Cargo (Part 5)

Stories and fantasies about rainwear.
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Joined: April 21st, 2019, 8:13 am
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Cargo (Part 5)

Post by Straitjacketed »

Cargo (Part 5)

The imprisoned man glared straight ahead through the goggles, working on keeping his breathing even and trying to make sense of his situation. He couldn’t decide whether this new captor, with his apparent obsession with security, was mad or the most frighteningly focused person he’d ever met.

The oilskin-suited figure continued.

“Keeping you prisoner for a day or two was one thing – I can tie and gag a man so he’s helpless – but longer term, able to move about, eat and drink, shit and piss but still be 100% captive, unable to escape? That’s the real challenge.”

He continued.

You’re the challenge. You’re an escaper. Twice you’ve got free – or almost free – and twice we’ve caught you, brought you back. Believe me, there won’t be a third time.”

The captive did his best to look impassive, yellow-sleeved arms folded across his harnessed chest.

“Because, see, when you almost got away, you did two things. First, you put me in charge. Second, you made me up my game. You know I’ve got your escape – your almost-escape – on camera? Infrared footage, the whole thing. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve watched you, watched and learned. Seriously, you’ve been quite the inspiration.”

“Hhgck ngu,” the captive mouthed.

Beneath the darkened visor of his helmet, the captor grinned.

“So, seeing as I get off on frustrating you, let me tell you about the improved set-up. I know you’ve picked up on some of the new features but there may be some you’ve missed – and I’m going to get a kick out of explaining them to you.”

He tapped his own helmet with an ungloved index finger.

“Firstoff, this. It’s the same as the one you’re wearing, more or less. I found these online, helmets for tree surgeons. They’re designed to fit smooth and close, nothing sticking out to catch on branches, fully adjustable on the inside. Comfortable but grips the contours of your head so tight you don’t need a chinstrap.”

He demonstrated, shaking his head vigorously. His helmet and visor stayed in place.

“Yours does have a strap, though, done up nice and tight, and I don’t suppose you’ll be surprised to hear I added a padlock. A little one but tough, hardened steel and perfectly circular. All the new locks are circular. Good luck finding a sawing edge on any of those.”

Involuntarily, the captive’s teeth bit into the rubber stopping his mouth.

“Why a helmet? Partly your own safety: I like seeing you thrashing around but I don’t want you breaking your skull. More importantly, extra security over all that tape and strapping holding your headgear in place. I was pleased with how the gag and goggles held up but it was a close thing: only the hood stopped you tearing the whole lot off.

“So one thickness of PVC isn’t enough; you’ve got a hard layer now. When I walk out of this room, a couple of clicks and switches and this thing’s off my head. Not yours, though: it stays put and the jacket hood fits over it, tied shut again so you can’t even paw at the padlock. And then there’s these.”

He demonstrated on his own helmet how the hard plastic ear protectors could be moved to cover the ears or sit back, out of the way.

“Meant to protect hearing from the sound of chainsaws. Yours are fixed so they’re permanently over your ears. That’s the other benefit: one-way Bluetooth connection when I want to talk to you and when I don’t, well, you’re not going to hear me coming, are you? Now I control what comes through your ears as well as your eyes. These mufflers are as tough as the rest of the set-up: you can roll around and batter at them all you like and they won’t budge an inch. Believe me, I’ve tested all of this.”

The captive leaned back and there was a soft clack as the back of his helmet connected with the wall.

The seated figure gestured at the captive’s long oilskin.

“The trawlerman smock you know and love! You were bloody glad to be rid of that but here you are back in it again. Life’s a bitch, eh?”

His tone was goading. He was trying to wind the captive up.

“It needed cleaning after you’d smeared it with protein gunk - very enterprising, that – and I made some reinforcements. Not strictly necessary – that stuff’s supposedly rip-proof - but those rings at the end of your sleeves need to take a lot of pressure so I did a bit of strengthening.”

The captive couldn’t see anything different – the yellow fabric looked the same as before – and wondered whether the rivets ran through extra layers on the inside.

“Speaking of rings, you saw the ones on your ankle cuffs but maybe not those on your belt?”

The captive looked down, noticing them for the first time, a steel circle dangling on each side and one at the front, stitched and riveted in place.

“And one on the collar.”

The captive resisted the immediate urge to bridle.

“The belt’s bigger and better. Patent leather’s good and sturdy but I had a feeling you might find a way to wriggle out and indeed you did. The harness you’re in fits you like a clamshell: you’re not going to slip out of that in a hurry.”

The captive wondered again how it fastened. Surely he hadn’t been stitched into it?

“While we’re on fit, the under-jacket was a genuine error: if the laces had been done up, you’d never have found the slack to wriggle an arm free. Sloppy work but I learn from my mistakes. You’re laced into that jacket good and proper and at the sides it’s riveted to the waders. Don’t worry, none of that will get in the way of pissing and shitting, it all just helps keep those boots on your legs.”

The long black rubber waders weren’t going to be kicked off, then.

“Laces and drawstrings are surprisingly good at keeping you where I want you. Old-school knots. And those clever fingers of yours couldn’t get the rubber gloves off the jacket sleeves: that marine tape passed the sticky test. You’re in those same gloves stuck to the jacket just like before but I took the extra precaution of taping your hands into fists too. Saves you having to clench ‘em when you want to punch me.”

He grinned.

“And you do want to punch me.”

The captive certainly did. With effort, he fought the urge to charge at his captor, to strike, to rage, to tear uselessly at the layers of PVC, rubber, plastic and leather that wrapped him so comprehensively. That’s what the oilskin-suited man wanted; he got off on seeing him fight his bonds and fail. The captive didn’t want to give him that satisfaction.

No, he had to resist the blatant provocation, concentrate his resources and go inwards. Think. Focus. Let his mind go icy cold and assess the possibilities – and there must be possibilities, no system of restraint was 100% escape-proof.

The harness tight around his torso was the biggest problem. It acted like a web of security straps tying down a tarpaulin: the belt, which he’d previously managed to escape, was anchored in place around his waist and held there by strapping, front and back. No amount of pushing, with or without lubrication, would shift it downwards.

Could he work the belt upwards? No, the shape of his body, widening from waist to chest, prevented that.

What about the straps, then? They seemed to fit him exactly but if he could somehow unlock the collar and belt, he should be able to squirm free of the whole damn lot.

How, though? Even if he had the keys, the stumps at the ends of his sleeves stopped him even picking up something that tiny, much less manoeuvring it into a lock. And while the locks stayed locked, the harness kept him in the smock and his fingers taped up and useless in the reinforced sleeve-ends.

“I don’t blame you,” continued the mocking tone in his ears, “I can practically see the cogs turning in that devious head of yours – under all that unbreakable shit you’re itching to remove – but this is checkmate, Houdini.”

The captive began to appreciate the power of the integral muffs clamped over his ears. That distracting, needling voice got right inside his head.

“You, my friend, are fucked.”

In the captive’s mind, crazy half-plans began to form. He could lure his captor within range and take him by surprise, get a loop of chain around his neck, force him to unlock the belt and the collar…

With padlocks open, he could choke his captor into unconsciousness, maybe even get him chained up and locked down – damn, he’d enjoy that! – for long enough to shuck the outer layers, the harness and the trawlerman smock. The hooded jacket and taped gloves would still be an issue but they weren’t steel or leather; if he could at least lose the harness and smock, he was confident he could tear himself free…

Again, the voice in his ears cut through his thoughts.

“No growling or glaring, no jerking at your chain? I’m disappointed, I’d expected more defiance. Maybe you’re saving your energy for a proper escape attempt? I hope so.”

His tone became brisker.

“Now. Let’s go through the mealtime routine.”

To be continued…
"It ain't bondage until you want out..."

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Re: Cargo (Part 5)

Post by rubbermac »

Great Story......Many Thanks

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Joined: March 3rd, 2017, 4:51 pm
Location: S.Glos

Re: Cargo (Part 5)

Post by Mikmac77 »

This story is so thought provoking, I am really wondering where it’s going, strange and brilliant!

Posts: 38
Joined: April 21st, 2019, 8:13 am
Location: London

Re: Cargo (Part 5)

Post by Straitjacketed »

Thanks, both! Originally, this story was only meant as a one-off so I often don’t know where it’s going to go myself!
"It ain't bondage until you want out..."

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