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boundeditions:

Scenario For A Leather Fantasy

by Jim Stewart

 

On the floor beside my bed there’s a bundle of human meat sweating and straining inside a prison of black leather. As it tries to relieve the pressure on immobilized limbs,

I listen to the air being dragged in and forced out through the very few breathing holes in a tight, tightly laced-on hood.

Sounds of breathing grow louder as the camera pans slowly down the LEATHERMAN’S legs and heavy boots to show the trussed-up figure on the floor.

The intimate voice continues as the camera explores in close- up, details of the total leather encasement and immobilization of the ‘victim’.

L/MAN: From the soles of his cleated boots to the top of that eyeless, mouthless featureless helmet, it’s leather all the way. Tough hide straps creak and groan – as he would groan if he could through a gag and three thicknesses of solid leather. The sound and smell and sight of his suffering body keeps me awake, savouring a dream that might disappear if I close my eyes.

Camera holds the picture as the ‘Victim’ strains to find some relief inside the heavy leather strait-jacket which wraps and straps his arms across his chest. He then subsides to rest and drag in more air.

From another angle we see the two figures.

L/MAN: Does he know I’m here? – watching – or is he lost in his own suffocating surreal existence – helpless, totally dependent on me – his every sense distorted; no sight, hearing, tactile contact with the outside world. He can smell … leather, taste the wedge of leather deep in his mouth. What else is left for him?

Sudden close shot of the featureless tightly form-fitting leather hood.

L/MAN: At least his imagination is free to run riot – or has it already switched off, not able to deal with the situation? How much does he know about the effects of Sensory Deprivation? Has he read about experiments in Mind Bending; techniques for reducing even the toughest human being to a disorganized mess of mental and physical insecurity?

The camera begins a new journey across the body of the ‘victim’, catching a desperate flexing of an aching arm, the useless movement of fingers imprisoned inside the closed ends of the strait-jacket sleeves.

Dramatically, the body suddenly lurches and rolls to reveal for the first time a network of solid straps and heavy buckles. These begin to flex and strain, tugging in different directions. Then the cleated soled boots jerk powerfully against straps which hold them pulled bent towards his tightly leather- covered ass.

After a violent bout of struggling, the body subsides.

L/MAN: The anger will soon die. What then? – despair – fear – or just deadening physical tension? His dependence on me is total. His very existence depends on me; on me being what I pretended to be when we first met three short hours ago.

Camera again includes the LEATHERMAN in the picture.

He still smokes what is probably pot. We continue to hear his voice, although he is not speaking – the style becomes slightly more consciously poetic.

L/MAN: I am all he has in the world at this moment. If I reach out my hand and touch him – he will be grateful to know I’m still here. If I smack him – he will bear it – because he will have no choice. I am the cause of his suffering, the controller of his destiny – his only means of salvation. (He smiles down at the ‘Victim’) His only dread – his only hope. Without me – he would cease to exist.

The ‘Victim’ who has begun to make yet another vigorous but totally ineffective attempt to gain extra ease or comfort, suddenly seems to stop fighting.

L/MAN: I wonder how clearly he remembers me? Does he have any idea how long it is since I gradually and patiently manoeuvred him into his present situation?

Camera begins to close in on the LEATHERMAN’s strong, masculine face.

Can he still formulate a rational image in his Mind’s Eye? Who and what am I to him? Am I – any sort of reality?

 

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