeting went well. For the first time in his life he talked rather than wrote about things he’d never before dared allow to pass his lips.

But he was careful to keep reminding me that no-way was he queer . His action-packed anecdotes about macho rough-and-tumbles with mates on drunken sprees both at home and when he was in the Navy, were intended to be proof of this. When I pressed for details of how far these exclusively man-to-man high-jinks went and whether there was ever any overt sexual/genital element, he became more reticent. No-way was he or any of his mates GAY!

The fact that he had previously admitted getting-off on the FANTASY of being wrestled to a point of submission by other guys, didn’t confuse the issue for him. A closet case resolutely in denial? Not necessarily. His social conditioning, even his religious conditioning had locked him into a certain mind-set.

But I was used to side-stepping this sensitive issue with masculine men, and he was relieved to find that he could talk freely for the first time with no sense of threat to his manhood - or virginity.

Reading my “So I Like To Get Tied-up ... So What!!?” booklet had widened his horizons by then. And I’d sent him several stories which described different ways straight men had found opportunities to explore even their most forbidden fantasies: ‘permission to play’ stories designed to reassure. He admitted that they had opened his mind to possibilities he had previously rejected.

*****

Safely back home in the wilds of Argyllshire (as he now felt safe to reveal), he decided that having met me - if he just happened to be in London again on one of his rare visits, he might - just possibly - bring with him some of the sports kit he had modified for his still very secret self-applied bondage sessions ... so that I could see technically how he’d modified them. (Yeh! Right!). As it happen, he suddenly needed to travel south again on business within a matter of weeks - several times in close succession.

During previous correspondence, he’d already outlined his fantasy of having a final strap-closer to intensify his self-applied bondage. This Bondage Buddy would then leave him alone to enjoy his inescapable predicament in his own way for a specified time before letting him out again - BUT essentially with no interference or sexual intrusions.

For Callum’s second visit, I promised to make that happen. While running FETTERS I had, on many occasions, accommodated whatever a new-comer felt comfortable with. The opportunity to have a beefy ex-Navy man show me how he systematically encased himself in his self-modified sports kit was more than appealing.

The groin guard
Trust was, for him, the name of the game. So on the first occasion I discretely did not stay to watch while he stripped and worked his way into an authentic boxer’s protective cup and groin guard which he had specially adapted to be more restrictive.

His addition to it, a shaped separate crotch plate with a hole in it (copied from the FETTERS chastity jock), was well crafted because he was a very practical chap. In this early version, his cock and balls simply threaded through the hole in the plate, and then when the solid protective cup and groin covering was pulled over it, his genitals were separated from his body, completely enclosed within a rigid plastic cup with no space for any expansion .Well, in theory anyway. The only problem was (as he eventually plucked up courage to admit) the very thought of this contraption made him so hard he often couldn’t get his cock and balls through the hole and stuffed into the cup ... until after he’d shot his load. Even then he had to be quick about applying the covering or he would get hard again.

I gave him some tissues, KY lube and towel and left him to deal with it; telling him to call me when he was safely and securely tucked away inside it. Deliberately, before his visit, I had removed the playroom video camera which allowed me to leave somebody alone in the playroom but monitor them for safety ... and for my pleasure. Being a born voyeur, I have always been turned on by watching powerful men powerless and struggling.

But in this instance his pre-condition was strictly no photographs - and I agreed to this including, for double reassurance, no video monitor. Perhaps on some later occasion (I hoped), when he was fully encased and unrecognisable in his gear - who knows. I was used to taking things a step at a time.

Diving gear games
When he called me back upstairs he was, I assumed, safely into his groin guard. I could only assume, because he was already wearing a serviceable well-used, very heavy-duty black rubber dry-suit which he’d lugged to London with him. The back-entry zip was not yet closed and, as he asked me to close it, I saw that he was otherwise naked inside the suit. The chunky zip-pull on the waterproof zip seemed to have been repaired. On standard dive suits these pull-handles always take a lot of strain because the metal zips are solid and sometimes sluggish. On closer inspection I noticed that this ‘pull’ had, in fact, been modified.

Rather than mention this, I asked how he usually closed the zip when he was by himself and playing solo. He explained that by attaching a long strong cord loop to the pull handle, the wearer could, with an effort, open and close the zip across his upper back unaided. This was something I already knew, of course, having been getting myself into diving suits in solo sessions for many years.

Having firmly dragged the zip closed across his broad shoulders, only then did I mention the modified zip pull which made the sturdy pull-handle detachable. Now thoroughly relaxed because he was safely inside his familiar suit, he explained how on training courses a dive instructor might, just for fun, occasionally pretend that a zip-pull had broken off and the chunky zip was now impossible to even slide because it was so stiff. The wearer would have to remain trapped in the suit until the zip was eventually ‘repaired’ - which often involved the suit staying on for an uncomfortable time.

He recounted this story with obvious relish - and then I asked why the zip-pull on this particular suit had deliberately been doctored to detach ... if he always played alone. He actually blushed while admitting that he sometimes took the suit on his all-guys diving weekends if a ‘newby’ was joining them. Most of his regular mates were experienced ex-servicemen. And the broken zip-pull trick was one he had introduced unsuspecting newcomers to on more than one occasion.

On the pretext of inspecting the modification, I detached the spring-clip behind his back while asking if the trick had ever been played on him? Before he could answer I dangled the un-clipped zip pull-handle in front of him. He said nothing ... and I reassured him that I would let him out at any time he wanted ... because I was here as a ‘final strap-closer’, just as we had discussed. But we both knew that he was already a prisoner in his suit, and the balance of power had already changed.

Self-restraint:
Our pre-agreed deal was that he would demonstrate just how far he could get his wrists and elbows strapped before starting to enjoy the sensation of simulated helplessness during his solo games ... but still know he could release himself when the time came. (Elsewhere on this site is a step-by-step description of a slightly different version of his routine for self-restraint followed by self-release = SPORTS EQUIPMENT AS BONDAGE) But on this occasion, I would simply add a strap to close his escape-route ... then leave him alone for an agreed period before returning to remove the extra fixings as promised. After that he would show me his routine for self-release.

This was all a massive leap of faith for this slightly paranoid individual, and no way was I going to betray his trust. It was more than reward enough for me to watch him elaborately work his way into near-helplessness while encased in rubber. I just sat back to watch the rest of his well-rehearsed routine.

Gags and face-masks were something we had corresponded about, especially his liking for sports gum-shields. His detailed description of the specially made modified set which filled his mouth and immobilised his jaw is well documented elsewhere. The wedge, once clipped in place was impossible to shake loose. Naturally, he’d brought it with him. Proudly he let me inspect the mechanism before fixing it in to fill and clamp his mouth before demonstrating that no amount of head-shaking would now release it (for full details = WEDGE GAG To return here use 'back' button). The whole contraption was very efficient, so he could no longer talk to me as he continued his procedure. This involved pulling up the attached insulated open-face diver’s head cover and strapping over it a good solid face mask with clear visor.

Because he was no longer able to communicate with me, I settled back to watch as he creaked and squeaked around in his suit preparing the equipment for the elaborate process of self-restraint. I knew that first securing his hands in boxing gloves and then wrapping his wrists and elbows with webbing straps would be a strenuous business. Being already gagged and masked, the sounds of his heavy breathing were already an enormous turn-on. On this occasion he had not brought air tanks but he’d told me that at home he often committed himself to strapping over the suit a webbing body harness and heavy tanks before starting the next difficult manoeuvre.

A pair of well-padded boxing gloves lay ready. He had shown these to me previously, and explained that on this occasion he could not lace both of them closed the way he would do at home. In his workshop-cum-playroom he had made a device for tightening the laces temporarily - but still be able to get the gloves off (with an effort) when the time came.

However, he soon expertly worked his way into one glove and secured the lace on it quite efficiently using only one hand. The next was more difficult. This manoeuvre made him quite breathless behind the mask. Having wriggled his free hand into the second glove, he gestured that the second lace would have to remain unlaced. I stood up and mimed offering to lace the second glove. After a slight hesitation he mutely offered his second wrist. He was already effectively in my power because of the detached zip pull-handle - and very soon both thickly padded sparring gloves were securely laced shut ... because I thoughtfully re-tied more efficiently the first lace he had applied for himself. Now, no way could he shake either glove loose or unpick my carefully tied double knots. His route to self-release was already totally blocked. We both knew this - but we also both knew that I would let him out again as agreed.

A single long webbing strap was next. It was time for him to show me how he could contrive to strap together both wrists and both elbows using a single modified friction buckle. I sat back comfortably to watch this ingenious process which cost him quite a lot of physical effort. I assumed that he was sweating inside the suit (and the all-confining groin protector) but there was no way the sweat would leak out. When he had eventually dragged the friction buckle as tight as he could make it, his wrists were bound tightly together in front with the same long webbing strap running under his crotch and up to cinch his elbows close together behind him. This ingenious process could only be achieved by using a specially positioned cup-hook. He had thoughtfully brought one with him - and screwed it firmly into the door frame of my playroom. Using a hole in the strap-end, he had explained in advance how he could both close and open the strap using this hook.

Now securely trussed, he signalled that he had gone as far as he was able to go on his own. He stood slightly breathless because he knew this was the point of no return he had asked for. A situation we had discussed at great length in correspondence. A tense moment for him.

Final strap-closer.
I moved towards him. “Is that it?” I asked loudly because, although on this occasion he had not used ear-plugs as I knew he sometimes did at home, the suit hood was quite thick.
He nodded and I continued, “and you can get out of that strappery without help?”
His rubber-encased and masked head again nodded silently (except for heavy breathing).
”So, final strap-closing time? OK?” Again he nodded. We had pre-agreed that he would spend an hour on his own - but I had not been specific about what sort of strap I would add to close his escape-route.

Taking my time (to build the tension) I carefully selected a short leather strap from my cupboard and moved in close to inspect how secure the webbing strap was around his two wrists in front. Then, pocketing the extra strap, I simply tied the ends of his two glove laces firmly together. With padded finger-less gloves, masked and gagged, there was no way he could now separate his wrists. I looked him in the eye through the visor - he knew that it was already impossible to escape - but producing the leather strap again I meaningfully looked down at his ankles.
“Kneel down,” I instructed.

He did as he was told and this brought his masked face level with my crotch. I waited, and this powerfully built but powerless rubber-encased man was tense. I savoured the moment before moving behind him to strap his rubber-covered ankles together. This made it impossible for him to stand up again as I walked back and stood close in front of him. The look in his eye did not disappoint me. He did not look nervous, but determinedly defiant behind the clear face mask. This intensified the sound of him breathing through the efficient gag.

“You have three choices,” I said firmly. “An hour hog-tied, ankles attached to the elbow strap ... or standing upright attached to the chain frame ... or strapped into the bondage chair.”
He looked at the high-backed metal chair - and eventually mutely nodded towards it.

I was disappointed because I had looked forward to watching him squirm and roll around trying to find any comfort while hog-tied in the heavy suit, mask, gag and gloves (to say nothing of the seriously confining groin-guard) for the hour he had stipulated. However, as I released his ankles and helped him stand up, I contented myself with the thought of future opportunities to make this tough-nut squirm. As I immobilised every part of him in the chair with leather straps, I knew that these would leave him virtually no movement. I also knew that I would certainly let him loose at the appointed time.

But, as I continued to add more leather straps, I happily speculated about how, when I started to release him at the agreed time, I would then offer the challenge of spending a just little more time ... perhaps either hog-tied or attached to the chain frame. I knew instinctively that this man could not resist such an opportunity. And the next position I put him in would be sufficiently uncomfortable that I would get to watch him do some squirming - if only to test the efficiency of my strapping ...
which I would deliberately made to feel loose ... but it would, in fact, be inescapable.

And so the first of many elaborate (and protracted) mutually stimulating sessions began.

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