Rescuers who renege

I've talked in the past about the appeal of being double-crossed and I suppose this is similar. I'm thinking of those situations when someone other than the captor appears on the scene - a knight in shining armour! - but, for one reason or another, doesn't release the captive from his bonds. The reneging rescuer is usually a policeman. I have particular fond memories of this childhood inspiration but the classic policeman-leaving-the-captive-captive scene is probably in Arsenic and Old Lace:



I'd never heard of Gomer Pyle, USMC but it seems he's the dim-witted not-quite rescuer in this scene:



I'm not sure what it is, exactly, that appeals to me about this dynamic. I suppose it's partly that, as captive, I get off on feeling thwarted/frustrated and these scenes seem pretty frustrating for the bound and gagged party: his rescuer's finally arrived and he expects (and, by this stage, probably genuinely wants) his ropes loosened and his gag removed; inexplicably, that doesn't happen and he faces the prospect of enduring yet more enforced bondage "down time".

I've been thinking about all of this after a great session a few weeks back, with CJ and Petermacs. I'll doubtless write more fully about the experience in due course but, suffice (for now) to say, I ended up tightly roped to a chair and very well gagged, blindfolded and hooded:



CJ used a slightly larger sponge this time as mouth packing, and took care to tape it securely in place before adding a cloth bandage on top. I generally like to be blindfolded in a two-captive scene and he'd covered my eyes in the same way before pulling the drawstrings of my hood tight over the whole lot. Some tape was added over the tied drawstrings, not enough to threaten my breathing in any way but sufficient to stop me shaking the hood off or bursting open the press stud fastening.



There's a whole other post to be written, some time, about the varying techniques of different ropers. CJ has an unusual way of securing the wrists which involves fastening a rope to each one separately, tying those ropes off to an anchor point (sometimes around the waist or through the crotch and, in this case, to the back of the chair) then using another rope to bind the wrists together where they cross. In the chair tie, my wrists had very little movement and there was no way I was going to wriggle free:



Petermacs helped CJ make sure I was suitably packaged up (the webbing luggage straps were his idea) before being tied up himself, in rather splendid yellow Ocean raingear.



Anyway, I spent some time tied up with Petermacs also bound beside me but, eventually, he wanted out of his bondage and was released first. I had, for various reasons, wanted my blindfold removed and CJ had allowed this (I thought he might bargain with me and insist on making another aspect of my captivity more intense in exchange for losing the blindfold, but he was being magnanimous). Although still gagged, I was able to watch Petermacs extricate himself from his ropes. I remained chair-bound and Petermacs agreed to sit with me while CJ went downstairs to prepare a meal.

It felt quite strange, still being completely bound and gagged while my erstwhile fellow captive freed himself. I decided I wanted the hood refastened and managed to communicate this to Petermacs, who pulled the drawstrings suitably tight and I was blindfolded once again. I struggled with the ropes and straps some more, starting to tire and want out myself. With quite a bit of effort, I loosened the sweat-drenched gag enough to indicate that I'd like to be let loose, and Petermacs obligingly set about untying me.

As ever at the point of release I found myself in two minds, divided between practicality and fantasy. Over half - probably two thirds - of me was properly relieved and grateful that the ropes were being untied. A smaller part of me - one third, say - would've found it exciting if Petermacs had taken a more hardline stance, "tough, you've got at least another half hour to go!", plastered more tape over my mouth (or otherwise intensified my predicament) and left me to stew.

Ahh, ambivalence, thy name is Straitjacketed!