Lots of you have received an email – sorry. Somebody hacked into the site on Friday and sent out over 400 emails to various members. I am looking into what can be done on the site to prevent this. If anybody wants themselves removed fro the site – please get in touch.

On the last two trips we have managed to get out and do some outdoor fetish photography, as seen below.

This year was no exception. We did two separate shoots. This one was the most fun, as the weather was very cold outside and I was nice and warm in my gear.

First up was a padded Belstaff motorbike suit, with my 20 hole boots. Under the suit I was wearing my new butt plug from Mr S.

Then it was the leather straightjacket from Fetters. Topped off with a rubber hood which had plastic eyes, so only two nose holes to breathe through. The hood masked the fact that a large rubber gag was stuffed into my mouth.

It was not a huge roof where we went out onto to take our photos, but we had fun on it and if anybody was out and about taking photos of the area with a large zoom lens, they would have spotted us out there. Here are the pics from that fun and very sweaty adventure. All in all I was up there bound for about 3 hours, but could have happily stayed there for longer.

Well, I am pleased to say it looks like things are not fixed and back to normal.

If you find any problems, can you please email me at jb@jacketbound.com

Thanks

I had two major things, one is the ‘world’s most comfortable butt-plug’ from Mister S in the states. This is my first ever item from the store (I know – shocking!) and I have already used it about half a dozen times. It certainly lives up to its name. Have not used it for long – thats coming soon though!

The second item is unfortunately not yet with me due to postage problems over Christmas, but should be with me in the next week or so. It’s coming from China so I am not entirely sure about the quality, but it looks good. Will model both together when the suit arrives!

So – what did everybody else here get for Christmas – anything good?

Everything goes fine, then just when you find yourself without a decent backup of a website – you hit a problem.

The site has been hit by a virus – but is now back up and running – but you may find one or two features are slow to return to normal. Please bear with me – normal service will be restored as soon as possible.

Rainy Days in Oregon

Chapter 1

I was home from college for the summer break and so was Zac. I’d been missing him one hell of a lot during term time, and I’d just been waiting to get on that plane and fly back here to rainy Oregon. Zac had flown up from UCLA and I’d gone to the airport with his parents and brother to meet him. He came through arrivals all Californian in baggy shorts and skater sneakers and beamed his gleaming smile at us. Zac just got more and more good-looking as he got older. Or maybe I should say as he “matured”, because he was still only 19, but I had already reached the ripe old age of 20. He hugged his parents, gave his older brother, Chace, a friendly punch in the shoulder, then turned his attention to me. Before I knew what was happening, he had my head in an arm lock and was rubbing my scalp hard with his knuckles. That hurt, but we were back together, the same two neighbourhood buddies we had always been.

“You’re looking good, Stefan”, he said, punching me affectionately on the shoulder- “Nice leather jacket,” he said.

We were spending three months at home. I was having to work a lot of the time, – I couldn’t expect my parents to pay absolutely all my college costs, but I kinda liked my summer job at my neighbour’s lumber company, driving a fork-lift truck all day, mostly in the rain. All us outside guys were given sort of company raingear, which kept us dry at all times. It consisted of really heavy black PVC overpants and a hooded jacket you pulled over your head. The suit was glossy and shiny, and the jacket had the company logo on the back. It fitted really well and quite tightly, and in fact the jacket was a hell of a struggle to get on. I’d pull on the shiny pants at home and lace up my leather, steel-capped workman’s boots, throw the jacket into the back of the truck and set off. Mom said I looked sexy dressed like that. Mom’s always embarrassing! Dad said I looked kinky. Never expected anything different from him!

Sometimes it never rained, but I didn’t care, a couple of the other guys came dressed like that, too. We’d just work in a T-shirt and those vinyl pants, but although they looked great gleaming with the sun on them, they sure got hot, and a couple of times I regretted not being able to take them off because I hadn’t bothered to put anything on under them.

Zac wasn’t working full time. His family had loads of money. He was earning a bit of pocket money as an amateur escape artist, doing parties, fairs or events or wherever they would book him. He had always been interested in escaping from things, but it had only been since he was at university that he had done anything about it. The first time I saw Zac wrapped in chains and struggling around, I really got a hard-on, and seeing him writhing around strapped up in his straitjacket nearly caused me to come in my pants. Zac must be the youngest, sexiest escapologist on the planet. He performs bare-footed and shirtless, just wearing snug-fitting black leather pants. With his irresistible smile, he simply challenges the audience to tie him up. It is often guys from our high school who volunteer to restrain him, or sometimes some jock from a local timber company is convinced he can do a good job. They don’t realise that when they wind 50 yards of chain around Zac’s slim, athletic torso, all he has to do is relax his muscles and the chains practically fall off him. Although Zac’s straitjacket is not gaffed or tricked like some escape artists use, he can get out of it easily, as most people have never seen a straitjacket before and have no idea how to strap it on properly. Of course, he puts on a great show of fighting and struggling, and those guys go away convinced they have given him a hard time. Up until now in his short career, Zac has always got out. He takes a bow smiling, his hair tousled, his body covered in red marks from his dramatic battle, and the audience cheers and whistles. It’s not only the young girls who fall in love with him.

I worked a month at Mr Henley’s timber company before Zac and I went up to our family’s cabin deep in the woods for six days. I enjoyed my job, although being the youngest of the guys working there, I had to take a lot of teasing and friendly bullying. A couple of days before Zac and I set off on our journey, I went to Mr Henley’s office and knocked on the door. I’ve known Mr Henley most of my life, but I still felt a bit nervous standing there in front of the boss.

“Mr Henley,” I said, “I’m going up to our cabin with Zac Hartley for a few days and I wanted to ask you whether I could take my rainsuit with me. The Internet forecast says it’s raining just about constantly up there.”“I’d hardly have thought it was something a teenager would want to wear,” he answered. “Don’t you have some trendy, brand-name hiking clothes to do the job?”

“I’m not a teenager anymore, Mr Henley,” I said, avoiding the question. “It’d be great advertising for the company with the firm’s logo on the back,” I added.

“I can’t imagine many people’ll see you up there deep in those woods,” he replied, “but go ahead, – I don’t care.”

“Thank you, sir!” I said smiling, and bounded down the steps of the wooden office.

The day came, and Zac and I packed my truck for the journey. Mom had provided us with bedding and enough food for months. And off we set, joking and laughing and kidding around, Zac trying to zip my new leather jacket up to my chin, – as if I needed that in summer! OK, I didn’t really need the jacket on at all, but I knew Zac liked me wearing it. Don’t forget he did his escape act in a pair of heavy leather pants. No leather pants today, though, he was dressed in shorts, T-shirt, sneakers and had a baseball cap pulled down over his dark hair, which curled out on all sides.

The journey took us about two hours. It wasn’t the drive on I-5 up to Eugene that took us the time, but the back roads to our place, tucked deep in the woods. I missed the turning at one point and had to head back, but eventually we pulled in up a dirt track, and there was the cabin I had known since I was a kid. Zac had never been there before and is more a townie, but I liked it there, – I always had done.

Zac got out and stared up at the height of the redwoods, pines and firs growing all around us. It was starting to rain, which was a bummer! The cabin set in those woods looked its best in the sunlight.

I unlocked the door and we stepped in. It smelled a bit musty. Not sure when Mom and Dad or anyone had last been here. I was now far, far away at university in the state of Rhode Island. I let some air in while Zac looked around. Don’t know what his first impressions were. The cabin’s pretty traditional, like you’d expect, old-fashioned, with a log hearth and wooden floors with rugs scattered around. We didn’t have a moose head mounted on the wall, but it would have looked right in place there. I went outside and got the generator going in the outhouse behind the cabin and then got the first of Mom’s grocery boxes out of the back of the trunk.

“Wanna soda, Zacky-Boy?” I said, throwing him a Coke.

“It’s piss warm!” he said.

“Well go plug the refrigerator in. Power’s on now. The kitchen’s through there.”

Zac did just that, and then followed me out to the truck. It was raining real hard now.

“I’d forgotten about the rain here,’’ he said. “It never rains in LA, especially at this time of the year. Should’a stayed there,” he said.

“And miss the chance of spending a week in the middle of nowhere alone with me, and well, maybe a bear or two?” I joked.

He grabbed the collar of my leather jacket and tried to pull it up over my head, forcing me to bend forward.

“Hey, careful!” I shouted, “I just bought this jacket in Boston, Mass!”

We stood on the deck looking out at the rain hammering down. “You could do with that shiny black gear you wear when you’re out working,” Zac said.

Where had Zac seen me wearing that? Now I was the one to pull my leather jacket up over my head as I bolted towards the truck. I picked out a particular bag of mine and ran back into the cabin. Zac tried to block my way up onto the deck, keeping me out in the rain.

“Get out of the way, you turd!” I said, pushing past him.

He followed me in. I dropped the bag heavily onto the floor and started to pull my clothes off. I slung my new jacket onto the sofa and pulled my T-shirt over my head.

“What ya doin’ Retard?” said Zac, laughing!

I pulled my shorts down and took off my black skater shoes. I was in my underpants, which I pulled off, too.

“Hey, dude! What’s up?” Zac said, laughing even more.

“Just getting changed” I said, and pulled a heavy black folded bundle out of the bag. The PVC pants fell open. I pulled them on quickly, hopping around on one foot as I pushed my foot down into the second leg. They felt cold on my warm skin. The inside of the pants was as smooth and shiny as the outside. They seemed to be double layer. Mr Henley had sure had the best made to keep his workers dry!

Zac was pulling the jacket out of the bag. He held it out towards me, backwards and upside down. I took the heavy gear and sorted it out and then wriggled my way into it. I should’ve kept my T-shirt on because the smooth PVC was clinging to my naked skin making it really difficult to wrestle on. But, I’d worn it without a shirt like that many times before, and I knew how to get into it. Soon my head appeared in the hood, which I then pulled down.

Zac was looking at me, breathing hard. His eyes were bright and he was grinning his white smile. I grabbed his T-shirt and yanked it up over his head.

“What the crap are you doing?” he exclaimed, putting his baseball cap back on. I hugged his hot body with my arms in the cold sleeves.

“Come on, get your pants off!” I said, letting him go and reaching down into the bag. “They’re, – for you!” I said, throwing two PVC bundles onto the sofa behind him.

”Your size, I think!”

Zac leapt forward and let the jacket fall open. He inspected it, threw it back on the sofa and examined the pants.

“Awesome!” he said, “Where? – How’d you get that?”

He started wrenching his sneakers off and frantically unzipped his shorts and practically ripped his underpants off. Zac had a huge hard on!

“One of the other guys has gone on vacation for three weeks and just happened to leave his suit hanging on a hook. I thought you could use it. He won’t be needing it in Florida.”

As Zac pulled the shiny pants on, I got my jacket done up properly. There was nothing quick and easy about that suit. There was a drawstring at the bottom, a belt around the waist and several flaps and two drawstrings to do with the hood.

Zac had got the pants on. He slapped his hands on his thighs with a thwack that cloth pants would never make. I had hoped David’s oilskins would fit Zac, and at least the pants did, -perfectly, – loose legs and tight around the ass. They were really overtrousers, but there wasn’t much room for jeans under them.

“I could wear these to skateboard in!” he said. “Now the jacket!”

He spread it out front-down on the sofa. He went in arms first and stood up and wriggled, Should I help him? I had also had trouble getting it on my first time and the other guys had laughed at me, the new boy.

I decided to let Zac struggle, too. He was used to getting out of things as an escape artist, and now he could learn how to get into things.

His flushed face eventually appeared in the hood and his hands emerged from the sleeves. “Wow, – I nearly suffocated in there!” he gasped happily.

“Here, let me help you,” I offered, and yanked the jacket down properly. Zac’s baseball cap fell out of the bottom of the jacket. He grabbed it and put it on again at a cheeky angle.

I pulled on the drawcord and the bottom of the jacket tightened around his ass. I reached the belt around his waist and strapped it tight.

“This is AWESOME!” he shouted. “Gotta mirror around here somewhere?”

He went off in the direction I indicated.

“This is so awesome!” he exclaimed again, pushing his hands into the pockets and admiring himself in the full-length mirror.

“It looks awesome and feels awesome! Thanks dude!” He smoothed his hands down the shiny vinyl suit.

“Let’s get out in the rain”, he said.

“Er, – we’re bare-footed, Zac, let’s get some shoes on.”

I slipped into my black sneakers, pulled my hood up, and rushed out into the rain. I had my workman’s boots in the truck with me and I had seen Zac throw in black hiking boots.

I ran back in with them. Zac sat down on the sofa and started pulling his boots on. The dull light from the window shone off his shoulders and thighs as he laced his boots shut.

I put mine on as quickly as I could, too.

“Come here, Zac, let’s get your hood done up properly.”

He beamed at me and held me while I pulled his cap off and fluffed his hair up. I pulled his hood up over his head.

He pulled me to him and suddenly gave me a gentle little kiss on my lips.

“Thanks, dude!” he said.

I pulled a heavy flap right across his mouth and over his nose and fastened it into the inside of his hood. He wasn’t expecting that! He could still breathe OK through black eyelets in the black vinyl.

He tried to fiddle with the flap, but I quickly yanked the drawstring of his hood and it closed tightly around his head.

Again he reached up to adjust it, but I slapped his hands away and then pulled the collar flap tightly around his throat. This fastened with both press studs and with black buttons, too.

We weren’t allowed to wear the hoods up when active at work. They restricted our vision, they restricted our hearing and of course we had to wear hard hats.

But on my first day, several of the guys had fun getting me all geared up.

David, whose suit Zac was now wearing, had fastened my hood properly as I had just done to Zac. He had knotted the drawstring so that I couldn’t get it undone again. The guys found that hilarious and pushed me from one to another as they stood in a circle around me. It took me half an hour in front of a mirror picking at that knot before I could push the hood down off my head.

Zac was smoothing his hands over the hood and feeling the fastenings around his throat. He was saying something, but I couldn’t understand what he said from deep inside the hood.

It was probably just “Awesome!”

I went to the mirror and closed my hood up in the same way, wrapping the mouth and nose flap tightly across, and tightening the other fastenings like I had done on many days this summer. Zac was behind me with his arms wrapped around my waist, feeling the smoothness of my suit.

We went out into the rain.

It was absolutely pouring down, which didn’t bother us, of course. I pushed Zac down the steps from the deck and he turned round and shoved me, too. We made it to the truck and started pulling the other bags and boxes out. We had enough for a year there. We went back and forth and put all that stuff onto the deck.

I watched Zac’s every move, watching the rain stream in long drips and trickles down his slick rainsuit, using every opportunity to push against him or touch him.

We were both pretty restricted by our hoods. Only out eyes were visible, I could only see straight forward, and I couldn’t hear much in that hood as the thick PVC covered my ears.

Zac must have been in the same situation.

I pressed hard up against Zac as he leaned in to get his iPlayer out from beside the passenger seat. The rain ran down his back and over the dark blue geometric logo of Mr Henley’s company. Zac reached around and grabbed my ass, and I pushed harder against him, practically shoving him into the truck. Eventually we got all the stuff carried into the cabin.

Suddenly, Zac gave me a violent shove, and I fell backwards over the back of the sofa and ended up on the floor!

The bastard!

I got up as quick as I could in the restrictive suit and rushed after him as he disappeared out the door.

He was bolting off into the heavy rain, weaving through the trees.

I was after him and catching up.

He was heading for a stream, but he didn’t know that. Zac had never been there before. Suddenly, he more or less disappeared as he slipped down a grassy slope to end up lying on his back in the mud, almost lying in the water.

I nearly pissed myself with laughing, which sounded so loud in my head wrapped in the hood. I slithered down the bank, but kept my balance and reached Zac as he was pulling himself up onto his elbow.

He couldn’t hear me laughing at him, but he knew I was, and before I knew it, he had grabbed one of my ankles and pulled me off my feet to land half on him, half in the mud.

I sat on him, astraddle, and held his arms pinned flat in the mud above his head.

But, Zaccy had done wrestling at school, and he somehow rolled over. Suddenly I was the one being pushed face-down into the slimy earth.

He rammed my face right into it, but I didn’t notice much, thanks to the hood.

I fought back, and we rolled around getting filthier and filthier, half in, half out of the shallow water. Suddenly he slumped down onto me, breathing heavily. My heart was pounding, but not just from the exertion. I wrapped my arms around him and there we lay for a few minutes, slippery and slimy, on top of each other, with the rain hammering down on us and the water from the stream lapping at us from one side.

“Better get back”, I said, but whether Zac understood that or not, I don’t know.

He responded to me getting off him, though, and I grabbed his hand to pull him up, but let go unexpectedly so he thudded back into the mud.

He was mumbling something loud, but I couldn’t understand what.

I don’t think it was “Awesome!”, though.

We slipped and slithered up the bank and set off through the trees. The rain was hammering down on us, but we hardly felt that. It was washing some of the mud off, but not much. Our black, shiny suits were anything but black and shiny, totally covered in brown mud, bits of twigs, leaves and grass.

We got back to the cabin and Zac headed on in through the door we had left open.

OK, no-one around to steal anything, but a bear could’ve smelt the food and gone in….

I grabbed his waist belt to stop him.

He couldn’t go in there covered in all that shit!

He playfully stumbled backwards down the steps from the deck, turned round and grabbed me.

I pulled away, making a gesture for him to wait.

I pulled the water hose out from under the deck and went to turn the water on. It hadn’t been used for a while and the water ran brown at first, but soon came through powerfully in a clear jet.

I gestured for him to get away from the cabin, and shot the jet at him. He defensively turned sideways as the water thundered against him, blasting the mud off his suit. He turned around and around as though dancing, to get washed from all sides.

I sprayed his hood from the back and he rubbed mud off with his hands. If I had directed the jet straight into his face, the water would have run down into his suit.

He did the same with me. It was a great feeling being hosed down by a guy covered in PVC, as I was, too.

However, my suit hadn’t really come clean, and Zac’s hadn’t either.

I dropped the hose and ran to the outhouse behind the cabin where the electricity generator hummed away.

There I found what I wanted, – a bottle of car shampoo.

When I got back, Zac was trying to brush off bits of debris with his hands. I sloshed shampoo on him from behind. He turned around and I held the plastic bottle up for him to see what I was doing.

I worked him into a lather from behind, and he did the same with his front. He was covered in foam and suds.

We did the same with me. He rubbed his hands over me to get the shampoo foaming.

He pushed up against me and the feel of our slimy, soapy bodies on each other was an even bigger turn-on than the mud had been.

I had an enormous hard-on and thought I’d come in my black pants.

Zac kissed me hard and long, but of course our mouths never touched, there were several layers of PVC between us, and I had to pull away because I wasn’t getting any air.

We hosed each other down, the white suds taking the last of the mud with them.

We pushed and bullied each other and took our time getting clean. The rain added to the fun.

We went up on the deck and opened each other’s hoods, a difficult task that took a couple of minutes.

Zac beamed at me, out of breath, his eyes sparkling. His hair was all flattened down, and there were marks on his forehead from the tight hood.

I arranged Zac’s hood as best I could, but the amount of PVC there still meant that it came up to his chin.

He did the same with me and gave me a quick kiss.

We sat down on the wooden bench and took off our soaking shoes and just sat there, letting the water drip off.

“Awesome!” said Zac, “Totally awesome!”

“Let’s get in,” I said, “It’s starting to get dark.”

So we went in, grabbed a couple of towels and dried each other off. Then we used soft cloths to buffer up the shine on or suits until they were as glossy and shiny as they had ever been.

“I need a piss!” I said.

“I need a shower!” he said, so we took off the suits.

Easy said, that, -  we had to help each other struggle out, until we both stood there naked with the suits piled on the floor around us.

Zac padded off to the shower first.

I was tempted to join him, but I just took the piss I had been waiting so long for.

While Zac was showering, I sorted the suits out and lay them on the sofa. I killed the time polishing last water drips off around the hoods until the shower was free.

Eventually Zac reappeared, smiling and smelling good.

“Your turn, Stefan,” he said, and off I went to have a long, long shower.

When I came back in naked, I was surprised to see Zac sitting on the sofa barefoot and bare-chested, but wearing the shiny PVC pants again.

I felt my penis swelling again.

Smiling, and without comment, he threw me my vinyl pants. I stepped into them, – also without comment.

Boy! Did they feel cold against my skin, hot from the shower! Boy! Did they feel great!

“I’m starving!” said Zac. “Let’s see what your mom’s packed us.”

She had it all worked out. We had put the packages marked “fridge” in the refrigerator and had sorted the other things away, too.

To tell it all short, we had chicken and mashed potatoes with corn which we cooked and warmed up on the stove.

We sat there at the kitchen table eating, both naked apart from thick black rainpants.

“Watch some TV?” I asked. “Sure, I’ll get the hard drive.”

The cabin had a second level, open to the lower floor.

I padded up the stairs behind Zac, my eyes fixed on his ass in its black vinyl covering. We had brought a BluRay player with us that played all the series and movies we had on an external hard drive.

Zac set it all up. We watched 2 episodes of “The Walking Dead” a new HBO zombie series. Hard and bloody! Great! Then Zac went down to the bathroom.

When he came back up, his arms were full of the two jackets.

“Let’s put these on again,” he said matter-of-factly.

I had already thought about that, but hadn’t dared suggest it. Zac is more straight-forward and less self-conscious than me. He does what he wants in a happy-go-lucky way without any doubts or remorse.

We helped each other into the complicated jackets, pulling them down over our naked torsos and doing up the belts and drawcords. We left the hoods down, though.

We sat next to each other watching an episode of ‘the Vampire Diaries’, and Zac had his arm around my shoulder.

I can’t tell you much about the show, – usually I love watching my namesake and his brother Damon, – but I couldn’t concentrate, and neither could Zac, I could tell.

“Well, that was great!” he said as it finished. “I’m bushed, – I’m crashing!”.

“Me too”, I said.

We turned TV and lights off and headed for the bedroom.

“I’m too tired to get undressed,” Zac lied.

“Me too!” I smiled, and threw myself face-down onto the king-size bed, pretending to be exhausted.

Zac threw himself next to me, waited for a few moments but then started stroking his hand over my PVC covered back and picking at the logo welded to the jacket.

“Don’t pull that off!” I said, turning over quickly. “This suit has to be returned sometime!”

“But not yet!” said Zac, and climbed onto me.

I was turned on by my suit, smooth against my skin and even more so by Zac, black and shiny on top of me.

We kissed and held each other tight.

I pulled his hood up, but only loosely over his head. I kissed his smiling face and smoothed his hair inside the hood.

“I need to come!” he said. “I’ve needed to come all day,” he said.

He rolled over on his back and I pulled his jacket up until I could get to the Velcro-closed fly of his pants.

I slid my hand in and grasped his swollen prick. I massaged gently and Zac started to moan and breathe really deeply.

Then he came with almost a scream!

His whole body stiffened, and his head went back.

Wow! He had really needed to come.

White cum shot hot over my hand and over the black PVC.

“My turn now”, I whispered hoarsely, and Zac did the same for me, pressing part of the hood fastenings like a gag over my mouth, causing me to fight for air as I felt the biggest orgasm I had ever experienced rock through my body in an intense sensation bordering on pain.

Zac collapsed onto me, and so we lay, this time genuinely exhausted, breathing deeply, two guys, completely encased head-to-toe in thick PVC suits.

Now, if that’s not safer sex, then I don’t know what is!

Chapter 2

Zac woke me at what seemed like the crack of dawn. I was so sleepy. We had spent the night sleeping in those suits, and now Zac was leaning on top of me, peering into my eyes out of his loosely done-up hood. He looked wonderful, as usual. He pressed up against me as I slowly came to, remembering with a thudding heart the events of our first day here at the cabin.

I sat up and looked at us both lying there in PVC.

“We’ve got some cleaning up to do, Zac,” I stated.

We had come in, – and on, – the suits, and it was dried and sticky.

I got up and marched off to fetch a damp sponge. I was surprised to find it was nearly 10 o’clock.

We spent half an hour cleaning each other up. I could hardly give David his suit back covered in cum stains!

“Let’s get showered, you pervert!” I said , which spurred Zac into action.

Within seconds he had me in a headlock and was rubbing his knuckles hard over my scalp. That hurt, but I liked him doing it, especially as the arm locked around my neck was in the PVC sleeve.

He let me go and undid the waistbelt and drawstrings of his jacket. He then started pulling it over his head. But, Zac must have been sweating a bit, because the jacket didn’t move up easily. He got stuck just as his arms were neither in nor out of the sleeves, and his head was still somewhere deep inside the body of the jacket. He started to struggle, using the same movements he used to get out of his straitjacket. Just as I was going to throw him onto the bed and fight with him, he did shrug the jacket off, and he threw it dramatically onto the floor. He pulled off his pants much more easily, and set off for the shower.

I got some breakfast together, still wearing the full rainsuit with its hood down. When Zac came into the kitchen, he was wearing his black leather jeans. He looked so good I nearly dropped the egg pan.

“Where’d you get those pants from?” I asked, “They are awesome!”

“LA,” he said simply. “You really like them?”

“You know you look great in them, – especially when you’re tied up in your straitjacket, I added.

I wrestled my rainjacket up over my head and it came off more easily than Zac’s had done. “Wow, I think your straitjacket’s probably easier!” I gasped.

We sat down at the table and ate the eggs and the ham I’d prepared.

“You reckon?” he said. “I brought my straitjacket with me. Wanna try it out?” he asked with a grin.

“You brought it with you?” I said enthusiastically.

“Got all my gear here, – thought I could get in some practice,” he said. “You wanna try it out?” he asked again.

“No chance!” I said. “You’re not getting me in that thing!”

I would have loved to have tried it out, but I didn’t trust Zac Hartley one little bit.

Zac had gotten his straitjacket off the Internet. It looked good, but was really made for escape performances. It was strong, brownish canvas, reinforced with brown leather around the neck, down the front and at the ends of the sleeves. The brown leather back straps were all attached to dark brown leather, too. It looked impressive, and Zac look amazing wearing it. He looked so helpless strapped up and hugging himself, – your heart went out to him.

Most people have never seen a straitjacket before, and have no idea what makes for a good restraint and what is mostly show. As long as Zac had his arms crossed in front of him, they thought he was helpless. I’ve watched him use all the tricks of the trade, holding the inside of the sleeves to gain slack later and also crossing his left arm above his right elbow, which gives him so much looseness when he slides his arm down below the elbow. There are no side loops to prevent the arms being worked up and over the head, or any other means of making the jacket more secure. Zac can escape easily, but he makes it look difficult.

“Go get it!” I said.

Zac went over to one of his unopened bags and pulled out a canvas restraint. Buckles jangled and clinked menacingly. It was not the jacket I knew.

“Here you go!” said Zac, laughing, “Presenting my new straitjacket!” he said proudly.

I was getting another hard-on in my PVC pants.

He let the heavy jacket unfold dramatically and held it open in my direction.

I stared at the formidable restraint. I knew my straitjackets, – I’d looked at so many on the Internet. It seemed basically like a Posey asylum jacket, but much longer, and with a high strapping collar, which no Posey jacket has. It had side loops and a loop at the front of the jacket that the arms threaded through. The crotch strap was short, I guess because the jacket was so long. It had more straps and buckles than normal, – canvas webbing straps with silver eyelets and roller buckles. Roller buckles are easy to fasten, but I’d read they are easy to open, too. The escape artist shrugs and tugs until the prongs just spring out of the eyelets of the straps. This was a fault of that type of buckle.

Zac’s new jacket was of very thick natural canvas, and that would be a problem when escaping. If Zac ever got his arms free, his fingers would still have great difficulties opening the other straps through the closed sleeves.

“Sure you don’t want to try it on?” he said, a beaming smile on his face. “It’d really suit you!”

“No way, buddy! I’ll put you in it and give you the challenge of your lifetime. I’ve been thinking about the way you get out. Bet I can beat you!”

“I’ll get out,” he said arrogantly, obviously up for the challenge. “Do your worst!”

“Or best!” I added.

He was still holding the jacket as though I was the one going down the sleeves.

“Uh, – other way round!” I said, taking the jacket from him.

Wow, it was heavy! The cream-coloured canvas was really thick but somehow smooth. It was a bit battered in places and there was a light stain on one sleeve.

“Already seen some fighting, has it?” I said, as I held it out towards him. “In you go!”

Zac dramatically dived into the sleeves of the jacket, nearly tugging it out of my hands.

“Turn round,” I said, and he did.

We happened to be standing by the big mirror and Zac admired himself in it.

“You’re right,” he said. “I do look good in leather jeans.”

“You won’t feel so good when I’ve got this on you”, I said.

“Yeah, they all think that,” he replied provocatively.

I closed the two sides of the jacket over each other at the back, and started to do the buckles and straps up one by one, pulling them tight, but not too tight. There were five down the back and a sixth at the collar, – more than usual. Zac had taken a deep breath to expand his ribcage, – that would give him a bit of slack when he needed it.

I did the collar up so tightly, Zac’s cheeky smile disappeared for a second. I loosened it by a couple of eyelets. Mustn’t choke him! The collar went right up under his chin.

Grabbing from behind, I gripped hold of the bottom of the strapped jacket and jerked it downwards to get rid of any looseness.

Making sure I got as much feel of his leather pants as I could, I pulled the crotch strap through from the front and jerked it through its buckle at the back. It made a great strapping sound.

I tucked all the straps through their retainers.

Zac was now tightly encased in the jacket.

He brandished his closed sleeves in front of him, a strap hanging from one closed end and a buckle from the other.

As I moved around to the front of him he grabbed me and hugged me close with his canvas-encased arms. He kissed me deeply and I kissed him back, pulling him even closer to me by grabbing one of the straps on the back of his jacket. I felt the dangling arm strap slap lightly against the leg of my vinyl pants.

I forced myself to pull away.

“Let’s get you all tied up,” I breathed.

With a grin, he crossed his arms obligingly.

“Gotta get your arms through this front strap first!” I said, at the same time pulling his arms apart and threading the sleeves through the loop sewn to the front of the jacket.

Zac held his right elbow tightly with his left hand.

Another of his tricks!

I passed the sleeve ends through the side loops, brought them together at the back, threaded the canvas strap through the roller buckle and jerked it tight. The prong snapped through an eyelet and Zac was fastened. His sleeves were pulled really tightly, or so it seemed.

“Get out of that” I said.

He smirked. “A 3^rd grader could do better!” he said.

I wasn’t actually finished. I embraced him from behind, my chin over his shoulder.

“You look great,” I said in his ear and he strained in the high collar to turn his head to me.

“It suits you, you crazy idiot!”

Zac laughed, and was off his guard for a moment. I reacted quickly, pulling his left sleeve down below his right elbow, at the same time violently jerking the sleeve strap, which I already had twisted around my right hand for a good grip. I was able to strap it considerably tighter. The buckle prong clicked through a metal eyelet 5 further along the strap.

Zac gasped. “You bastard!” he exclaimed but at the same time laughing. “You prick!”

“That should make it more difficult!” I said. I looked over his shoulder into the mirror. His arms were now wrapped tightly around his waist.

Zac actually looked a bit worried. He watched himself in the mirror, drew in a deep breath and started wriggling his shoulder to get some slack into the sleeves.

I had seen Zac escape on many occasion. He would work his arms up over his head, but that was with the escape artist’s jacket he always performed with, – the one without side and front loops.

I stood behind him, watching him watch himself in the mirror.

He looked great, wriggling his shoulders up and down. The canvas made a kind of swishing sound as the sleeves rubbed together. They already appeared looser, and that was exactly what I was waiting for.

I reacted so quickly, grabbing the sleeve strap and at the same time putting my knee in Zac’s back.

I wrenched with all my strength and the strap tightened by yet another three notches. It was as tight as it would go.

Zac wrenched around to me, furious but still smiling.

“You bastard!” he exclaimed!

“I can’t believe you just did that! I thought we were friends!”

“What’s being friends got to do with it,” I said. “You challenged me to do my best, and that’s what I’m doing. One day you’ll have some big truck driver who’ll tie you up so tight you’ll hardly be able to breathe. Now stop moaning and get out of it!”

I tucked the sleeve strap through its retainer and twisted it around itself to tidy it up.

Zac fell to his knees and started to pull and wriggle.

I pulled one of the white laces out of one of my trainers. I went into the kitchen and found a short sharp knife.

“Get up, Zac,” I said, “Come on!”

I helped him get up by holding his shoulders.

“What’re you doing now?” he asked concerned, but half laughing.

I threw him face-down on the sofa and climbed on him.

“Hey!” he screamed, “That hurts, – get off! What’re you doing?”

What was I doing? – Just solving the problem of the buckles coming open on their own. I had seen a solution on a straitjacket website.

I threaded the lace through an appropriate grommit on the sleeve buckle, two or three along from the prong, and tied it around the retainer in a tight knot.

With the knife I cut the lace as close to the knot as possible. That buckle wouldn’t open again on its own.

Zac was straining and struggling ineffectually. I was sitting on him with all my weight and he was trussed up in the straitjacket.

I tidied up the loose strap end, did the same with the collar buckle, then with the others, one after the other, threading, tying, cutting, -all the straps except the crotch strap. I left that one.

“You are such a bastard!” mumbled Zac into the leather of the sofa, but he was enjoying it all really.

I grabbed one of his backstraps and pulled him to his feet.

I fluffed his hair up, gave him a quick kiss, slapped him playfully twice left and right on his shoulders and said: “There’s only one way out of that! Escape!”

“I’ll get out!” he said laughing. “I always get out! A turd like you can’t hold me!”

He rolled from the sofa, ended up kneeling on the floor and then got to his feet.

“Then do that, Zaccy!” I said, and I shoved him back sitting onto the sofa.

He stood up again. I shoved him back again.

“OK, cut it OUT!” he shouted, “I got some serious escaping to do!”

“Get on with it then, Houdini!” I taunted.

Zac started shrugging and pulling, wriggling and tugging in his jacket. He was actually managing to work his sleeves a bit looser, – but not much, I had strapped them really tight.

He stood up and wrenched his arms from left to right, twisting his body at the same time.

His arms became just a little looser, – but again, not much.

He knelt down and pushed his elbow against the hard end of the sofa, – that didn’t get him far. He raised his shoulders and tried to get his chin into the collar of the jacket. It was fastened too snugly for that and where would that have got him anyway?

He jerked one arm upwards and the other one downwards. He did this several times, quickly.

The canvas made that great swishing sound, but Zac got no further.

He tugged violently and managed to get his left arm up a little onto his right elbow.

That’s as far as he got. The sleeves were too tight and the side loops and the one on his chest stopped him getting any further.

“It’s friggin hot in here!” he said, pursing his lips to blow air upwards onto his face.

His dark hair lifted up from his forehead.

“You’re the one who put leather pants on,” I said.

Zac strained against the collar and threw a glance down at his shiny black thighs.

“I need some ROOM!” he shouted. He stood up and headed for some open floor space.

He pulled in his jacket, braced himself and twisted violently from left to right, almost like a dog shaking off water.

He fell to the floor and rolled to the left, then to the right.

He ended up on his belly, the row of buckles shining down his back.

He tried to brace his elbow against the floor.

He twisted and pulled again.

The thick canvas swished loudly and his jeans gleamed in the light from the upstairs window.

He rolled over and got to his knees. The jacket was long and the white crotch strap pulled the front and back together between his leather-covered legs.

This was one-hell-of-a turn-on! I had a rigid hard-on which was visible through the PVC pants I was wearing.

“Come on Zaccy-Boy! This is getting boring!” I teased.

“Get the hell out of here!” he exclaimed, giving me a sarcastic smile.

I laughed. “You’re not getting paid for this lousy performance today” I said.

“I need to get away from you!” he shouted. “I need some SPACE!”

He struggled to his feet and headed up the stairs to the second floor.

I just watched him go.

“This is so AWESOME!” I shouted after him.

Resisting the urge to be with Zac, I busied myself with chores like washing the dishes and unpacking the last of our stuff.

There were handcuffs, chains, padlocks and ropes in Zac’s straitjacket bag, plus his trusty escape jacket.

I went out on the deck and sat looking at the trees through the drizzle.

I actually began to feel a bit cool in just those PVC pants without a jacket.

Should I pull the rainjacket on?

No, that was too restricting.

I went in and pulled my leather jacket on.

I heard a thump and a grunt from above and something was knocked over.

I found my iPod and went out onto the deck again.

Sitting on the bench, I listened to nearly the whole of Eminem’s latest album.

Actually, I was thinking of Zac, struggling like a madman in the jacket.

I wanted to grab my prick and jerk off, but I hoped for better things later.

Suddenly I was conscious of the screen door being pushed open just behind me.

Zac was standing there, still in his straitjacket, as tied up now as he had been at the beginning. His hair was all messed up and there was a dark sweat stain down the front of his jacket.

He smiled an exhausted smile at me, and said something.

I yanked the earphones out and said: “What?”

“I can’t get out Stefan,” he said quietly and ashamedly, without looking me directly in the eyes.

“Then what are ya gonna do?” I asked.

“Let me out, Stefan! We can go down and have fun down at the river again,” he said, trying to make the request sound super-attractive.

“No!” I said.

“What?” he said, staring at me with wide brown eyes.

“I said NO! I’m not taking that jacket off you. You stay in it!”

His face lit up and he laughed, at the same time moving up to me to straddle one of my legs between his. I put my hand on his hip, half touching the straitjacket, half on his leathers. “You’re kidding me, right?”

“No kidding, Zac! You keep the jacket on! Get used to it, OK?”

I realised that I was beginning to sound a bit aggressive.

“You’re far too dangerous to be running around free!” I teased.

Zac was beginning to breathe deeply as he slowly realised he was really in trouble.

“How long for?” he asked.

“Long-term! Unless you can work your way out alone, you’ll still be in it when we pack up in 6 days! – You’ll still be wearing it on the way home!”

I was breathing deeply at the thought. “Consider yourself a max security prisoner!” I said.

“Right, I’ve had enough,” he laughed, “all that struggling has made me hungry! Unstrap me and let’s get some lunch.”

“Good idea,” I said.

“Turn around,” I said smiling up at him.

He smiled a broad smile, stepped back and turned round. All the shining silver buckles were facing me. I checked to see whether all the straps were neat and tidy. I turned Zac around.

“OK, – you’re all set,” I said. “Let’s get some lunch.”

I laughed in his pretty face.

He suddenly realised he wasn’t being let out and he shoved me forward with his strapped body. I plonked down on the bench and Zac actually rammed his knee between my legs aiming unsuccessfully for my balls.

“That does it!” I shouted.

“That’s exactly why you have to be kept in that straitjacket! You’re friggin dangerous!”

I got him in a headlock, my leathered arm tightly around his neck, and started to drag him into the cabin towards the stairs.

“Get up there, Zacky!” I grunted as I forced him struggling up the wooden stairs.

Gripping his crotch strap and one of the higher back straps, I shoved him into the bedroom and pulled the door shut.

No lock, -but he wasn’t able to turn the doorknob tied up like that.

I rushed down, pulling my leather jacket off as I went. I hurled it onto the sofa, which it missed and fell on the floor.

I grabbed Zac’s escapology bag and tipped it out onto the floor next to the sofa.

Chains fell loudly, and one of the padlocks slid across the floor.

It was the rope I needed.

I rushed back up the stairs.

There was a hell of a noise coming from the bedroom. Zac was shouting and kicking the door violently.

I lunged in and grabbed the dude by the shoulders, pushing him backwards onto the bed with all my force.

Zac gasped, but then smiled up at me. He still didn’t think I meant it about the jacket.

“I’m going to tie you down, Zac! You’ll like that!” I said smiling.

When he saw the ropes, Zac tried to roll off the bed, but I was quicker and sat on him with all my weight.

Zac cried out. I was sitting on his crossed arms. I got myself into position on the struggling guy until I was sitting on his body facing in the wrong direction, kneeling astride him.

“Nice ass!” he joked, probably staring at my PVC-covered butt.

I stretched out and started to bind his ankles to the steel bed end, which was seemingly made for the job.

I eventually got the other kicking foot secure, too.

I got off Zac and tugged the legs of his leather jeans down properly.

I liked to be neat.

I was ignoring Zac’s shouts. He sat up. Good stomach muscles! I thought, especially considering the long jacket encased him to the top of his legs!

I pushed him back down and managed to thread another length of rope through the strap holding his collar closed.

Zac fought violently to try to stop me doing that.

I knotted the rope around the bed head.

Zac could still struggle, but he couldn’t sit up or roll off the bed.

“I thought we were friends!” he shouted. “What about last night?” he said. “We had sex together.”

“And we will again, Zac! Have fun, calm down, and I’ll get lunch.”

I left the room, pulled the door shut and left him screaming “Stefan! Stefan!” as I went down the stairs.

I sat on the sofa a moment. I was really hot, so I suppose Zac had to be near boiling point.

I pulled off the PVC pants. They stuck to my legs. I pulled them inside out. They were wet. I left them over a chair to dry. I retrieved my leather jacket from the floor, pulled on a pair of shorts and padded into the kitchen to get something for us to eat.

It was nearly an hour before I went back upstairs. Zac had been shouting and screaming for half that time, but then it had slowly become quiet up there.

Had Zac got out? No, not possible.

I opened the door quietly, and there lay Zac, still tied to the bed, of course, actually dozing happily.

My prick got hard again in my shorts. He looked awesome in his leather pants, rope binding his ankles and his arms hugging himself tightly in his straitjacket.

“Zaccy?” I said softly.

He opened his eyes and tried to sit up, but only got a few inches as the rope through his collar strap held him back.

He slumped back down.

I climbed onto the bed on top of him, sitting astride him.

“I got you something to eat,” I said.

“Great! I’m really hungry!” he said.

I untied his feet, stroking and smoothing my hand over his black jeans up to his prick, which was not only deep under the leather, but under the canvas, too.

Zac breathed harder and smiled at me.

“Better stop that Stefan!” he said, “I need to piss.”

Zac’s legs were untied now and he went to get up, forgetting the rope still through his collar strap. “Uuggh!” he said, pretending to choke.

He was back in his usual playful mode. I released him from the rope, and Zac rolled over and stood up, turning his back to me.

Poor Zac thought I was going to take the jacket off him.

“Come on!” I said, “Let’s get downstairs.”

I patted him firmly on his shoulder.

“The straitjacket!” he said, turning.

“What about it?” I answered.

“Unstrap me! Let me out!”

“The jacket stays on, Zac!”

“Oh no!” he said, “How’m I going to piss or eat?”

“I’ll look after you, Zac. You’re my prisoner.”

He seemed to accept that, seemed to like the idea.

He smiled at me. He was breathing hard.

“Let’s get downstairs,” I said again.

Zac went down before me. His jacket looked great, – the straps, all the buckles, and Zac’s hair curling over the high collar.

Zac saw the sandwiches and chips and stuff I had put on the kitchen table.

“You gonna feed me then?” he asked.

“Looks like I’m gonna have to,” I answered.

“I need to take a pee first. How’re you gonna sort that out?”

I had thought about that. I had a leather belt ready.

“Come here, Zac,” I said, and wrapped the belt around his waist backwards under his strapped arms.

“What’ye doing?” he asked, straining against the collar to look back over his shoulder.

I strapped the belt up tight, – really tight, cinching Zac’s waist in. That would stop him trying to pull the jacket up over his head when I had the bottom open.

“Oww! Oww! That’s too tight. What’s that for? I’m gonna piss in my pants!”

I had already undone Zac’s crotchstrap. I undid the lowest two buckles on the jacket and pulled the jacket up.

The jacket was open up to the waiststrap and I could get at Zac’s fly.

“To the bathroom, crazy guy!” I said.

Zac was smiling as he padded off. I opened the door for him. Zac stood in front of the can.

I reached around him, and from behind, opened the stud at the top of his pants and pulled the zipper of his fly down, revealing Zac’s rock hard prick.

I pulled it out gently. Zac stiffened all over.

I thought he was going to come.

“Not yet,” Zac, “just a piss-break!” I pulled the toilet seat up and left him to it.

Without the crotch strap, our intrepid escape artist would have perhaps been able to pull the jacket upwards. It wouldn’t have got him far with his arms through the side loops and with all his straps knotted tight, but the leather belt around his waist stopped him wriggling the jacket up even by one inch.

I went back in.

“Done?” I asked.

“Yeah! I’ve got a hard-on!”

“Uh, yeah, – I had noticed! A biggun!” I said.

“I couldn’t aim,” said Zac, “I’ve missed the can!” There were yellow splashes on the seat, on the tiled floor, even in the basin. I’d wipe that up.

“Come outside, there’s more room.”

I grasped Zac’s prick to get his pants zippered up again.

”Make me come, Stefan, please!” he whispered.

“No, not yet!”

“Please!”

“No, not yet!”

I closed the fly and Zac’s prick was confined behind leather again.

“That comfortable?” I asked.

“Guess so,” he said, disappointed.

It took quite a while getting Zac’s jacket tidily strapped up again.

He didn’t put up any resistance, just took a really deep breath as I unstrapped the leather belt cinching his waist in.

“Let’s go eat.” I said.

Zac walked into the kitchen. I pulled back a chair for him to sit.

“Gonna be a good boy, Zac? Or do I need to tie you to this chair?”

“No problem,” he said cheerfully.

“What’ya want? Ham?”

“That’ll do.”

I held the sandwich in front of Zac’s mouth, but pulled it away as he went to take a bite.

“Oh come on!” he laughed.

I let him take a bite.

“Want some lemonade?”

He sipped on the straw. Zac was really enjoying this, and I was too.

I ate, too.

Suddenly he said casually, “When ya gonna let me out of this jacket?”

“Never! I said.

“I’m in it for good?”

“Sure thing!”

He was quiet for a couple of seconds.

“Awesome!” he said softly.

Zac had never worn a straitjacket for long before. He had always escaped as quickly as he could from his easy jacket, and had never been tied up in one properly.

He was now experiencing the restraint as it was meant to be.

He found that exciting.

He found that a really big turn on

He couldn’t relax, constantly pulling in the sleeves, working them upwards and then down again, but he got no further than a few inches.

He constantly came up to me, smiling, frustrated, trying to rub his body against mine, trying to come in his leather pants.

He tried to kiss me and I’d playfully put my hand on the top of his head and hold him back.

“Come on, dude,” he’d say, “you gotta let me out!”

“No way!” I’d say, and he’d pretend to be angry, but really he liked hearing that. Boy did he like it!

One time, late afternoon, he seemed to realise that he really was fucked-up, and he started to struggle properly.

I watched him, looking down from the railing above.

He rolled around on the floor, gasping, wrenching, struggling and battling with the jacket, although he knew he stood no chance of getting out.

He tried every move in the book to gain slack, to lever his arms up, to make some move that would give him some hope of freedom.

He rubbed and pushed against the stair banister to see whether he could dislodge or open a strap.

No chance! – I had laced and knotted those buckles shut.

He rolled around on the floor again, wrenching and pulling, arching his back off the floor, contorting as if in agony.

The sun was actually shining today and it streamed in through the window above to light his struggles up as if he was on a stage.

The buckles of the straitjacket glinted as he rolled around, his leather jeans shone, the sweat running down his face sparkled.

I had never seen Zac so determined, so embittered.

This went on for about forty minutes before he let out a frustrated cry and fell back limp and panting, exhausted and defeated.

I went down to him and kneeled astraddle.

As I looked into his sweaty face, he turned his head to one side to avoid looking me in the eyes.

“I can’t get out,” he said softly, “I can’t get out!”

“I know,” I said.

“I’m so hot!”

That’s what I thought, too. Sexually hot.

“Let me out. Please!” he said.

“No, Zac, get used to it. You stay straitjacketed.”

“I’m so friggin hot,” he said. ”I’m burning up!”

I got off him and found a wet face cloth to bathe his face. I cooled it under the faucet and lay it on Zac’s brow. His breath was still heavy as if he had just come off the football field.

His straitjacket was dark with sweat in many places and had dust from the floor stuck to it, too. “I can’t stand this!” he gasped, “I am so horny!”

“Let’s roll you over, Zac.”

He did nothing to resist me wrenching him onto his front by grabbing the straps of his jacket.

I unstrapped the crotch strap and the first buckle on the jacket.

I needed to get to Zac’s prick again.

I rolled him over, back onto his back.

I pulled the canvas out of the way and unzipped his leather jeans.

Zac’s prick was not actually very hard, but was certainly not soft either.

I held it gently in my hand.

Zac inhaled suddenly and his body tensed.”Let me out,” he said quietly, “then we can really have some fun together.”

“Don’t keep asking me that, Zac. You stay in the straitjacket. You’re not getting out.”

His prick was hardening.

“But I’ve been in it 6 hours already.”

“Yeah, and you’ll still be in it in 6 days, Zac.”

Zac was breathing hard, his prick was rigid.

“6 days?” he gasped.

“And longer!” I said. “Permanently! – Maximum security!”

I massaged Zac’s prick a little harder.

He began to moan and his body arched off the floor.

He strained hard in his strapped sleeves and he came! Boy did he ever come!

White stuff just shot from his prick in thick pulses, over my hand, over his brown belly and onto his black jeans and the white jacket.

Zac was almost convulsing.

He slumped back gasping, and I leant over and kissed him.

He pulled away, – he needed air.

He smiled at me. ”Oh that was so good!” he breathed, “That was awesome!”

I lay down on my back beside him.

I needed to come, too, I was breathing almost as hard as Zac was. But I’d wait.

We both lay in the sunshine, looking up to the wooden ceiling.

We dozed.

Zac was still asleep when I woke up. It was nearly dark.

I got that wet flannel and started to clean Zac up.

He woke up then, of course, and his prick started to swell. He tensed as I washed his hardening cock with the cold flannel. Eventually I got him zipped up in his leather jeans and fully strapped up in his jacket again.

He was exhausted.

He let me do all that without protesting, a half-smile on his face.

The evening was fun.

Zac’s straitjacket slowly dried off as I suppose his leather jeans did too.

It was getting cooler and I was wearing just baggy shorts and nothing else.

“Put your black pants on again,” said Zac, nodding towards them draped over the back of the chair.

I dropped my shorts and grabbed the PVC trousers. They sure felt cold and smooth as I pulled them on, especially against my hard, warm prick. They felt smoother against my skin than before, then I realised why, – I had them on inside out. They were pretty much the same on both sides, but the proper side was shinier and there wasn’t the welding and seams that made them 100 per cent waterproof.

“Got them on wrong!” I laughed to Zac, who was watching.

I started to pull them off.

“Leave them on like that,” he said.

“They look better the right way round,” I said.

“Put mine on on top!” he said, “Two pairs!”

That sounded good. I did the pair up that I already had on, not so easy inside out, then I went up to the bedroom and pulled his pants out from under our jackets lying in a pile on the floor.

I took them downstairs so Zac could watch me putting them on.

I stood in front of him and stepped into the second pair.

I tugged them up.

The pair I was already wearing flattened against my skin.

That felt great.

It took a while to get them just right, as the second pair had pulled the first ones up out of place, but I eventually had them sitting perfectly and all done up and fastened.

“Excellent!” said Zac, sliding over to me and kissing me.

I hugged him to me. The buckles of his straitjacket felt cold as I embraced him, the canvas smooth, but hard against my naked skin.

Zac’s crossed arms came between us, though.

“Put both the jackets on,” he whispered in my ear.

I quickly left him standing there and half ran up the stairs to the bedroom, coming straight back down with the heavy black jackets.

Zac was laughing.

Well anyway, this performance took over half an hour.

I put one jacket on properly and then tried to get the other on over it.

That failed miserably. They were too thick. The second jacket caught up on the first one and the hoods were impossible to sort out, so I had to start again.

Zac was sitting on a kitchen chair enjoying the show immensely.

I then first put one jacket into the other before trying to get in them. I arranged them on the floor until I had everything just right, the sleeves in the sleeves, the hoods in the hoods, all the drawstrings hanging right.

They weighed so much together, and it was so difficult getting them over my head standing. “Let me out and I’ll help you,” said Zac.

”I’ll manage,” I answered.

Zac suggested I lay the doubled jacket out face-down on the floor with the sleeves stretched out as though the jacket were reaching for the stars. I then got down on my knees and literally dove into the glossy rainjackets head first, my arms stretched out above my head.

It was pitch black in there, – I couldn’t find the sleeves at first, – but finally I found the openings, stood up, struggled and worked them over my shoulders.

The PVC was clinging to my damp skin.

Just as I thought I would pass out in the dark, just as I thought I would have to try to get the jackets off rather than on, I saw a glimmer of light, and my head came out into the hoods, and my hands appeared from the sleeves.

I drew a deep breath and shrugged and pulled the jackets down further.

“Awesome!” said Zac, “Awesome! I’d clap if I could.”

I spent time tying four drawstrings and strapping two belts, but then I was in the jackets.

And I was going to stay in them, too, I thought!

But two did feel twice as good as one.

I had trouble crouching down, I had trouble reaching up high, – the terrific thickness was very restricting, but I guess nowhere near as restricting as the straitjacket Zac was trussed up in.

I didn’t put the hoods up.

It was time to eat again.

Zac wanted hot dogs, – easy to prepare.

I fed him.

He liked that.

He laughed and joked and kidded around.

“Squirt ketchup in your crotch!” he said.

I did, laughing.

He licked it off the vinyl covering my prick.

When he looked up, his face was smeared with the tomato sauce.

He looked totally insane in the straitjacket, his mouth bright red.

I lifted him over to the mirror.

“Good job you’re all restrained!” I said.

He turned and rammed me backwards like a football player rushing with the ball, slamming me against the wall.

He smeared his face on mine and wiped his mouth on my shoulder.

“Get this guy locked up!” I shouted.

I grabbed both his shoulders and pushed him backwards, – backwards until he fell onto the sofa, his leather jeans making a creaking noise as they rubbed on the leather couch.

I cleaned us both up, – faces, mouths and PVC gear.

We went upstairs, sat on the couch up there and put the TV on.

An old episode of “The Invisible Man” was starting. The main character was wearing a straitjacket, pacing around in a padded cell.

“That’s what you need, Zac!” I said. “You need to be kept in a padded cell!”

“Looks like my room at college,” he joked.

We settled down and watched “Dexter”, – nice and bloody, – but I couldn’t concentrate, I felt horny in the PVC suits with Zac strapped up next to me.

The TV light was gleaming off my suit, off the jacket and especially off my thighs.

Zac began to complain more and more that his arms ached.

He got restless.

He pulled and wriggled in the sleeves, but found little relief.

He was in too tightly.

“Come on, let’s go to bed,” I said.

“I need to piss again,” he said, so we spent an hour going through the procedure of getting the imprisoned guy sorted out.

He also needed a shit.

Didn’t like wiping his butt, but luckily we had wet-wipes.

I cleaned his teeth.

He found that fun and I had him foaming at the mouth with the toothpaste. He looked like a raving lunatic.

I was thinking of how to get Zac more comfortable.

I left him lying on the bed as I went down to the kitchen to get that little sharp knife and the rest of my sneaker lace.

Zac was still lying on the bed, tugging in his sleeves.

“Can you roll over?” I said.

He tried, but I had to help him.

I sat astride him and laced his crotch strap and the first jacket buckle shut with a tight knot that could only be cut open. All the other buckles were already done. I sawed through the knot holding the arm strap permanently in the buckle and I wrenched the strap to get it open.

Zac shouted a painful-sounding “Hey!” He thought I was tightening the strap.

He felt his sleeves become loose, and nearly threw me off the bed as he twisted around to sit up.

He pulled his arms away from his body, groaning with pain as they fell away.

He stood up and stretched his arms out wide, as though he was going to fly.

The buckle shone on the closed left sleeve and from the right, the long strap was swinging.

“At last!” he gasped, and wrapped his encased arms around me.

He ran his hands over the back of my jacket as if expecting to feel the cold surface through the thick canvas.

He turned around, expecting me to unstrap the rest of the jacket. “No, Zac! Just the arms.

You keep the jacket on. It suits you.”

”Let me put you in it, Stefan. It’s awesome!” he said.

“Yeah, sure, – over these two suits I’m wearing, I suppose. No chance! It’s your straitjacket, – you keep it on.”

Zac reached instinctively behind him to try to unstrap a buckle or two, as he had done at so many events.

“They’re tied shut,” Zac, “you know it.”

The most dextrous of fingers couldn’t untie those knots. Zac could never do it through that thick canvas.

“Half an hour,” Zac, “that’s all you’ve got.”

He saw the knife lying on the bed and grabbed it, or at least that’s what he tried to do. He couldn’t even pick up the tool in those sleeves. It just fell back on the bed.

I took the knife and left him to it.

I went and drank a glass of water. I cleaned my teeth, admiring the glossy sleeves of my suit as I brushed back and forth in front of the brightly lit mirror.

Should I put the hoods up? No, I’d probably never sleep and wouldn’t be able to hear what Zac was up to.

I went back into the bedroom and Zac was exactly how I wanted him, lying on his chest, his arms behind his back hopelessly trying to get a buckle undone.

“Time to get tied up again, Zac,” I said, climbing on him, a rope in my hands.

He didn’t really struggle much or protest as I tied his arms together behind his back, wrapping the rope round and round the wrists in their closed canvas sleeves.

Round and round the wrists and then between the wrists to tighten his bonds.

I knotted the rope tightly. I pulled the long arm strap through its buckle and kinda knotted it together.

There were no holes for the prong this far up the strap.

I twisted the loose strap through and through the tight crotch strap and that was it.

I slapped Zac heavily on his butt, but he probably didn’t feel much of that under the canvas and the leather.

“And that’s how you’re spending the night Zac,” I said. “You should get enough blood flow now.”

I allowed Zac to sit up.

He sat on the bed facing away from me. His arms tied tightly behind him, the 5 straps and buckles with their glinting silver metal eyelets neatly holding his jacket on him.

“You’re a bastard!” he said. “You should be the one in this jacket!”

“But I ain’t the one, am I?” I said.

I lay back on the bed and pulled Zac by one of his straps to me. He had difficulties getting comfortable, but eventually lay on his side, his head resting on my smooth PVC-covered chest.

“Nice pyjamas,” he said.

“Good if the roof leaks,” I said.

I put the light out, and thought about what it must feel like to be imprisoned in a straitjacket. Despite my hard-on, I fell asleep.

Chapter 3

I came to dozily.

I had slept well, although I had heard Zac getting up and moving around very actively during the night.

I had felt snug and warm in those two suits, enclosed and protected.

Zac crept on top of me and stroked my face. I woke up immediately. Zac had got himself untied! But as I felt the canvas and buckle against my face, I knew he was still in his straitjacket.

“Mornin’ Zac! How’re ya?”

Zac snuggled up to me and slid his arms around me to hug me. He smoothed his face over my PVC-covered chest and then buried his face in the mass of vinyl that was the two hoods around my neck and face.

“How’d ya get untied?” I asked.

“Escape artist!” said Zac. “I can get out of anything!”

“Oh yeah?” I thought as I fingered the buckles of his straitjacket.

“Then why’re you still wearing the jacket?”

“I felt cold,” he said. “I left it on.”

“Yeah, sure!” I answered. “You probably spent hours in front of the mirror trying to get the knotted buckles undone.”

Thanks Internet for that tip! He’d have been out long ago if it wasn’t for that.

“You were snoring!” he said.

“I don’t snore!” I said.

“You do! – like one of the saws at your timber mill!”

“I do not!” I said, grabbing him and rolling him over.

I was on top of him and pinning him down. I had got his sleeved arms held flat on the bed beside his head.

“You were so loud I’d have listened to my iPod if I’d cudda!” he said.

“But you can’t can you! You’re just a second-rate escape artist who is stuck in his own straitjacket! I said.

Zac brought his leather-covered legs up in a wrestling hold around my waist, twisted, and we both rolled off the bed. We fought playfully on the floor. I pulled away and got up, – not exactly agile with those two suits on. By then Zac had grabbed me around the neck and had me in his famous headlock. I smelt the canvas of his jacket sleeves wrapped around me. He managed to push up the hoods, and pressed the PVC to my face, He encircled my head with his other arm.

Everything went dark, I couldn’t breath! I wriggled violently, and then one hood seemed to slip out of the other and I was able to slip out of his grasp.

I grabbed him in a bear hug, although I still had the hood pulled over my eyes. I fought him back on to the bed, onto his back and pinned him with his arms up beside his head. This time I climbed onto his legs, to stop him getting me in that waist grip again.

The PVC slipped on his leather, but I had got him.

He smiled up at me. I shook the hood away from my eves.

“Getting hot in there?” he grinned.

“No,” I lied.

PVC sure doesn’t breathe!

I slumped down on his panting body. We lay there for a moment.

“I can’t have you attacking me like that again, Zac! You’ve got to have your arms strapped up again.”

“No way!” he said.

“It’s for your own good,” I said. “Gotta stop you harming yourself and others, too.”

“No way!” he said.

“If you attack someone again, they’ll lock you up in a padded cell like the guy last night.” “Maybe I’d like that,” he said. “At least I’d get away from you!”

“Soft padded floor, soft padded walls, – no-one able to hear your screams.” I said.

Zac was breathing heavily and so was I.

I pulled myself up and looked down at him.

“Come on Zac, cross your arms, – be a good boy.”

He actually slowly did that, left over right.

“Roll over.” I helped him. He lay there with his head to the side. The buckle on his collar caught the light. I gently threaded the closed sleeves through the side loops, – gently because I thought Zac would suddenly spring to life again, but I managed to pass the end of the strap through the buckle without him protesting.

I whispered down at him. “Good boy!” Then I yanked the strap with all my strength. Zac gasped as the sleeves wrenched his arms tightly around him.

He rolled over, his relaxed state well and truly over.

“You bastard!” he cried.

“You know it’s for the best!” I said.

“Not so tight, though!” he struggled.

“You mustn’t get out, Zac, – for everyone’s safety.”

He wrestled his arms up and down, back and forth, making that swishing canvas sound that I found so cool. I found the short piece of sneaker lace and ensured Zac would never be able to open the sleeve buckle on his own.

I went to kiss him, but he turned his head to the side, as if angry with me.

I had a hard on as usual, but my prick was under layers of PVC, – two jackets and two pairs of pants. It was as inaccessible as Zac’s, imprisoned deep behind leather and canvas.

“I’m gonna get showered and then make us some breakfast,” I said, and climbed off him.

I set to, undoing the belt around my jacket and untying the drawstrings. I pulled the top jacket off easily, – the smooth PVC slid over the first jacket I had on. I undid the fastenings on that jacket, too.

My straitjacketed buddy was watching me, smiling.

I grabbed the hood and yanked the jacket, but it hardly moved. I was sweated up, and the PVC was sticking to me. I wrestled, and slowly disappeared into the jacket. I was in the dark again, pretty well stuck. I stretched up and felt a cool breath of air come in through the neck opening. I wriggled and fought.

If they ever made a straitjacket out of this stuff, then the prisoner would be stuck in it for good!

Eventually I got the jacket off and threw it onto Zac, who was rolling around, laughing on the bed. I pushed it onto his face and he twisted around under me. I pulled the jacket away, and he lay there still laughing, despite his strapped-up state.

I was flushed and hot. I pulled off both the pairs of PVC trousers and stood there naked, grinning at Zac.

“Your hair’s all messed up and you’ve got red marks all over your body!” he laughed.

And just think what you’re going to look like after 5 more days in that straitjacket,” I said.

I left Zac lying on the bed to think about that.

I had a shower, – a long, cool shower.

I was kinda wondering how to keep Zac hygienic. I’d wash his hair for him later, that’d be fun.

I walked naked to the bedroom. Zac was still lying on the bed with his arms wrapped around himself.

He smiled at me and I started to get a hard on again.

I grabbed my skater shorts, but Zac said “Put your PVC on again! You look fantastic in it.”

He looked fantastic, too. I must see about getting some leather pants like his.

I grabbed one of the PVC pairs of pants, – probably David’s, – but they were the pair not turned inside out. I pulled them on, deliberately slowly and exaggeratedly sexy, stroking them and smoothing them, especially where my prick was.

Zac laughed happily.

The sun shone when he laughed. His eyes and his teeth practically sparkled.

“I’ll go and get some breakfast ready. I guess you need feeding!” I said.

“He laughed and rolled over, neck strained back, pulling in his sleeves.

“You are so cool!” he said.

I thought I’d get a couple of minute’s air before I started frying bacon. I unlocked the cabin door, swung the screen door open and went out barefoot onto the deck. I sat on the steps that led down to the grass and pine needles below.

There was a bright red cardinal pecking around down there. It flew up into a tree as I sat down. How can a bird ever be so red? I thought.

I was just thinking of all the childhood memories this cabin had for me when I heard the crunch of tires coming up the dirt track.

Who the hell was that?

Hopefully not my parents! But then, why should they be here?

A police car suddenly appeared through the trees and pulled to a stop next to my truck. The local sheriff stepped out of the driver’s side.

I’d never liked Sheriff Jackman much. He used to tease me as a kid, making fun of my blond hair and blue eyes.

Apparently I have very unusual eyes. He made me think they were something to be ashamed of until girls – and boys – started telling me how good-looking I was. Since all the “Twilight” hype, some called me a vampire. Do they have steel blue eyes? Still, it was better than some of the things I’d been called as a kid. I’d still rather have Zac’s dark slightly curly hair and brown peepers, but at least I know now that I am attractive.

“Good morning, Sheriff!” I said, “How’re ya doin’?”

“Long time, no see Stefan. Thought I’d drop in on you.”

How’d he known we were at the cabin?

The passenger door of the police car opened and another uniformed guy stepped out, younger than the Sheriff, but still pretty old, around thirty, I guess.

“You met Deputy Forster before?”

“No,” I said. “How’d you do?” I said politely.

The Sheriff pulled off his dark sunglasses and the deputy removed his Aviators.

Ray Bans! – Cool! – I thought.

The deputy was actually a pretty good-looking guy with an athletic build.

“You should’ve checked in with me before coming here, Stefan. You know that? Your mom called and asked me to keep an eye on you guys. If she hadn’t done that I’d never have known you were here.”

Exactly! That had been my intention.

“Sorry Sir,” I said.

I stood up and both the sheriff and the deputy took a long look at my vinyl pants.

The sun was shining on me, so I guess they were gleaming and very black.

“What in heaven’s name are you wearing Stefan?”

“Part of my rainsuit, Sir.”

“But it’s not raining!” he said.

“Might do later,” I said, embarrassed.

“Where’s the other guy your mom said you were here with?”

“He’s still sleeping,” I said nervously.

“Have you kids brought alcohol with you?”

Kids?

“No, sir!” I said. “No alcohol.”

“You know I’ve never tolerated under-age drinking in my area, Stefan.”

“No alcohol, Sir.” I coughed nervously.

“Then you won’t mind us checking, will you?”

“No, Sir,” I said, obviously unconvincingly, because they pushed up the steps past me.

I’m sure the deputy “accidentally” let his hand touch my pants as he brushed by.

“You don’t need to go in there, Sir!” I said. “We’re clean!” I joked.

He went in nevertheless, throwing a questioning glance at the pile of chains lying on the floor.

All three of us went into the kitchen.

The deputy checked the refrigerator, the sheriff a few brown grocery bags and boxes standing around.

“Look’s like there is nothing,” he said reluctantly.

“Mind us checking your truck?” he said, walking out of the kitchen.

He suddenly stopped dead and the deputy actually bumped into him.

That would have been funny in other circumstances.

The sheriff had seen Zac coming down the stairs!

Zac changed direction immediately, but it was too late.

“Come straight back down here, boy!” shouted the sheriff.

The deputy spoke for the first time.

“Fucking hell!” he exclaimed.

Zac had made it downstairs by now and was standing there with an embarrassed smile on his face.

“I guess you must be Zachary Hartley,” asked the sheriff.

“Yes Sir,” Zac said.

“Why the fuck are you in a straitjacket?” asked Deputy Forster.

He seemed to like fuck!

Because the fucker can’t fucking-well get out! I thought.

“He’s an escape artist,” I said, before Zac could answer.

“He doesn’t look as if he is doing much escaping!” said the sheriff.

“How long yer been strapped in that thing?” he asked.

At the same time as I said: “About an hour,” Zac said: “About a day!”

The sheriff grabbed the nape of my neck and held it hard between two fingers.

That hurt!

“Oww! Oww!” I cried.

“What’s the truth here? How long?” he demanded.

“Since yesterday morning,” Zac said.

“And are you in it of your own free will, boy?” the sheriff asked.

“I did try the jacket on for a bit of a laugh when Stefan showed me it, but I soon had enough. Stefan wouldn’t let me out. I’ve been tied in it all night! I’m hungry and I need a shower!”

He stood there wide-eyed and looked as though he was going to cry.

“He’s lying!” I cried, “It’s his jacket! He’s an escape artist! Look on his website!”

“Owwww!” I twisted as the sheriff pinched my neck harder.

“Get him out of it! NOW! shouted Sheriff Jackman, letting go of my neck. “Do it!”

“Yes, Sir!” I said, stepping over to Zac quickly, turning him round roughly.

“Unstrap him!” shouted the sheriff.

“I can’t, Sir!” I said, “I need a knife.”

“Just unstrap the buckles, boy!” he said. “Get on with it!”

“I need a knife,” I said. “They’re tied shut!”

The sheriff grabbed Zac and tugged on one of the straps.

“Why d’ya do that?” he said.

“It makes it impossible to get the buckles open,” I said.

The deputy had already opened his pocket knife.

“You do it, Mike!” said the sheriff.

Mike set about sawing through the little knots, starting with the arm strap, which he unbuckled first.

Zac pulled his arms away from his body and tugged the sleeves out through the side loops, making a big thing of it as though his arms were painfully stiff.

“Put your arms behind your back Stefan,” said the sheriff.

“What?” I said.

“Do as I say, boy!”

And he handcuffed me! I was standing there handcuffed!

“You can’t do this to me. I ain’t done nothing wrong!” I said.

“We’ll decide on that, he said,” roughly sitting me down on a wooden chair near the dining room table.

Zac was nearly out of the jacket. Just the collar was still strapped shut. When that was finally opened, Zac let the jacket fall dramatically to the floor heavily and loudly, the metal buckles clanking on the ground, just as he did in his show.

“Ohhh!” said Zac, rubbing his arms and his body as if in pain.

His lean, muscular body was covered in marks from the restraint, but then I had also had marks from the doubled rain jackets. They looked worse than they were.

I must admit he did have a couple of red welts to show for his struggles, though.

“Sheriff?” I began.

“Shut up, Stefan! Just shut your mouth. You go and have a shower, kid. Get yourself tidied up. Mike? Come out with me to the car, – we need to decide what to do here.”

They headed for the screen door and Zac turned to go up the stairs.

He looked at me with a smirk on his face.

“GOT YOU!” he mouthed.

I was alone, sitting there with my arms handcuffed behind my back.

I fingered the waistband of my PVC pants, and looked down at them stretched shiny over my thighs. They looked awesome. How could I think of such things when I was in such trouble?

I was worried. My heart was pounding. I had never trusted the sheriff.

They came back in. Boy, was I nervous!

“We’re calling your parents,” Sheriff said.

“Why?” I asked. “Why? What have we done wrong?”

“Well,” he said, “there’s you wearing nothing but a pair of shiny vinyl pyjama bottoms and your boyfriend is in leather pants tied in a jacket straight from the asylum!”

“What’s wrong with that?” I said loudly. “They’ve seen Zac in a straitjacket before. They’ve seen his shows. They’ll believe me, not you!”

I really felt heated, really pissed at him and especially pissed at Zac.

“We need to tell them,” said the sheriff.

“Yeah! And I’ll tell them you manhandled me! I’ll say I’m having nerve pains in my neck. They’ll sue you!” I almost shouted.

I was so nervous and scared, it came out really aggressively.

The sheriff seemed to think about that for a moment.

“You’re right Stefan. We’re sorry. Stand up. Let’s get those cuffs off you.”

I stood up, breathing heavily, and turned round. The sheriff unlocked them from my wrists.

Then suddenly it happened. He grabbed my right wrist and twisted my arm up my back, and at the same time slammed me down hard onto the wooden table.

I cried out in pain!

Between clenched teeth, he breathed into my ear.

“Threaten me, you little punk? Get up! You blond pervert!”

He wrenched me upright.

“My arm! My arm!” I cried. “Zac!”

“Pretty Boy’s under the shower. He can’t hear you. Couldn’t help you anyway.”

He got his arm around my throat, pulling me backwards and turning me round.

I pounded on his arm with my free hand but that didn’t help.

“Mike!” he shouted.

Mike was already there, holding Zac’s straitjacket open towards me.

“No!” I hissed, and I bit the sheriff’s arm.

I actually bit him! I drew blood! I know, I tasted it!

“You asshole!” he exclaimed, and pulled my arm up so high I thought it would break.

He was nearly choking me.

“Get your arm into that sleeve, boy!”

He applied more pressure to my right arm.

I cried out and shot my left hand into the sleeve. I had no choice. I felt it going into the depths of the thick canvas.

The sheriff let go of my twisted arm and he or the deputy grabbed it and started to force it into the other sleeve.

One of them held me as the other jerked the canvas jacket up onto me. The jacket was still warm and smelled of Zac.

My legs were kicked from under me, and I was slammed face down onto the floor.

They were on me.

And they were holding me down.

And I felt the jacket tightening on me.

And I heard myself cry out.

And I felt the webbing straps being wrenched through their metal buckles.

My head was turned to the left, and I saw the closed sleeve end with its buckle at the place where my hand should have been.

The jacket was jerked down roughly, the crotch strap was pulled viciously between my legs. The jacket was tightening all around me. I started to cry. I felt like a kid in the hands of these two trained officers, and I was scared and I was frightened.

They pulled me to my feet.

They had been working quietly and determinedly on the buckles, but now the sheriff said, “Grab his arms, Mike! Cross them left over right!”

I struggled and twisted to resist, but what could I do against the two of them?

My knees when weak and I sagged, but the sheriff grabbed me and tugged me back up onto my feet.

The deputy forcefully crossed my arms across my chest. He had a determined grin on his face.

“No, Mike! Through the loops on the side!” explained the sheriff.

I heard the chink of another buckle, felt a jerking wrench, and suddenly all the slack went out of the sleeves, the canvas gripped me and my arms were pulled brutally around me.

There was a metallic click, and I knew it was over.

I was straitjacketed.

“You bastards!” I sobbed.

“Still insulting officers of the law, Stefan?” said the sheriff, grabbing my hair and tugging my head back painfully. “Do his collar up, Mike!” And the last strap of the jacket was fastened shut.

“You can’t do this to me!” I protested.

“Looks like we’ve already done it to you, Stefan!” he said sarcastically.

“You’re fucked!”

At that moment Zac came down the stairs. He was wearing the other pair of PVC pants. I think he thought the sheriff and deputy might have gone, – either that, or he was deliberately provoking them. He told me later he had had such a bloodrush when he saw me bound up in the jacket that he had gone dizzy for a moment.

“Come here, Shiny!” the sheriff said. “Get these straps tidied up for us.”

Zac did as he was told. He realised the situation was dangerous. The guys were really serious. He set about passing all the backstraps through their retainers, I suppose, – at least I felt straps being pulled and tugged.

“What’d he done to stop you getting the buckles undone?” the sheriff asked Zac.

“You have to tie something through one of these strap grommits and then knot it around this retainer. Then it can’t be opened again.”

“That’s it, Zac!”I thought. “Help the nice policeman!”

I felt tears running down my face. I didn’t feel twenty years old at that moment.

“Find something to tie them with, Mike.”

Mike looked around, lifted the chain from the floor, let it drop again. Another padlock and an envelope slid across the floor.

“Hey, – give me one of those padlocks, Mike,” said the sheriff. “Throw it over.”

He started fumbling around with my collar strap.

“Yeah,” he said satisfied, “it goes through!”

There was a loud click.

“Another one, Mike, -see how many there are.”

Mike lifted up the chain again and finally found four little padlocks. They were all clicked onto the back of my jacket somewhere.

“OK! Finished!” the sheriff said, happy with his handiwork.

“Bastards!” I said softly through clenched teeth.

Suddenly I was slammed down hard on the kitchen table again.

“Listen, you little bastard! You’re staying in that jacket until you learn how to curb your tongue! Understand?”

He banged my head on the table.

“DO YOU UNDERSTAND?” he shouted, pulling my head back by my hair.

“Yes!” I said. “Yes!”

“Yes what?” He shouted.

“Yes, Sir!” I answered reluctantly.

“I’ll teach you to bite me, you asshole!” he said sucking the wound on his arm.

Zac had backed off, scared and shocked by the display of violence.

The deputy was enjoying every minute of it.

“Come here, boy!” the sheriff said to Zac.

“Now this shithead’s staying imprisoned in this jacket until we come around sometime tomorrow. If we find one padlock has been tampered with, one strap has been opened, we’ll arrest you both and find some serious offence to charge you with. You’ll both be in big shit! Understand?”

“Yes, Sir,” said Zac.

Let’s go Mike,” said the sheriff picking up his sunglasses.

“Sheriff!” called Zac.

“What now, kid?”

“You’ve locked the sleeve buckle!”

“Yeah, – that was the idea. He’s not getting out.”

“He’s strapped too tight. It’ll cut off the blood flow.”

“Let his arms drop off for all I care!” he said.

No, Sheriff! Seriously! He can’t stay so tight till tomorrow. He’ll be screaming with pain in a few hours!”

The sheriff came back.

“Where’s the key, by the way?”

“All the keys are in that little envelope on the floor,” said Zac.

“Find the right one,” said the sheriff.

Zac tried two keys before the padlock clicked open.

The sheriff tugged on the strap to get it open.

“How much looser?”

“About three or four holes,” said Zac.

I felt the grip of my sleeves lessen a bit. Only a bit.

I sobbed again as I heard the padlock click shut.

It sounded so final “

“Ah! The poor little blue-eyed boy!” said the sheriff mockingly in my face. “Is he all tied up?”

“I’ll be taking these,” he said, pocketing the envelope with the keys.

I heard them laughing as the car door slammed. The engine burst into life and tires crunched on gravel.

I fell onto the sofa, buried my face in the leather and cried my eyes out

Tears of anger, tears of frustration and tears of fear turned the brown leather dark.

more to follow soon.

I have tried writing a few in my time which seem to go down well. Then I have members on this site who are more than capable of writing a great story (see the forum). But when it comes to the main man, that has to be John Strickland.

John wrote the great story series, “Motorcycle Messenger”. If you do not know this story, then you have been hiding away somewhere.

The stories are superb and a must read.

Well, John Strickland has been very busy writing a new story called “Rainy Days in Oregon” which I have seen the first draft of and must admit is a superb read.

So – as he finalises the story for us all, Jacketbound will be trying to publish the story in full here for all to read

So – stay tuned.

For those who simply can’t wait – Jim Stewarts website Houdini Connections has sections of the book online – but its only a taster of the full story. You can get to it HERE

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