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Ch. 8
As Daphne
finished her final prop trick, I knew it was time for the most serious part of
her show. I always enjoy watching all
her shows even though they’re 3 times a week, year round because 1) Daphne
never does anything the same as each program is full of improvisation and
intentional unpredictability that keep the customers coming back, 2) there is
real danger in the escapes with palpable tension (I like to make sure myself
that everything is going smoothly) and lastly 3) I never get tired of watching
my girl parade around stage in skimpy outfits.
“Tonight ladies
and gentlemen, I present to you a trick called breathless. The contraption you see my assistants
bringing out is a multi layer mask which fits over my head, placed on me by you
the audience that will literally seal my face from the fresh air. I will neither be able to inhale or exhale
once it is on me and my only recourse is to escape and remove this device
before I suffocate.”
Daphne is so
unlucky with her volunteer selections. The audience members who race the stage are
typically groups of rowdy, drunken frat boys who work as a team to be as crass,
cold and deliberately unhelpful to poor Daphne as possible, and tonight is no
exception. But I know she feels it helps
the audience get behind her.
One of the
volunteers looks oddly familiar, Brad thought to himself. The least obnoxious of them was this white
haired old man that looked oddly suspicious.
I could tell the assistants gave the man more responsibility than the
other volunteers because they probably assumed he was the most benign.
“The restraints I
will be in are real and designed to withstand the violent thrashing of men much
stronger than me and more insane. But
considering what I’m about to do, you may question my sanity if you like. My hands will be bound by leather pouches
strapped over my fists; my arms will be crossed in front of me and tied at the
wrists like an ‘x’ and the whole thing will be strapped to my waist to this
sturdy leather belt.”
I knew the
restraints were real and used in a Syrian mental hospital from which we
purchased from on Ebay. It is the tan,
suede looking leather that is thick and heavy.
Daphne couldn’t wait for me to lock her in it for the first time and she
found her arms were flexed in front of her in such a way that she could put the
maximum tension on the straps with her biceps, triceps and deltoids to brute
force herself to freedom. In all
likelihood, Daphne was probably stronger than anyone previously locked in
it. She would only do this trick on
nights that she felt particularly strong and confident, especially when
combining the escape with this ‘evil’ suffocation mask
Daphne changed
into only blue jeans and a white T-shirt.
It was not one of her Vegas showy costumes but it was a way of telling
the audience she was going to do a ‘blue-collar’ escape and not a theatrical
routine. The thick waist strap was
threaded through the belt space of her jeans and buckled in the back. It was up to the white haired man to first strap
her fisted hands into the heavy sacks, cross her arms together and bind
them. The old man was thorough as hell,
as he kept cinching every part of the bind before buckling. I could tell he had strong hands as Daphne
was trying hard not to grimace each time he pulled an end. Instead of encircling her forearms only,
after he went around once, he went between the arms while giving the strap a
twist to more severely cinch things. I
could see her arms were already turning red from the tension. The final piece was a very short strap which
loops around the belt and around the strap between her arms, pinning her arms
to her waist.
As the old man
gloated over his work, it was then when I realized that this man was James R.
Leeds, the old nut at the bondage store I met a few weeks ago. He certainly knows his way around bondage
gear and with Daphne’s urging I had reluctantly planned to see him again. I was too busy though with the restructuring
going on with Daphne’s production crew for which I was assisting.
I was
worried. I kept thinking Daphne should
just skip the mask part and do a plain escape.
Her assistants know she could gesture to them if she felt uncomfortable
and they could say that the mask was malfunctioning and she would just try the
escape alone without the big danger.
Daphne has done that a few times, but only when she was really
sick. The mask is not like being
underwater, because then you could blow bubbles out to relieve the
tension. She could not blow anything out
with the mask on and therefore has a much shorter window for escape. Daphne probably does not realize that this is
no ordinary old man.
Next it was the
frat boys’ turn to put the mask on her.
“Gentlemen, all I ask is that once my mouth and nose are sealed, that
you put the rest of the mask on quickly with my assistant’s instructions. At that point I will already not be able to
breathe.” A large plastic freezer bag
was produced from store packaging and filled temporarily with water to
demonstrate that there were no holes in it.
A racquetball was bounced towards the guys and they were instructed to
put it in Daphne’s mouth. They tried to
make her look foolish as they pulled it away while she was just about to accept
it. The boys snickered as they did this
a couple times more and then just rammed the ball into her mouth. I could see the assistants whispering to the
boys to knock it off or be sent to their seats.
They were given latex tape to wrap around her mouth, sealing the ball
inside and wads of cotton to put inside her nose. They were not allowed to stuff her nose until
Daphne nodded she was ready. Once they
taped her nose shut with the latex tape a large timer started.
Nobody mentioned
anything about how much time she had to escape before she suffocated because
Daphne always felt that made things feel too scripted and too similar to all
the phony acts with these gimmicks.
Daphne frequently told her crew that she did not want anyone to free her
from an escape that involved suffocation or drowning unless she actually
stopped moving (i.e. passed out). I
never was comfortable even though she had former paramedics in her crew because
an act such as this requires a lot of material be removed before she could get
oxygen.
The frat boys
then placed the large plastic bag over her head, flattened it against her face
and wrapped the heavy tape around her neck to seal the bag shut. It was obvious there was no air moving inside
the bag. The group of guys looked at
each other as if to say: “are they really letting us do this?” They were starting to have a new respect for
this lady as they could plainly see all the devices were real and Daphne’s
blood shot, bound arms.
When the frat
boys saw the last layer, they were even more dumbfounded. It was a heavy, black, molded plastic hood
with a foam interior to fit perfectly over her head and face with no holes to
allow air, light or sound inside. It
opened into two pieces (a front piece and a back) that shut from the top of her
head to the bottom of her neck inside.
The boys were shocked to find the two pieces barely met and that all of
them were needed to push the two haves together while someone quickly strapped
it shut. The three straps on the head
piece each required a padlock and so did the single strap around the neck.
I remember how
overwhelming it was, the first time I put that heavy custom built mask on
her. I kept telling her that they sized
it too small and she said it was perfect.
She told me it was one of the most humbling experiences she ever had to
be sealed inside and that it took months of meditation exercises with it on
before she got comfortable using it in an act.
Initially we were feeding air to her, but eventually we closed all the
openings for just this type of performance.
In truth, I don’t think the suffocation mask ever became very
comfortable for her.
The boys roughly
walked her to a mat where she would escape; the mat is supposed to protect her
in case she falls. I noted one of the
boys surreptitiously gave a quick squeeze of her ass as they walked to their
seats. Multiple spotlights were on her
now as the place went dark. This is a
favorite routine for Daphne because the crowd will get to see every part of the
escape. The announcer noted that if you
paid attention to her chest, you would note she was not breathing. That resulted in chuckles by a few of the men
in the audience. Despite all the levity
however, everyone was gripping their arm rests or biting their nails in
nervousness. I was not alone in my
apprehension.
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Already two
minutes have gone by and the position of her arms is unchanged. She is now crouched on the mat and using her
bare feet to unbuckle the strap around her arms. She looks damn sexy with all the tension in
her body; she looks the way she does when I play sexual games with her. Recently we had begun playing bondage games
and she was shocked to find she loved being sexually submissive. It was always reluctant submission and she
would always struggle and often escape.
But, I would torture her before that happened, often keeping her on the
brink of orgasm. Seeing her muscular
body grappling with her bonds made me build with sexual excitement and I was
wondering if that was also happening to the bound magician.
Daphne, who for
the first time was bringing bondage into her sexual life, was starting to
experience her boiling sexuality creep into her act. Sure she knew how to flaunt her body, and
appear ravished at the end of a routine, but it wasn’t as genuine as it was
becoming. She was having greater
difficulty thinking systematically and was focusing more on the helplessness
and unquenchable needs of her body. She
could feel her hard nipples against the taught white shirt and her moist pussy seemingly
imprisoned by the heavy jeans. Those who
watched her show in recent weeks noted a more palpable eroticism that garnered
her best reviews of her career.
She was mad at
Brad, her boyfriend, for sexualizing her to the point where her laser focus was
frequently dulled by her libido. It
hadn’t manifested in any real danger yet but Daphne felt more inclined to take
greater risks because the adrenaline rush was helping to focus her mind away
from sex and more on escape. She did
appreciate that there was more acclaim for her show in recent times likely from
the sexual like gyrations she was becoming known for during her escapes. Little did most people know, Daphne was eager
to get backstage to cum after almost every show. Brad was often waiting for her with open arms
and open pants. That was the real reason
she thought he was there almost every night.
Daphne was having
a hard time undoing the excessively tight strap the old man had ingeniously put
on her. It kept slipping from her nimble
feet just as the securing pin was about to come out. She was shaking her bound fists to keep the
circulation but no more pulling as her wrists were too sore and her hands too
numb. Daphne tried to moan in her gag
but was rudely reminded she could not even exhale to make sound.
Daphne and the
assistants had not noticed the almost imperceptible string, wrapped only once
by the devious white haired man, next to the buckle that was yet to yield to
the magician’s struggles. The thread,
made for magicians, was designed to be near invisible and have a high breaking
point. Daphne’s feet were not sensitive
enough to find the string and the sightless illusionist could not appreciate
how the strap was maliciously secured.
It was at least
30 seconds beyond the point she normally finishes the act when Daphne got a toe
caught underneath the ‘invisible’ string after vigorous probing. She was starting to feel light headed but was
able to rip the string with the toe before going back to the now more mobile
buckle. By this point, Daphne was
drenched with sweat and her white shirt was looking more like wet t-shirt
contest attire. Her perfect breasts,
angry nipples and hint of a six-pack were magnificently on display. So too were the uncontrollable chest and
belly spasms as her body’s reflexes took hold.
She now conquered
the buckle and had to painstakingly undo the carefully wrapped wrists. Her now free arms went straight for her head
as she briefly forgot that each fist was wrapped in a pouch making them
useless. She was cursing this dramatic
touch in her mind as she knew she would have to take a moment to untie each
sack with her toes as precious time and consciousness were wasted. The steamy heat in her sweaty helmet,
bombarded by spotlights, was intolerable.
Unbeknownst to Daphne, the show announcer was telling people to stay
calm and that Daphne was making good time; a blatant lie to avoid chaos.
Once she got the
ties on the mittens loose, her finger were supposed to do the rest but to her
dismay, her hands from the bondage were incredibly numb and practically
useless. Her feet would have to do more
work. She could not hear the crowd
clamor as the clock struck five minutes.
As Daphne positioned her now unwrapped hands at the padlocks, she
wondered if she could do anything with her fingers.
Daphne positioned
herself in a fetal position, partly to conceal her technique and partly so she
could stabilize her trembling arms against herself. Daphne did not produce her pick, but rather
her small saw to cut the leather straps that held the metal padlocks attached
to. She did not have time to unlock
them. This is the second time in recent
weeks that Daphne had to ruin her bondage equipment to pull off an escape. She looked like a gyrating silk-worm on the
floor as she was slowly inching off the heavy mask with her entire body and now
too weak to pull it off in one move.
The gyrations
that had just looked coordinated and productive slowly became disorganized,
like some primitive reflex. It was just
random chance that lead to the hood popping off and Daphne was startled by the
strangely vague light which no longer had meaning to her confused brain. The crowd was clamoring as they could now see
her almost lifeless silhouette in the steaming bag that kept her from precious
oxygen. Her heavily taped nose and
bulging mouth filled with the racquetball could barely be seen in the cloud
around her head. Daphne soon became
unconscious.
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Daphne was slowly
putting things together as she regained consciousness. She was relieved to be alive and began to
notice that she was in the back of an ambulance and was breathing from an
invigorating oxygen mask. She remembered
the struggle but did not recall if she escaped or who rescued her. She noticed a kind, white-haired paramedic
nearby who was whispering “everything’s going to be OK.”
As Daphne started
to sit-up, she noticed that her neck was in a collar that was bound to the head
of the gurney. “What the hell?” So too, her hands and feet were carefully
bound to the side railings and her fingernails were conspicuously covered in
tape. “Wha…what’s going on?”
“Just relax;
everything is going to be OK. My name is
James R. Leeds and I’m a friend of your husband.”
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