By Houdini1961

Well, I finally had my overnight bondage scene. I was edgy and excited about it all day long. I kept looking at the clock, thinking to myself … “in 7 hours I will be bound up with no way out,” “in 5 hours I will be bound up,” etc.

I tested the timer that would turn the light on at 9 a.m. over and over again. What if the power went out? Or the timer didn’t go off for some reason? I guess that was part of my nervous excitement about it. Pretty much foolproof but “What if?”

I got all my items ready, Hiatt Handcuffs, chains, padlocks, 2 combination locks, timer, remote control, piss bottle and then nervously called the Master on my cell phone at 1 a.m. He instructed me to lock one of the combination locks on my balls. I did. He instructed me to wrap the chain around my ankle and lock it on with the other combination lock. I did. He instructed me to lock the Hiatt handcuffs on myself. I most eagerly did.

There I was, locked down for the night.

Then he instructed me to throw the keys to the Hiatts across the room. Oh fuck! This was getting to be very real! I chucked them far away from the bed and they clanged against the closet door. He then told me to use the remote control to turn off the lamp, which was across the room. I did. Now in total darkness, my only lifeline now, my only way out of this, was the lamp remote control i was holding in my hands.

He ordered me to toss it across the room. I DID!

Wow, what a feeling of being controlled i experienced right then. Then something hit me. Oh shit! One thing I or the Master did not think about it.

Any guesses?

My cell phone I had in my hand, which Master wanted kept by my bed overnight in case of an emergency, had a light bright enough on it that I would be able to see the letters on my ankle chain combination lock. And therefore I could escape. I begged Master to order me to toss the phone on the floor away from the bed. I needed this no-way-out bondage really bad!

He said it was against his better judgment but then said, “Throw the phone on the floor faggot slave!”

I tossed it away along with any chance of escaping before 9 a.m.

And you know, after all the hard-ons I had over the last few days thinking about this and even having a bit of precum oozing out of my cock right then, a feeling of peace and comfort overtook me. This is what I wanted and needed for a long time — inescapable, no-way-out bondage from a caring Master.

Course, don’t get me wrong, I humped the bed many times overnight, thinking about my predicament. I slept crappy, waking up over and over again from my own rattling of the chain around my ankle.

I lied there thinking, “this is fucking it, I need to be controlled and bound up as much as possible, I need to be a bondage slave, something locked on me at all times to make me feel I am owned.” I yelled out to my faraway Master: “Please Master, own it, lock it up, cage it, cuff it, whatever you want.”

“Strap it up and suspend it upside down like a piece of meat.”

“Keep it prisoner, you decide when and if it leaves the house.”

“Lock it up in your car trunk when travelling.”

“Lock up its cell phone, wallet and credit cards. Control its online profiles, change them, change its passwords on it, control its online life!”

“Make it eat your cum and drink your piss.”

“Shave it, tattoo it, ring it.”

“Make it so it can never get away … slave contract, power of attorney, it doesn’t care, whatever it takes to ensure total permanent bondage slavery!!!!!”

And the best part of all … it believes this MASTER will do just that!!!

By Kevin’s Path

Mica surrendered his penis to his yoga instructor.

He had been practicing at The Hot Yoga Magic yoga studio every week, and he came to know Kevin who was one of the yoga instructors there. Hot Yoga Magic was a Bikram yoga studio in downtown Manhattan. Mica’s attraction to yoga centered around the combination of the physically intense, challenging postures and the visceral experience of the sweat pouring off of him in the 105 degree practice room. Twenty six postures for one and a half hours in the heat, Kevin would stand on a podium reciting the Bikram dialog and correcting the postures of the class members. There might be as many as 40 or 50 students in the class on any given day, each of them working on a yoga mat at the center of a spreading puddle of sweat. The thing that Kevin first noticed about Mica, practicing among the other students, was his natural gift of focus. He could single-mindedly focus on a point in space, breathing, entering into a posture without fidgeting or distractedly falling out. He stood out from among the other students in this regard. Students sometimes come to yoga with a “whatever” attitude and don’t necessarily react to efforts to correct their form, but Mica was receptive to instruction and quick to incorporate it in his practice. Kevin devoted proportionally more attention to helping Mica improve.

NOTE: This story contains elements that some readers will definitely find offensive. Continue reading at your own risk!

Kevin had recently started his new religion. He called it The Path. He didn’t have any followers yet. Kevin decided that he wanted to be Mica’s guru and teach him about The Path. Mica had a vague sense of uncertainty about the direction of his life; therefore, he was receptive about religion too. Kevin convinced Mica that he was spiritually adrift because he’d become too self-involved and too wrapped up in his own narrow interests, which were obsessively centered on shallow pleasure gratification. Everything had become like a sugar high, hadn’t it? Mica had enough resources to get whatever he wanted for himself, but the gratification was never lasting, and lately it seemed he couldn’t identify what he truly wanted anymore.

Here was Kevin’s solution to the problems he outlined in Mica:  “You are addicted to your penis,” was Kevin’s premise. The Path emphasized sexual abstinence as a pathway to greater happiness. “Think of your penis as a symbol representing all of the other obsessive pleasure seeking that you do, all of which together prevents you from being truly happy,” Kevin advised. “Set an intention to forego the quick, easy pleasures of life. Bikram says that man is one part goat, one part dog, and one part spirit. Imagine what would happen if you could completely restrain the animal part and fully be the spirit. You’d be a better man and a more complete person, wouldn’t you?” Kevin was an evangelist preaching spiritual enlightenment and inner peace through sexual denial. He was very persuasive once he got going on it. Despite having never practiced much sexual restraint himself, he passionately advocated penis control for others, and especially for Mica.

So Mica went along. He decided that he wanted be a believer in something. In moments of lucidity in retrospect it doesn’t seem plausible to find God by waking up with aching balls and an aggravating boner every day, having promised not to do anything with it. He didn’t just promise for a week to try it out. He bought into this idea totally and completely with outright willingness and no idea what he was getting into. It is a mystery. You might as well just say that Kevin came along and put a spell over him.

If Mica had enquired a little more deeply about Kevin’s past, he might have thought better. Kevin had learned his own ideas about addiction earlier in his life, when he had run into some problems with alcoholism and had thereby came across Alcoholics Anonymous. He eventually cleaned himself up in AA. He had learned there about the concept of powerlessness over addiction and about the tenets of the Twelve Step Program. Kevin had learned from his experience that he was one of a minority of special people in the world who should absolutely never drink alcohol. Now, he wanted to apply his absolutist view of addiction recovery to other things – sexual things, and Mica. His ideas about a spiritual journey seem to have come partly from yoga mysticism but also partly from his recall of various pop-culture sources, including the Star Wars trilogy, Kung Fu Panda, The Matrix, The Karate Kid, and several seasons of South Park.

Mica’s initial zeal for the new project helped him cruise easily through the first week of the cum control program. He started sleeping over at Kevin’s house so that Kevin could supervise him when he wasn’t otherwise committed at work. Mica slept in a sleeping bag next to Kevin’s bed and got inspected every morning for cum stains. Although an intelligent forward-thinking person in most respects, Mica somehow did not look past the moment to anticipate the vast, unending expanse of continuing sexual frustration that would loom up at him after these first days.

Kevin assumed the role of a spiritual guide. Mica was on a path to achieve lasting happiness and profound inner peace, he would say. Achy balls are no big deal in the scheme of things, he would say. He used analogies. Kevin would say, “Think about how it feels when you get the hiccups. You’ve gotten hiccups before, haven’t you? You get this sudden involuntary reflex that comes upon you. It interrupts your peace of mind. It is momentarily disruptive, but eventually it goes away. It has no meaning or broad significance to your life. It is a bump in the road of your journey. Yes?”

Yes, Mica agreed in the abstract that hiccups have no spiritual significance.

Kevin continued, “So, I just want you to keep that idea ready in your mind next time your penis gets stiff. When you get your next morning boner or whenever it pops up, say ‘hiccup’ to yourself. This is a reminder for you that your erection is an involuntary reflex with no significance at all, like a hiccup, and it will eventually go away. This will really help you for maintaining your penis discipline.” Kevin was full of these suggestions.

Mica discovered by accident that the pada-hastasana hands-to-feet posture in yoga was a life-saver for curing blue balls. The standing posture starts with bending forward and putting your hands underneath your heels, resting your stomach on your thighs, your chest on your knees, and your face planted on your legs below the knees. Then, lean forward onto your toes while pulling with the arms and locking the knees until completely doubled over in an upside-down “U”. Incidentally, the testicles get squeezed between the tops of the legs and the stomach when folding over. When his balls were really aching, Mica found holding this posture would make him squeeze out a few drops of pre-cum, and then he’d feel better after. He was proud of himself discovering that. They always go on about the health benefits of different postures in yoga, but they never mention that one.

Kevin brought home an actual three-legged stool so that he could introduce Mica to his concept that he called The Three-Legged Stool of Enlightenment. He said, “You see, Mica, there are three legs that are each equally necessary to support this stool. Similarly, there are three equally important facets or aspects or, um, you know, spiritual things that support your journey toward spiritual enlightenment. So far, we have really only talked about the first leg, which represents your penis. (That’s why it’s a wooden leg.) But, there are these two other equally important legs, see?”

Mica’s brow was furrowed, because he didn’t really understand what Kevin was talking about, and sometimes it almost felt as though Kevin were mocking him. It was his guru mentoring style to impart wisdom sprinkled together with an occasional not-quite-funny penis reference. Mica started to get an erection and said “hiccup” to himself silently.

“This second leg represents obedience. I have agreed to be your spiritual guide on this journey that you have undertaken. I have promised to faithfully guide you with care and love, assuming total guardianship over everything that involves using your penis. It is an awesome responsibility you’ve bestowed on me! I am deeply honored, Mica.” Kevin made a summation, “So now in return, I need you to pledge your unconditional obedience to me. If you want me to assume this role as your spiritual guide, then I need to hear from you that you promise to always follow my guidance. I don’t want you to fall off the Path. What do you say to that?”

“Hiccup,” he said to himself. Mica was bothered because he was now developing a big full-on boner that was starting to show in his pants. He said. “Well, respectfully, a couple things. First, I already gave you control over my penis. Now, you also want me to give you unconditional obedience to whatever you teach me from now on. There is still a whole other leg there. What else is still left to give after total obedience plus penis control? That seems like a lot to hand over.”

Kevin said, “Speaking of handing over your penis, I’m noticing the bulge in your pants. Is everything as it should be down there?” Sheepishly, Mica confessed, “Yeah, I’ve got a hard-on again. But, I promise that I’m not doing anything to try to stimulate it.” Not missing a beat, Kevin replied sagely, “I believe that you are not consciously trying to stimulate it, but you still might be trying to do so subconsciously.” This assertion blew Mica’s mind, leaving him both horny and dumbfounded.

“I think this is a good time for a snap inspection,” said Kevin. After the previous week or so, this was no longer an unusual request. Mica pulled down his pants and lifted up his shirt up so that Kevin could do the penis check. It sprung out rigid and throbbing. The penis head was purple with some pre-cum dripping out of it. This penis was in an advanced state of arousal. Fortunately, they’d caught it in time. “It will be OK. Just remain standing there with your legs apart until it goes down,” said Kevin. “Thank you,” said Mica.

“In answer to your earlier question,” said Kevin, “I am not going to reveal the significance of the third leg until after we finish up with the second leg. Because, that’s how all of the spiritual guides do it in martial arts movies. You never just plunk down all of the wisdom at once; otherwise there’d be no movie. There has to be a journey with crumbs of wisdom dropped along the way. All at once is no good.” Mica could see that this all made perfect sense and that Kevin’s logic as unassailable.

“OK,” said Mica, “I really value your guidance and wisdom. I promise my unconditional obedience to anything you want me to do, and also I surrender all control over my penis for all sexual purposes to you.”  As an afterthought he remembered his other question, “Wait. You’re not going to make me do anything gay, are you?”

“No,” said Kevin, “I’ve got a girlfriend.”

“Oh OK. I’m straight too,” said Mica, “not that there’s anything wrong with it…” Mica relaxed and felt relief that these issues were now settled. His erection continued, but it became more manageable. His penis was accepting the new power dynamic.

“Oh, I just remembered, we haven’t negotiated your balls yet,” said Kevin.

“What about them? You never mentioned them.”

“Mica, think long-term about your future now that you’re on The Path. Suppose, maybe, you will decide one day that you want to have children, or maybe you’ll get a wife, and she will want to have children. What about that?”

“If I’ve got balls full of sperm, but I’m not permitted to ejaculate, then I don’t see how I could make any children.”

“Exactly my point! We have to plan for these eventualities. Imagine, say, ten years from now, you’ve totally mastered penis control to the point where you don’t even remember what it feels like anymore to shoot a load. Then, you meet someone and want to procreate. You’ll have to relearn the mechanics, of course, but what I’m saying is, if that ever happens, then you have my permission to use your penis for this strictly procreative purpose to unload your sperm to make babies.”

“Hey, thank you. My guru thinks of everything!”

“De nada.”

Mica didn’t think of it then, but maybe in the future his sexual frustration would drive him to think about the implications of their agreement more deeply. Was there a loop-hole in this agreement? Did the penis control plan contain the seed of its own eventual destruction?

Kevin guided Mica over to a bucket of soapy water and a sponge. He was instructed about how he would commence to wash down, dry, and wax the wood floor, and he obeyed without hesitation, as agreed. He stripped off his clothes that would otherwise get dirty on the floor. He still had the erection. He was conscientious, and he made every effort in good faith to minimize bouncing it around or doing anything to further excite it. He was concerned now that he might be developing a subconscious agenda to cum even though he was consciously devoted to the idea of Kevin dominating him and permanently ruling his penis; so, he took no chances. He started then to invest a lot of mental energy in defeating his own imagined efforts to defeat Kevin’s plans for him, and he started to get entangled that way in his own mind. Kevin perceived the bind that Mica was getting into, and it made him very happy.

After Mica had been washing down the floor for a while, he relaxed and more fully committed himself to the work in the same way he’d focus on a yoga exercise. It wasn’t obvious to him that he could achieve enlightenment by working a wet sponge on hands and knees on the floor, naked with his boner. But, the second leg of The Stool was unquestioning obedience. His mind drifted, and he started to hum some tune that came to mind. The sound of his own hum helped him pass the time. When he finished with the washing down part, Kevin called for him in the other room.

To Mica’s surprise, Kevin grabbed his penis head without any intro or warning and lifted up the shaft to inspect the undercarriage. He pulled on Mica’s testicles and squeezed, and he actually stroked the shaft a few times with his hand, which brought Mica’s penis immediately throbbing right up to full tumescence again. “I might cum, if you do that,” he protested. Micas’ balls started to ache, and the shaft started bobbing like a metronome. “Sometimes I’ll want to do a more thorough hands-on inspection,” said Kevin. “I want you to submit to the handling and to keep yourself under control, even if I work the shaft. Later, I will train you in some more advanced techniques that will help you more to defeat your urge to cum, even when being stroked.” And Kevin said, “I noticed when you were washing down the floor that your mind wandered, and you started humming. I want you to start to practice being mindful. Do you know what I mean by mindful?”

“The yoga instructors talk about mindfulness in yoga practice. I think it means the instructor wants us to hold the yoga posture and at the same time, keep our minds focused on the experience of the moment and on our own breathing. For some reason, they don’t want the students’ minds to wander and think about other things, like what we eat for dinner and such. I’m not really sure what the point of it is. My mind wanders all the time in practice anyway.”

“So, Yoga is a moving meditation. I want you start a similar practice when you are here with me. When you practice mindfulness, the meditation can lead you to a deep trance-like, receptive mental state. Mindfulness will be really good for you. It will help you get to an untroubled place in your mind where you can experience inner peace and greater happiness.” Kevin discoursed on mindfulness.

“First of all, I want you to breathe through your nose with your mouth closed. I want you to practice stillness, making no sound. When you go back in the other room to wash down the whole floor all over again, I want you to pay attention to your breath. Breathe deeply and slowly. Get in the habit of counting your breaths. One, two, three, four, sequentially. When you are done washing the floor, I want you to be able to tell me how many breaths you took from beginning to end. Whatever action you are performing, I want you to focus simply on the task itself and on the breath. If you notice your mind start to wander, bring it back. Think about what you are thinking about. And, if you become distracted and lose count of your breaths, it’s OK. Just take your sponge and pail and go back and start over again. One, two, three, four,…, focusing on your breath”

“From now on, whatever you are doing, always, every moment from when you wake to when you go to sleep again, I want you to try to experience it in a state of mindfulness as a moving mediation. You will not always be able to enter mindfulness perfectly, but you should always be trying to enter it. You will get better as you practice it more, and it will help you. You will sometimes forget how badly you want to masturbate, when your mind is so occupied.”

“I want you to strive toward yogi perfection in cleaning my floor by doing it always more mindfully than when you did it before. Later on, when you start cleaning the toilet, you will also strive for mindful perfection, counting your breaths throughout the time it takes you to scour the grout between tiles and shine the porcelain, always relentlessly focusing your mind to the moment, your immediate task, and your breath. Eventually, you will train yourself not to even think about the possibility of any sexual relief. It is called mindfulness, because your mind will be full, no room left in it to even think about the obsessive pleasure seeking habits of your old life, like when you used to stroke the shaft of your own penis whenever you wanted to, selfishly, carelessly ejaculating your semen all over. Those days are over, pal. Three legs: one – penis discipline for sexual denial; two – unquestioning obedience;” and three. “We’ll talk more later about three.”

In those first months, Mica found it almost impossible to not think about the possibility of sexual relief, especially because Kevin was constantly reminding him not to think it. Sometime later, Mica failed his morning penis inspection. He stood up with his morning boner out of the sleeping bag beside Kevin’s bed, and they could both see that he had ejaculated all over it during the night. Mica knelt down at Kevin’s feet and begged forgiveness for the lapse. He had undermined Kevin’s total ownership over his penis by stupidly, mindlessly discharging his cum all over inside the bag. He hoped Kevin believed him that he sincerely hadn’t done it on purpose, but had done it in his sleep.

In the most recent month since Mica had surrendered over all his rights to penis sex, it almost seemed like his penis was conspiring against him. It was becoming super-sensitive. If there was a breeze in the room, his penis would stir to it. Every time he bumped up against something, it would start to re-erect. And, his penis head was itchy. The thing wanted to be scratched, and rubbed, and played with again.  But the most insidious way that it undermined him was when it entered his dreams. Mica was starting to get sex dreams at night in the sleeping bag. And his dreams turned into fantasies of having glorious, carefree sex with his penis. That night he had been dreaming, and in this dream he was rhythmically thrusting his hips and pelvis with a soft white athletic sock unrolled down the length of his hard-on, which had stiffened out so far that the his penis knob went up into the heal. He worked the tube of the sock with his one hand all up and down the length of his penis shaft while joyfully pinching and rubbing his penis head through the cloth with the other hand. The ring is mine! It was a great dream.

Masturbating into a sock actually was an exotic fantasy now for Mica, because Kevin had him sleep with boxing gloves on. In the real world, Kevin was handling Mica’s tackle more aggressively every day to assert his control over them; whereas, Mica hadn’t even so much as touched his own cock knob in a whole month. Not only that. Kevin had started to even more severely restrict Mica’s access rights beyond the original terms. One of the simplest pleasures of life – Mica had always loved to wake up in the morning and just yawn and scratch on his nut sack. Scratching the nut sack is like a God-given right for every man. Mica couldn’t even have imagined it being taken away, but then fucking Kevin took it away!

“Why? It’s not sex! Why can’t I just scratch my balls once in a while?”

Kevin said, “I’ve watched you when you do that. It looks suspiciously sexy how much you enjoy it.”

But, he could escape from it all in this dream where he was free to masturbate with abandon until his ejaculate spurted up neatly into the sock toe. But, in reality there was no sock toe, and the disgraceful evidence was spattered all over.

Kevin called a group of friends together to the house for a get-together that he called “Penis Anonymous.” When everyone had arrived at the house, Kevin explained to the guests that this meeting was convened as a kind of intervention to help Mica regain his footing in the quest for spiritual enlightenment by never playing with his penis.

Kevin filled everyone in on the whole history, about Mica’s apprenticeship under Kevin’s close spiritual guidance, Mica’s amazing free-will complete surrender to Kevin (permanently) of all rights to use his own actual penis. It was still physically attached to Mica’s body, but just didn’t belong to him anymore. Kevin announced again for show how deeply honored he was to take on the awesome responsibility of managing (and mainly restricting) Mica’s penis use. He elaborated how he’d strictly reduced Mica’s use rights down to daily peeing and pubic hair grooming, really nothing else, and explicitly, emphatically no touching the shaft or the knob. Everyone nodded in approval that Kevin seemed to be managing Mica’s penis in a very responsible, sane manner. Kevin explained to the listeners that there is a daily penis inspection. In addition, there were random snap inspections to verify Mica’s compliance with the penis control. Kevin brought Mica up to the front of the room beside the podium where he even demonstrated the inspection routine.

Kevin paused, then said “At approximately 04:30 hours a few nights ago it was determined that Mica had violated the penis use restrictions and had recklessly ejaculated his cum all over my bedroom.” The audience members were visibly disgusted. Kevin said, “So, I’ve convened (for benefit of Mica) this Penis Anonymous meeting so that we can have dialog with him and impress him with the potential danger and consequences of his deep-seated penis addiction.”

People clapped.

Mica came to the podium to give his testimony. He was nervous about public speaking.

“Um, Hi everyone. I’m Mica and I’m addicted to my penis.”

“Hi Mica!”

Mica started to space out immediately, so he went to the paper that Kevin had handed to him with some talking points. Looking out at the audience, he realized to his surprise that many of the members of Penis Anonymous appeared to be female. It seemed incongruous, but he didn’t have any time to process this information. “Why is he making me testimony my penis to a room full of chicks?” Not knowing what else to do, Mica started to recite the words on the paper, mentally checking off each point. “I just want to get this over with,” he thought.

The paper was titled:

Mica’s Penis Addiction – Twelve Step Recovery Program

1. I admit that I am powerless over my penis—that my life has become unmanageable. check

2. I believe that my guru, Kevin, can restore me to sanity by making me adhere to strict penis discipline and complete sexual denial. check

3. I have made a decision to turn my penis and my life over to the care and guardianship of Kevin as I understand Him. check

4. I have made a searching and fearless moral inventory of my addictive behavior that leads to my disgraceful explosive emissions of ejaculatory fluid. check

5. I will confess to Kevin, to myself, and to others the exact nature of my excessive sex fluid production. check

6. I am entirely ready to have Kevin remove this defect of character by enforcing stronger measures to lock down my penis.  check

7. I humbly ask Him to remove my shortcomings and to teach me more effective orgasm control techniques. check

8. I will make a list of all persons I might have harmed, had they been accidently sprayed with my semen discharge, and I am willing to make amends to them all.

Here Mica interrupted himself, “Wait. I don’t see that there were very many other people involved there…(?)”

“I think you can cover most of them by mailing out a nice hand-written note of apology,” said Kevin.

“Um. OK.”

9. I will make direct amends to such people wherever possible, except when to do so would injure them or others. whatever

10. I will continue to take personal inventory of my continuing heightened state of sexual arousal, evidenced by my frequent erections, my penile engorgement, the leaking of pre-cum from my penis head, and the aching sensation in my balls from my permanent cum denial, and when I have failed to always completely cock-block myself, I will promptly admit it.

Yeah, OK, I’ll tie a knot in it!

11. I will seek through prayer and meditation and swallowing loads of His sperm to improve my conscious contact with Kevin as I understand Him, praying only for knowledge of His will for me and the power to carry that out.

“Wait. What…?”

“Please finish the testimony, Mica.”

12. Having had a spiritual awakening as the result of these steps, I will try to carry this message to other penis addicts, and to practice these principles in all my affairs.

Michael felt so relieved to finally end his humiliating public penis testimony. They broke for soda and cookies. As instructed by Kevin, he approached everyone individually to offer a sincere apology for being a disgusting pig and disrespecting his wiener guardian. Most people responded with sympathy and encouragement. One guy honked his ball sack like a bicycle horn and laughed at him. Eventually, it was over. Mica felt like a pathetic jackass, but that’s all part of the recovery process.

More time passed.

Mica surrendered himself to The Path. He gradually improved in his spiritual development by obsessively thinking about not thinking about stroking his penis shaft to make himself cum. His testicles felt like lemons bumping against each other in his sack. He imagined he might cum out his eyeballs, if he couldn’t release it. It was mentally exhausting, all this not-thinking of things. The Path was neutral about the ethics of pre-cum, because it was just unavoidable. His penis was inflating all the time, and his balls were so full. He’d often leak a sticky string of clear fluid from his penis end. It wasn’t milky white, so his sperm load was still secure.

Mica continued with his attempts to reach yogi perfection by practicing mindfulness while hand-washing all of Kevin’s underwear. Kevin owned a washer-dryer, but they both agreed that in a spiritual journey the most tedious and labor-intensive way is always the best way. That’s why Mr. Miyagi made Daniel-san wax-on/wax-off all day. He could have just used a buffing machine instead.

Mica had a wash board and a galvanized steel tub. He filled it with hot water and detergent. Kevin wanted all his undies individually washed in hot water, not scalding hot, but always hot enough so that Mica would need to just quickly dunk his hands and forearms in and out of the water while scrubbing. Holding them in there any longer would start to hurt. “I don’t want to hurt my little padawan,” Kevin would say. Mica practiced mindfully scrubbing each pair of underpants on the wash board, quickly dunking both hands in and out of the tub. He was kneeling by the side of the tub, and he had a boner again. It was awkward and distracting, because he had to plunge up and down vigorously without knocking his protruding cock knob against the tub. He lost count of his breathing about halfway through; so, now he had to dump out the tub, make a new hot water bath, and start the whole load over again.

Silently, breath counting “one, two, three, four, …” and about another hour into it, “…, one thousand eighty five, one thousand eighty six, one thousand eighty seven….” It got harder to keep the count as the numbers got bigger, and he had to say the long numbers in his mind fast to keep up with the natural pace set by his breathing and plunging. It was a Saturday. He would have all day to keep practicing this without interruption.

While mentally keeping track of his breathing, he would then also plunge up and down in time with his breath, scrapping each underpants up and down for a count of twenty four, then he would turn the underpants inside out and do the same on the opposite side. Same thing with each individual sock. The tee shirts were more complicated because after scrubbing the inside and outside shirt body he was then required to individually scrub the left and right arm-pit areas of each. They were a pain! It was unavoidable that his penis would start to bounce around in time with the plunging, and that usually excited him and brought on the erection. So Mica had to be very focused and careful. Mica hadn’t had any more unauthorized cum eruptions since the intervention, and Kevin was intensively penis-training him to keep it that way.

Mica was now required to perform daily exercises in which he squeezed down hard on the pubococcygeus muscle, which is the muscle behind your balls that clamps down to close the urethra. Everyone uses this muscle from childhood to not piss, except when they want to. If strengthened enough through exercise, it can also hold back the ejaculate when an orgasm starts to come on. Kevin would then regularly test Mica’s cum control. Kevin had explained to Mica that a knight’s armor in The Middle Ages would be proofed before battle by hitting it to see how many blows it could withstand. “We’re proofing your penis,” he would say, and he stroked away on Mica until his toes curled and his face flushed.

Still washing the underwear, mindfulness comes to him now while counting his breaths and plunging rhythmically. His chest and torso sweat because of the exertion combined with the steamy water. He has to focus relentlessly on keeping the count, his breath, plunging in time to the breath, and squeezing down so not to accidently leak sticky strings on the floor while his boner continues to bounce and lengthen and stiffen throughout the day. He has no brain power left to think about anything else beyond all that, and he passes into a trance-like mental state. He might actually feel happy this way; although, he can’t easily recognize that he is, because he can’t step out of the experience to look at himself. He is hopelessly trapped in the prison of his own mind’s making – right where he belongs.

That same evening, Kevin relaxed out onto the bed in his room. He’d done instruction for three different yoga practices today at the studio, filling in for one of the other instructors out with a stomach flu. He’d been an unstoppable yoga machine today, but now he was going offline. He lighted a joint to settle himself down before sleep. Mica had been secured down in the sleeping bag after presenting himself for inspection, so everything was alright with him. Mica’s sleeping bag lay on the floor right at the foot of Kevin’s bed, but Kevin would typically feel private and act as if alone in his personal space as soon has he got Mica tucked into the bag. He usually put Mica down somewhat early in the evening for exactly this reason. He cherished his alone time.

Anyway, Mica looked a little more bedraggled and worn out than usual today; therefore, he would likely fall unconscious soon. Working Mica to exhaustion during the day tended to be a good thing, because he wouldn’t lay there awake fretting with himself about not masturbating. He would just nod off. And, Mica said he wasn’t having the sex dreams like before; he didn’t have enough mental energy to fantasize. Working him hard definitely was another tool Kevin could use to control his sex drive.

Mica’s face poked out of the head hole at the top of the sleeping bag, but it was otherwise zipped up all around. A while ago, Kevin had decided to have Mica put in ear plugs and keep a black stocking cap pulled down over his head and face while in the bag. As Kevin explained to him, “If you’ve ever owned a parakeet that you kept in a bird cage, you probably know that at night they spook very easily. Household sounds and noises interrupt their sleep. If you care about the little creatures, then you slide a cover down over the cage at night so they will feel safe and sound. This is like your cage cover to block out distractions so that you can rest well.”

“Thank you,” Mica had said.

If Mica was still awake down there, he probably knew that Kevin was in the room, if only because of the smoke from his joint. But, Kevin didn’t feel any need to interact or include him in things. There was no talking allowed either once in the bag. So, Kevin could keep an eye on him there but otherwise treat him like furniture. And, Mica went along with all that.

“Mica goes along very well with things,” reflected Kevin. It occurred to Kevin that he actually liked Mica. Of course, he already knew that he loved dominating Mica, humiliating Mica, working Mica to exhaustion, playing mind games on Mica, and keeping him sexually frustrated. That went without saying.

He laughed out loud at himself, not for the first time since staging that intervention. Everyone he had invited to Penis Anonymous was clued in on the joke – everyone except Mica. Getting Mica to stand up there naked and read an earnest confession to strangers about shooting a load! Hah! It was priceless! The best thing was how everyone acted convincingly as if the whole thing made any sense. It really warmed Kevin’s heart to think of Mica with his furrowed brow trying so hard to integrate all that and have it make coherent sense.

Kevin lubed his cock up to shoot a good satisfying load that would complete the job of relaxing himself before bed. He leaned back on the bed and smiled and enjoyed looking down at the bundled up form of his endlessly fun penis slave. He really thinks he’s on a spiritual journey.

Kevin looked over at the stool in the other corner and frowned a little. He still had one problem needing to be addressed. He had never figured out what that third leg on The Three-Legged Stool of Enlightenment was supposed to represent. “The first leg represents Mica never having any fun with his penis (check). The second leg represents Mica obeying me and doing every fucking thing I tell him to do (nothing wrong with that). This is some great religion! But what is the third leg? I’ve got to invent the rest of it before Mica starts asking again.”

“Trouble is, I already took away his penis and totally mind-fucked him. What else can I do to him that’s fun?”

By Richard Hunter of Mr S

This Hot Young Muscle Stud, full of sexual energy, agrees to let me put a serious chastity device on him. He is told he can only cum when I let him … only when I want to play with his dick. He can never touch his own dick again. It’s just for me.

He thinks it’s only a game at first … this will be kinda fun. He wants to cum every day … after all he’s been used to jerking off when ever he wanted to before.

Not anymore!!

The first few days I un-lock him and jerk him off each day and lock him back up afterwards. A few days go by and he’s not unlocked and he’s getting horny and crazy. He can’t touch himself and I’m not interested. He starts begging and asking and making all kinds of promises to do anything … if only he can touch his own cock, or if I would.

Not interested right now boy. I’m enjoying watching you deal with it … now it’s getting real.

On the fifth day, I tie him down and unlock him from his cock prison and slowly stroke his dick, slowly rubbing his swollen cock. He’s instantly hard as a rock. I keep playing with him and stopping just before he shoots. He’s going nuts.

All this young muscle boy wants is to be able to shoot his load, nothing else is on his mind. I play with him like this for an hour. He’s sweating, he’s struggling, he’s almost crying to be able to cum. I stop, I watch him cool down, if he could rub his cock on anything, he’d try to cum. He can’t cum by himself. He can’t reach his cock. I slowly start to re-lock his cock up in the chastity device again. He starts to cry and I’m rock hard now and I jerk off all over his face and chest.

THE END

By pwnedpuppy

“Fuck,” Pete grumbled as he slammed down the phone.  I could tell something was awry – his boots thumping as he came back downstairs to the playroom where I was locked up in the dog cage.

“Well, this is fucking great,” said Pete as he looked down on me.  “Some prick went and injured himself doing renos on his place last night,” he explained, “and now they’re calling me in to cover his shift.”

Pete was a big strong dude.  Six-foot-two, 225 – lots of big muscle.  Obligatory tribal tattoos.  Worked construction – in fact, the company he worked for was building a new housing development not far from where he lived.  Drove a big pickup – lifted a bit (but not too much.)  Played rec league hockey.  Lots of testosterone.  Just about to turn 30, and about five years older than me.  Tough but kind dom who is in to total power exchange.  Just my kind of guy.

I – on the other hand – was five-foot-seven.  160.  Lean muscle.  Worked IT.  Didn’t play sports but lived at the gym.  Laidback bro out in public, putty-in-your-hands sub with a pup streak in the playroom.  My name might be Jeremy, but when the collar goes on he calls me “Gunner.”  His kind of guy.

It was early Saturday on a nice spring day and I had just woken up in the cage when the phone rang after a decent night’s sleep (or as decent as it can be after being curled up in the cage.)  I live about two hours away, but make the trip most weekends to pup out with Pete.

I enjoy getting in to pup headspace with Pete.  He’s a good handler, we have fun together, and I really get a chance to play the part – tail plug, puppy muzzle mask, locking fist mitts, kneepads, ankle restraints, silicone cock cage and chain collar are all standard issue wear for me when I’m at Pete’s place.

Normally I drive, but this weekend I thought I’d take the train for a change of scenery.  And this is the first time Pete has had to bail because of something like this.

“Fuck… fuck… fuck,” Pete muttered, as I could see him pacing around, racking his brain to figure out what to do with me.  He lived alone, so there wasn’t any fear of roommates walking in and finding me.  But Pete also had a strict rule that he doesn’t let me roam the house freely if he’s not around.  And while it’s unlikely anything bad would happen while he was gone, he didn’t like the idea of leaving me caged all day.

Then, I saw the lightbulb go off.

“I’ll be right back, boy,” he said.

Unsure what was going to happen – and still somewhat sleepy – I laid in a curled up ball in the cage waiting for Pete’s return.

About five minutes later, Pete emerged down the stairs with his arms full, dropping everything on the floor by the cage.

“Here’s the deal, boy.  I can’t let you stay in the cage all day – it’s not safe to leave you here alone.  And you’re not gonna roam my house while I’m not home – I don’t need the neighbours to see a guy dressed like a pup pawing around.  And I’m not sending you back home because of some asshole who can’t stay out of the emergency room for a weekend.  So, I’m taking you to work with me.”

I gave a bit of a puzzled look as I glanced back at the clump of stuff I still couldn’t make out on the basement floor.

“Now, granted, I can’t have you roaming around the jobsite, so you need to be contained.  That’s where all of this stuff comes in.  Not a lot of time, so crawl out and I’ll explain as we go,” he said as he unlocked the door.

I came out on all fours and stayed put as he set about going to work.  First up, he set about getting the neoprene puppy muzzle I was wearing off my head.

“Remember, no sounds, Gunner,” he said as he unbuckled the muzzle.  I smiled and nodded.

In the muzzle’s place was a gas mask hood.  He deftly positioned the mask over my face, and zippered me in.  I found as he maneuvered the hood a little rubber tube plopped in to my mouth – a drinking tube.  Nice!  I could hear him screw something in to the intake for the drinking tube before he added a long hose to the air intake of the mask.

Next up, he strapped a Camelpak backwards to my naked torso, and connected the line from the drinking tube to the big 3 litre reservoir.  We had taken it hiking a few times before, but this was the first time he’d used it while we were playing  He cinched up the straps on the harness to make sure it was nice and tight with the backpack canteen covering my stomach.

Next, he walked over to me with a juice jug and positioned it under my cock.

“Piss, boy,” he said.  I had been holding it for a little bit since I woke up, so I had no problem letting it rip.  After I was done, he pulled the jug away from my cock, put a lid on it, and opened the door of the basement fridge.  I guess I know what I’m having to drink later.

“Almost done, boy,” he said as he walked behind me and grabbed the biggest item from the pile he’d dropped earlier.  He came back around in front of me as I saw what it was – an oversized hockey bag.

“Here’s the deal,” he said, “I could just leave you trussed up somehow in the cab my truck, but the chances of someone finding you are too high.  Plus, it’ll look weird if you’re just sitting there.  And frankly, I like the idea of you still being contained somehow.  So, you’re going inside this.  It’s my old hockey bag, and I’d been holding on to it because I figured I might have a use for it someday.”  He had a wry smile on his face as he explained.

He could see my eyes get wide through the lenses of the gas mask.

“Don’t worry, I’m gonna vent the gas mask out a hole in the top, so you’ll be able to breathe fine.  Now, get your fucking ass in here – we don’t have a lot of time, boy.”

And so, still tail plugged, fist-mitted, cock-locked and knee-padded, I crawled toward the bag as he shook it open.  He opened the flap wider so I could position myself somewhat over top of it.

“That’s good, boy, hold still for a moment,” he said as I curled in to a ball partially on top of the bag.

It didn’t take long before he had pulled the sides up over top of me and I was now curled up inside the waterproofed nylon walls of the big bag.

Pete’s big hands fished inside the bag to grab the hose from the gas mask which – up until now – had been filling the hood with the rank smell of used hockey gear.  Truthfully, I loved the scent, especially knowing it was from Pete’s sweaty gear.  He grabbed the hose and pulled it up to the corner of the bag to check its length before dropping it back down, grabbing his Swiss army knife, and cutting a slit in the side of the bag.  He pulled the hose back up, pushed it through the slit, and sealed it in place with some duct tape – nice and firm, it wasn’t going anywhere.

“There,” Pete said, “you can breathe okay, Gunner?”

A torrent of fresh air came through the tube.  It was rather ingenious what he had done.

“Ruff! Ruff,” I barked through the gas mask – two for yes, one for no was our code.

“Goood boy,” Pete cooed as he scratched my ribcage since my belly wasn’t visible.  I could see a smile creep across his face and I knew that he realized this wouldn’t be a wasted day after all – I’d be bound up, he’d be earning overtime.

Finally, Pete grabbed some chain and a couple of padlocks from the floor and set about the d-rings on my fist mitts to the d-rings on my ankle restraints.  There was enough length to stretch a bit, but I wasn’t going to be getting upright any time soon.

“Okay, boy… see you in about nine hours,” he exclaimed as pulled the zipper of the hockey bag, plunging me in to darkness.

As the two zippers met, I could feel him fumbling around outside for a moment before I heard the sound that I’ve come to adore – the “click” of a padlock.  Not only did he bag me up, but he locked me in.  If I had any ideas of escaping before, they melted away with that snap.

With a slight grunt, he picked up the hockey bag by the hand straps.  Pete can easily lift me up – hell, he can bench his own weight and then some.  He hauled me up the stairs and plopped me on the floor by the garage door.  I then heard him head off to get his lunch ready and to get dressed for work.

As I waited, I slowly realized what was in store for the day.  A tiny puddle of sweat started to pool at my back – and I realized that this was going to be a bit of a sauna inside the bag.  Thankfully, I had a full tank of water with me, and I’d be able to slowly sip my way through it to keep hydrated.

About 20 minutes later, I heard Pete’s footsteps start back toward me.  I heard him grab his steel-toed work boots out of the closet and drop them on the floor.  One by one he laced them up, and once they were on, he playfully kicked the bag and laughed at me.  “How you doin’ in there, boy,” he asked.

“Woof! Woof,” I replied.

“Good boy.  Just so you know, you’re gonna be in the box of my truck all day, so I don’t want to hear any noises coming from there once we get to the jobsite.  No one can know you’re in there – you hear.”

“Woof! Woof,” I replied.

“Good.  Alright, here we go.”

He reached down and picked up the hockey bag in one hand, opening the garage door with the other.  The smell of the garage wafted in the hose of the gas mask.  He walked over toward the box of the truck, and put me down on the cold concrete of the garage floor as he opened the tailgate and rolled back the tonneau cover of the pickup truck’s box.

He then lifted me up and pushed me on to the bed of the truck, keeping the bag close to the tailgate of the truck.

“Can’t have you sliding around getting hurt,” he said, as he attached bungee cords from the various handles on the bag to the hooks inside the box of the truck.  “There… you’re still gonna slide around a bit, but not too much,” he exhaled after a bit of work getting everything in place.

“I’m pulling the cover over the bed of the truck,” he said. “This way, in case you squirm around a bit, no one will see the bag move.  Don’t worry – it’s not airtight, so you can breathe.  But keep the squirming to a minimum… I don’t want the truck rocking around.”  Pete was understanding, but firm.  This is what I loved about him.

With that, I heard the cover go back over the box and the tailgate of the truck slam shut.  I was contained – and the only person who knew I was in here was Pete.

A few minutes later, the truck started up, the garage door opened, and with a rumble we headed off to the jobsite.

It was bizarre being in the box of the truck as we rumbled along the roads in his neighbourhood.  I was Pete’s secret cargo.

A few minutes later, we showed up at the job site and the truck stopped.  I could hear Pete get out of the truck, his boots hitting the dirt as he landed out of the jacked up truck.

“Hey fuckers, how’s it goin’,” he said to the other guys who were at the worksite.

“What took you so long to get here – it’s not like you live across town,” one of the guys asked.

“Oh, just had some loose ends to tie up before getting over here,” he exclaimed as he banged on the truck box cover.

He leaned up against the truck as he talked with them for a few minutes before they decided to get to work.

“You boys head off, I’m just gonna grab my stuff from the truck here,” he said as the sound of boots faded off in to the distance.  He came around to the tailgate of the truck and opened it up.  A wave of fresh air flooded the box.

“Quietly now, boy,” he whispered, “you okay?  One grunt for no, two grunts for yes.”

“Mmmph. Mmmph,” I responded.

“Good boy.  Okay, have fun, and see you later,” he said as he grabbed his hardhat and a couple of tools from the box before slamming the tailgate shut.  Pete laughed menacingly as he walked away.  And reality sunk in for me – that I’d be here all day.

As I laid curled up in the hockey bag, I found myself fairly comfortable.  Breathing was easy with the gas mask on.  Even though the hood, the bag and the box cover muffled sounds a bit, you still heard things outside – the wind kicking up every once in a while, the sound of vehicles driving by, and when other guys were heading back to their trucks to grab something, you could hear them, too.

Something happens when you’re stowed away for any length of time – minutes seem to slip in to hours, and you don’t realize what time it is.  I dozed in and out of sleep, not ever really having a clue what time it was or how long I had slept for.  At other times, I’d count to keep my mind busy, just to something other than thinking about breathing in and out.  I also kept good tabs on my water intake through the day, sipping just enough to stay hydrated, even though the puddle of sweat in the bag was growing.  It might sound boring, but it was existing – and existing in Pete’s ownership.  I was good with that.

As the hours ticked away, I was sure that Pete would come back to check on me at some point.  And just when I heard boots that I thought were his… nothing.  It was like I didn’t exist at all.

I have no idea how long it was after Pete had gone to work, but I heard a number of boots coming back toward the truck and get in the cab.  Pete was not alone.  This would mean no check-up, no “how ya doin, Gunner.”  I was just his cargo on an otherwise normal day of work.  The engine fired up, the truck backed up, and it started to go down the street.

We traveled for a good twenty minutes or so, and aside from the rumble of the engine, I could hear more and more traffic noise.  Finally, I could hear us pull in to some sort of parking lot and felt the truck park.

“Why the fuck are we all the way back here, Pete,” one of the guys asked.

“Don’t want anyone to scratch up my baby,” Pete replied with a laugh as their boot steps faded away.

Best I can tell, he was going out for dinner with the boys from the jobsite.  That bastard!  I was starting to get kinda hungry by this point, and the thought of him chowing down made my stomach rumble.

I’m not sure how long they were in the restaurant, but eventually I heard boots and laughter starting to draw near the truck.  Not much was said as everyone got in, the engine revved up, and we took off.  Again, another twenty to thirty minutes of travel down what first sounded like busy city streets eventually faded away in to the quietness of suburbia.  Eventually, we came to a stop, but the motor was still running.  I guess Pete was dropping the guys off back at their truck at the jobsite.

As the truck doors slammed, we took off again before slowly pulling up a driveway.  The sound of a garage door clicked and I realized we were back at Pete’s place.  The truck lurched forward in to the garage, the engine shut off, and the garage door closed.  I could hear Pete go inside the house.

Dammit… was he going to leave me in here?

About half an hour passed when I heard the door open and Pete’s boot-clad footsteps come back toward the truck.  He opened the tailgate and rolled back the tonneau cover and started to unhook the bungee cords without saying a word.  I was cautious not to make a sound for fear of being punished.

Once the bag was freed, he lifted it up off the truck box, and set it down on the cold concrete floor of the garage before closing the tailgate and rolling back the box cover.  He picked up the bag and marched in to the house and downstairs in to the playroom.

With a click, the padlock was taken off the zippers of the hockey bag, and Pete slowly unzipped the cover of the bag.  As my eyes adjusted to the dim light, I could see a broad smile across his face.

“Hey, Gunner.  How ya doin, boy,” he asked as he massaged my still-hooded head.

“Woof!  Woof,” I replied – relieved to see his face.  As I widened my gaze, I realized he was still clad in his work clothes including his Carhartt overalls and dusty hoodie.  He even had his dusty work boots on.

“Good boy.  I’m so proud of you for making it through the day,” he exclaimed as he scratched my rib cage – my belly still covered by the Camelpak.

“You know, I kind of like you all bagged up like you were today.  We might have to make this part of our routine.  Who knows, I might pick up some more overtime weekend shifts just so you can come along for the ride!”  I gulped at the thought.  I could get used to this!

He reached in the bag and detached the hose from the gas mask, leaving it still taped inside the bag.  He then gently helped me out of the bag, reminding me that “puppies are meant to be on all fours,” so I didn’t get any crazy ideas of standing up on two legs.  The chains locking my wrists to my ankles were removed so I could move a little more freely.

He then unhooked the Camelpak from my torso, unzipped the gas mask hood, and removed both from my body.  I was standing on all fours, uncovered and unmuzzled.  He crouched down in front of my face and I looked up at him as he tussled my hair and scritched my ears with a big smile on his face.  “Good boy… you’re such a good boy!”  I stayed as he walked away to grab a blanket to put over top of me to keep me from getting cold, and then went upstairs.  I knew better than to follow him, and stayed put until he returned.

About ten minutes later, he came down the stairs – still dressed for work and booted – with two dog bowls in hand.  He put the bowls out of sight and came back in to my field of vision.

“Hey Gunner, good boy.  I’ve got dinner for you, but before you get to eat, how about cleaning up my boots a little bit?”

This was new territory.  I had never licked Pete’s boots before, but there was a first time for everything.  So, I got in close, and started to lap up the hard brown leather.  They were dusty, but thankfully not muddy.  Surprisingly, they didn’t taste too bad – and the grittiness of the dust wasn’t too gross.  I guess it’s baby steps, right?

After a few minutes of licking, he tussled my hair, and grabbed me by the collar.  “That’s a good boy,” he said as he scratched my head.  “Okay, time to eat.”

And with that, he led me over to the dog bowls.  In one was water, in the other was a mish-mash of people food.

“The boys were good enough to let me take their table scraps home for my dog,” he said. “There were some half eaten racks of ribs, a little bit of veg, and a tiny bit of mashed potatoes.  It’s quite the feast if you ask me,” he grinned.

It had come to this – not only was I playing the role of Pete’s dog, but I’d eat like one, too, this weekend.

“Hurry up and eat, boy.”

And with that, Pete left me to gnaw on the bones his fellow construction workers had already chewed on.  It wasn’t a lot of food, but it was enough to settle my growling stomach – even if it was what was on the plates of the guys he worked with.

About fifteen minutes later, Pete came back, freshly showered, and looking like the alpha male I needed with stubble covering his square jaw, and his hair slightly mussed.  He’d traded in the Carhartt’s for oversized grey sweatpants (like you’d see on the muscle bros at the gym) and a tight Under Armor shirt stretched across his torso.  He crouched down to assess how clean my bowl was.

“Not bad, Gunner.  Not bad.  Okay, I have a treat for you,” he said excitedly, showing me the Camelpak again.  He clipped it on to me, this time attaching it the proper way with the pack on my back.

“Let’s go upstairs, boy!”

I scampered up the stairs behind him and followed him to the living room.  He plopped himself down in the big comfy leather sofa while I curled up in a ball at his feet.  We’ve spent many Saturday nights like this.

He bent down to make sure the Camelpak spigot was in my mouth.

“Whenever you get thirsty, just give that a suckle.  You’ll enjoy it.”

He leaned back in to the couch, hit the remote, and flipped around until he found a hockey game he wanted to watch.

A few minutes later, I give the spigot a suckle.  It was cold, and it was salty.  Then I remembered what Pete had me pee in to earlier in the day.  While he watched his team on TV, I’d be leisurely recycling – at my own pace.  He was an evil genius.

“Finish it all up before the end of the game, otherwise you won’t be a happy puppy,” Pete warned.  It was the start of the second period – I had to get a move on.

Luckily, I had finished up the Camelpak by the time the game ended.  Satisfied with the score on TV and the emptiness of the Camelpak, Pete chased me back downstairs to get ready for bed.

Off came the Camelpak, on went the muzzle, and in to the cage I went.  The “clunk” of the padlock let me know I wasn’t going anywhere.

“Alright, pup.  Have a good sleep,” he said as he bounded up the stairs.  The lights turned out, and another day as Pete’s pup was in the books – a milestone day.

THE END

By Matt

Hey Metal,

I look over to your site anytime I want to get off. I’m done looking through several different pornographic sites trying to find just what will do it for me, it’s all in one place on your blog.

Anyway, you recently wrote that you wanted your readers’ chastity stories, so here goes:

A few years back, I met this super hot man on a gay cruise. He’s about 6’4″, built like a brick shit house, and a cock you could plug a tailpipe with. Naturally, I got along with him just fine. Little did I know his plans for me.

This was a gay cruise, not necessarily a kinky cruise, so we were both pleasantly surprised to find each other’s kinky side. I had brought restraints, which he used to keep me safely secure on the bed while he pounded me again and again and again. He told me he hadn’t brought any equipment of his own, but to come with him once we docked.

The port we docked at was Miami, and I went with him to a toy store (don’t remember the name). There, he bought a CB2000. He didn’t ask me, there was no negotiation, he brought me behind the alley and told me to lock it on myself. This took quite a while, considering how hard I was this whole time! I actually had to ask him to leave because just seeing him had always, and especially now, brought my cock to attention.

He used the plastic lock because we both had to fly home. He lived about seven hours’ drive from me, and gave me his phone number and email. Basically, as I learned when I got home, was I had to send him a picture each day with some sort of date-specific artefact (I used newspapers), and beg him to let me come over. In the end, it took two weeks.

The first night was the worst. Not only was my mind still full of him and all the sexy times we had shared, not only was my ass still good and sore (nothing turns me on more than a tinge of pain when I clench my ass), but sleeping? Forget it! I think I got about two hours’ sleep that first night. Every hardon would push and push painfully.

The first day back at work I learned I had to sit in my office chair a little differently. As the first week, then the second week, wore on, my dick and balls were getting nothing but sorer and sorer.

Of course, he’d send me hot pictures, or call me and tell me in that deep sexy voice of his that I was his, that I would have to wait to cum. Sometimes he would even make me talk to him to get him to cum on the phone while my dick strained painfully in its cage. It was AWFUL, but so wonderful at the same time!

Finally he said I could drive up to his place. I had ensured my weekends would be free in case he’d give me such an offer, and he finally did. I don’t recall exactly how fast I drove, but I know I was well over the speed limit!

I arrived to find him shirtless, in just a pair of tight Levi’s that showed me everything. He told me to kneel, which I dutifully did, and he slipped a hood over my head. He led me to a table, on which I was told to lay, and he took off my clothes. You better believe my cock was straining hard at this point! I felt restraints go around my wrists and ankles, as he tied me down inescapably to the table. A moment passed, then I heard a snip, and felt a tremendous release of pressure from my cock!

“Hmmmm…” he said.

“What?” I asked, though it probably sounded more like “mmph.”

He then undid my restraints and removed the hood. I looked down and saw what the cage had done to my cock: it was bruised, with the skin rubbed away in some places to form open sores.

“Sorry, but I’m not interested in getting herpes.”

“No! I don’t have herpes! It was the cock cage! It was rubbing against–”

“I think you better go.”

And so I drove the seven hours back, and had a very painful and sad masturbation session at home.

By Rbbrstorage

Conversation over dinner mostly covered business and sports. I wouldn’t have had much to offer to either topic, so perhaps it was good that I was restrained at the side of the room in a laser-measured and 3D-printed composite exo-skeleton that kept my body entirely motionless from my crotch to my mouth – my ass impaled by an integrated dildo, and my mouth invaded by the open mouth gag that formed the top of the device and covered my teeth – my torso sealed inside a sheath of composite metal with my arms pinned close at my sides – all of it contained in a single piece of near-seamless, flowing and organic design that perfectly fit my body.

Dinner went on for quite some time, which perhaps was appropriate since this was our third date – my third date with Cal – and yet, he sat at the large dining room table with his two studly assistants, Brandon and Brendon, eating a multi-course meal that smelled fantastic, and drinking after-dinner brandy, while I just watched from the side of the room where my exo-skeleton had been secured to the wall.

Every so often, if I strained my eyes to the right, I could just catch Cal looking over at me with an admiring look. I had a feeling that his admiration had less to do with me, and far more to do with the design of the device he had made at his 3D printing company, and more to do with the idea that he just might have found someone to objectify in heavy encasement bondage in the way he had apparently been fantasizing – which, it turns out, is quite similar to my own fantasies, but from the other side of the bondage spectrum. But since he had explained that his idea of encasing a bondage slave involved finding a man that he could imagine falling in love with, and then ignoring the man most of the time while his assistants took care of the bondage tasks for him, I knew better than to get used to admiring looks from him.

“Boys, get naked. Brandon, on your back on the table.”

They were hardly boys. I would have guessed that Brendan and Brandon were each in their late-twenties – and I still wasn’t entirely sure I had figured out which was which. In less than a minute, Brandon had pushed remaining dishes to the side, had stripped out of his clothes to reveal a flawless body and impressive hard cock, and was lying on his back on the dining room table, with his ass hanging just over the edge, and his ankles high in the air – looking as though the impending fuck was that last thing that he wanted as a self-respecting top. From that point on, I knew that I would be able to tell the two B’s apart. Brandon had a longer cock, while Brendan’s was fatter. Brandon had blond hair and lighter eyes. Brendan had darker eyes that looked like he was constantly up to no good – which, of course, turned me on immensely.

Cal, by contrast, didn’t even take off his suit jacket or loosen his tie. Instead, he opened the front of his pants, lowered them halfway down his thighs, pulled out a beautiful, cut cock, and rolled a condom over it. He threw a condom at Brandon, and another at Brendan.

“Make sure you each blow a load for his dinner. And you,” he directed at Brendan, “get over here and lick my ass while you jack off.”

Within moments, Cal was fucking Brandon while Brendan knelt behind Cal and struggled to keep his tongue up Cal’s thrusting ass, both of them jacking off into condoms while Cal continued to fuck Brandon. My own cock struggled once again against its tight, metal confines, unable to get remotely hard.

The three men came fairly close together, filling their condoms with large loads that I knew would soon be finding their way down my own throat. Brendan rose to his feet, while milking his last drops of cum into his condom, and then disappeared into the kitchen – returning seconds later with a glass blender that already had a mix of fruit and vegetables inside. Cal and the boys each removed their condoms, careful to not lose a drop, and then emptied each condom into the blender. Brendan then held the blender in front of Cal’s crotch while Cal emptied his bladder into it as well. Brendan then turned on the blender and converted the mix of food, cum and piss into a sickly colored smoothie.

He came over to where I was secured at the side of the room, grinned at me with an almost evil grin, and then slowly poured the concoction into the trough-like bottom rim of my open-mouth gag, ensuring that the smoothie ran into my mouth and down my throat as fast as I could swallow. The taste was a bizarre mix of sweet fruit, savory vegetables, and bitter piss. Every so often, I thought I could detect the taste of cum, but mostly it was the piss that overwhelmed the taste. And then, I came. Just like that. I’ve never cum without touching my own cock before. And my cock was completely unable to get hard inside its chastity cage. But everything that had happened over the prior two or three hours, the fucking I had just witnessed in front of me, the smoothie being forcefully poured into my stomach with piss and cum inside, the dildo lodged deep inside my ass, and the realization that this third date was not yet over, was enough to make my cock explode.

Cal noticed. Though I could barely move any muscle more than a hair’s-width, the groaning and squealing that came out of my throat, the straining of my muscles, and the dripping of drops of cum from the drainage hole at the front of the section of the exo-skeleton that covered my crotch, told him that I had just climaxed. He grinned.

“So we both got to have an orgasm on our third date.”

He turned to leave the room, pausing at the door as Brendan poured the last of my dinner into my mouth.

“I’m going to get some work done while you two clean up the kitchen. When you’re done, take him down to the playroom and set him up for a flogging session before we put him into storage for the night.”

Storage. I’d always loved that word, and it made my cock jump within its confines just thinking about what it might entail. Brandon and Brendan proceeded to clean up the dining room and kitchen, both still naked, while I remained in place where they had left me.

But flogging first? Cal had asked me about things like flogging on our second date. I’d tried it once, but wasn’t sure it did anything for me. The guy had just wailed on my back for half an hour, and I had been glad when it had been over. Cal had just smiled and assured me that the guy hadn’t known what he was doing.

It only took the B’s about twenty minutes to clean up the kitchen and wipe all their sweat off the dining room table before they were standing before me, still naked, disconnecting my exo-skeleton from its post on the wall, and leading me across the main floor of the house. I couldn’t exactly look around as I followed them, since my head was completely immobile and tilted slightly upward, but then I hadn’t shown up for the purpose of critiquing Cal’s interior design decisions.

The B’s very carefully led me down a flight of stairs and through a large doorway into a massive “playroom” – or as I would call it, dungeon. Even with my eyes tilted upwards, I could see that the room was filled with bondage equipment. And yet it was nicely wood-paneled, and was well-lit with lights that were apparently on dimmers (I learned as Brandon adjusted the lighting in various parts of the room).

The B’s led me over to the far side of the room and then began to release the screws that held my body cage in place – first removing my arms from their confines, then the front of the posture collar and gag, then the corset portion, and then finally sliding the dildo out of my ass, and my cock and balls out of the chastity cup. I wanted to thank them, I wanted to stretch, and I wanted to touch my junk, but I felt instinctually that I should simply stand still, remain silent, and await their instructions.

They proceeded to strap leather bondage mitts onto my fists, and then stretched my arms out to the side, securing them to two posts. Cuffs on my ankles followed, pulling them to the side. And finally, a leather head harness with a plug gag that filled my mouth. I was almost disappointed that every piece was standard leather, and not some 3D-designed piece made of space-age polymers.

“I’m pleased.” It was Cal. It seems he’d been watching from across the room. “You might have struggled, you might have complained about the bondage or tried to chat up the boys. But you didn’t, and that pleases me … immensely. A bondage slave should accept his bondage in silent submission, as you have demonstrated.”

Cal approached and ran his hand down my back. I shivered slightly from his touch, as my upper back has always been my only erogenous zone where I feel anything in the way of pleasurable feelings.

“So, why a flogging session? You’re probably asking yourself that question. I could have just put you in storage for the night and be done with you, and you probably would have enjoyed that. But your enjoyment is not what this is all about. You told me on one of our dates that your body has almost no physical feeling. That you don’t feel anything pleasurable from a blowjob, or a rim job, or even from fucking. For you, sexual pleasure is the psychological joy of bondage. But I’m going to prove you wrong. I’m going to show you what your body is capable of feeling – the pleasure it’s capable of feeling – pleasure that will leave you weeping for more. I’m also going to show you the pain your body is capable of feeling and handling, because the elevation of pleasure requires that we push the boundaries of your pain. And then, just when I’ve reduced you to a quivering mess of orgasmic tissue, I’m going to stick you inside a containment device for the night, so that you can lie there – not feeling as though you’re escaping from the world – but fully aware of all the pleasure you’re missing, all because you have this sick need to be securely bound and treated like a silent, immobile object.”

I felt him drape a leather flogger across my back, softly, teasingly.

“The boys aren’t particularly experienced with flogging, so these initial sessions are as much to teach them, as to teach you. Eventually, when you’re down here, hooded and unable to see, you won’t know which of us is administering your treatment unless you can learn to distinguish any differentiation in our styles. I’ll enjoy this flogging tonight. I’ll enjoy showing you the helpless vessel of physical pleasure that you were meant to become. But I’ll enjoy even more sitting upstairs on future evenings knowing that Brandon or Brendan is continuing my work on my behalf.”

And with that, he began to lightly slap the flogger against my back and ass. Rhythmically. Increasing and decreasing the pressure without any distinguishable pattern. Beyond that, I’m not even sure how to describe the hour, or two – no idea how long, really – that unfolded from there. The flogging continued, varied at times with spanking from his bare hands, and at times it seemed to hurt, though at times it was just a sensation of pressure or a light stinging feeling. On my back, my ass, my thighs, my calves, my arms, my chest. But then, between blows of the flogger, he would stop for a moment and run his hand lightly over my back, down to my inner thighs, and I would nearly scream into the gag. He would follow that up by spanking the same area with various levels of intensity, followed by immediate sensual touch with his fingertips. I had never felt sensation like that. It wasn’t ticklish, but it was pleasurable – more pleasurable than any feeling I have ever experienced from my body. My body would involuntary jerk towards his hands, or away from them if the sensation was too strong. But I wanted more. I needed more. I couldn’t imagine not getting more. Suddenly I understood why so much of the male population seems obsessed with getting blowjobs. If the body could be made to feel this good, then I never wanted it to stop.

The rest of Cal’s treatment was a blur to me. The flogger seemed to turn on the nerve endings, and then Cal’s hands played those nerve endings like a musical instrument, eliciting moans, shudders and a few tears from me. He could have proven his point in ten minutes or less. But it went on. And on. And on. By the time he announced that it was time to put me in storage, I was barely able to stand, gasping for breath, and barely aware of anything beyond the sense of touch that had been heightened across my body to an extent I had never dreamed was possible.

“Now you’re ready for a night of storage. Now you’re ready to feel the frustration of an inability to touch your own body, of knowing that nothing but the flat surface of your containment device can touch your skin, and that you’re missing out on pleasures you never dreamed were possible. Now, you’re ready.”

The B’s released the cuffs and mitts from the posts, and held me up when I nearly collapsed to my knees. They secured the mitts together behind my back, and then led me out of the playroom and back up the stairs. With my neck no longer secured inside the posture collar of the exo-skelton, I could look around at Cal’s house as they led me though it, but I had no interest or ability to pay attention to decorating details. It took every ounce of energy I had left just to move one foot in front of the other.

Cal had a large king-sized bed that dominated the bedroom, with massive carved posts on the four corners, and for a brief moment I imagined myself lying in the bed, wrapped in Cal’s arms and luxuriating in high thread-count sheets. But then I noticed the other structure that dominated the other side of the room, and I nearly came on the spot. I think the only simple description for the device would be a “pod.” It stood upright, though it was connected to a frame, and it had the tapered shape of a human body – a little wider than a mummified form, but clearly tapered from feet, to shoulders, then rounded off over the head. It was black and shiny, and though I could see a couple of holes or removable covers, the rest of the pod was a solid mass of containment.

Cal was releasing clasps along one edge of the device as I was led into the room, and then he stood proudly and opened the back of the device to reveal the shape of a body – my body – on the inside of the pod. It was like a cello case, except shaped for a human instead of a cello. There were two small holes in the front half of the pod – one for my genitals to stick through, and a hole for the mouth, with inserts that would cover my teeth, much like the open-mouth gag on the exo-skeleton. Though they weren’t visible to me at the time, there were also two small holes that matched up with my nostrils, which I discovered later.

And in an instant I understood why my initial measuring session had included a series of measurements with pieces of clear acrylic separating my legs by an inch, and my arms from my torso. This pod had similar narrow dividers between my legs, and between my arms and my body. It was still a mummified position, but without the skin touching.

“This is your sleep pod,” Cal announced proudly. “It’s made of two solid pieces that, once closed and sealed, will feel like a single solid piece encasing your body inside, perfectly conforming to every inch of your skin. It’s made of a plastic polymer, but with a series of health and safety issues covered. You can barely see them, but there are thousands of tiny holes in the plastic, each about as wide as a human hair, which will allow your skin to breathe and keep you from overheating inside the pod. There is an open-mouth gag built into the front of the faceplate, though a smaller opening than you had earlier, and one that should be comfortable for sleeping. The pod will be lowered, face down, to approximately a 35-degree angle, which should be an optimal angle for you – though we may need to adjust over time. It should be horizontal enough that you will be able to sleep, but just vertical enough that your sinuses will not clog, and you can expel anything from your mouth in case you throw up your dinner in the middle of the night. It also ensures that you won’t snore and keep me awake. As you can see, the pod is secured on a frame to allow easy movement, and it works in multiple directions. Once the pod is in the sleep position, I can easily turn it over so that you are on your back. You can expect that to happen once or twice during the night, whenever I need to get up to relieve myself, which will, of course, be down your throat. After I’ve relieved myself, you’ll be returned to the face down position so that you can go back to sleep. Tonight, and tonight only, your genitals will be allowed to hang free through the hole that you can see. On any other night, they will be locked in chastity, though with a drainage tube to allow drainage whenever you feel the need. But tonight, I want you to be fully aware of how hard your cock is as your body is secured in complete immobility, and left in storage until I decide it’s time for your removal.”

I looked down to confirm for myself what I could already feel – that my small cock was as hard as it had ever been.

“The edges where the two sides meet are slightly contoured to ensure that we don’t pinch your skin as the pod is closed, though we will be careful each time just in case. Also, there’s a small amount of space added around your stomach so that you’ll be able to breathe without difficulty, allowing your diaphragm to expand as you need it. And, since your health and safety is of primary concern, there is a feature that will allow you to wake us in the event of a medical emergency. Directly under where your right index finger will be secured, we have placed a small, touch-sensitive pad. If you put pressure onto the pad, it will emit a signal to a computer across the room. If the computer receives the SOS signal – three long, three short, and three long – it will emit an alarm to wake us. But, understand, if you use that safety device for anything other than an actual medical emergency, other than something thoroughly life-threatening, it will be the last time you are here in this house. If you are bored, or claustrophobic, or horny, or hungry, and you use that signal, we are done. It is there for one reason only, and that is to ensure that you stay alive so that I can keep you secured in storage like this for many, many years to come.”

I nodded, even though I knew that he expected nothing from me to show an understanding, other than compliance with his instructions.

“Now, the first step in storing you for the night is inserting the dildo – the same as the one you had earlier. In this case, it goes inside you first, and then once you are inserted into the front half of the pod, the dildo will be fixed onto the divider that you can see will run between your legs, so that once it is securely in place you will be impaled into this device, at both ends, much as you were in the exo-skeleton. The tube that forms the outside of the dildo then connects to that exit port you can see on the back half of the pod, so that we can drain you in the morning before your release – assuming you get released.”

He grinned, knowing that the idea of uncertain release would only elevate my horniness as they locked me inside the pod.

“Tonight, I’m here to oversee the process, partly because the whole idea of watching you be entombed inside this creation of mine turns me on to no end. But in future nights, I am less likely to be here, less likely to be watching. After I’ve seen the process once, it will turn me on far more to be sitting at my computer, or be reading in the living room, knowing that the boys are securing you in storage … and to then come to bed and see that the pod has been lowered for the night, with your immobile form securely inside, perhaps already asleep, waiting until I choose to relieve myself down your throat in the middle of the night, and wondering if, or when, I will order your release.”

He smiled broadly and sat on his bed, underscoring that he would spend the night on a wide, comfortable mattress, while I would be stored inside a plastic, body-hugging pod. I felt Brendan remove the leather cuffs from my ankles, while Brandon parted my ass cheeks and inserted another dildo into my ass. Then they moved me over to the pod. I didn’t need any instructions. It was obvious from the way they were handling me that they expected me to lift my feet and step into the perfectly formed spaces that awaited my feet in the front half of the pod. The plastic was cool, but not cold, and I could feel it fitting smoothly against the front of my legs and torso as I eased my hard cock and balls through the hole in the front, and rested my torso against the plastic.

The B’s then removed the fist mitts from my arms, and guided my arms into the spaces beside my torso. My hands, and even my fingers, fit perfectly into spaces that matched them, and it was clear that there would be no possible movement once the other side of the device was locked against them. The removal of the head harness came next, and I willingly opened my mouth and spread my teeth over the inserts that would hold my jaw firmly in place for the night, pushing my face into the faceplate of the pod. The fit was perfect – at least, on the front side of my body. The plastic was smooth, and cool to the touch, and yet, it felt as though it was electrifying my skin. It wasn’t anything to do with the polymer, I quickly realized, but had everything to do with the intense session I had just experienced with Cal in the basement. Every nerve ending was still on fire, still excited, and it increased my awareness of the extent to which every square inch of the front of my body was pressed into perfectly formed plastic polymer that would encase me for many hours to come. The phrase “evil plan” came to mind as I fully understood Cal’s purpose in the flogging. Without it, I might have felt the cool temperature of the polymer, and felt the pressure of the encasement against my skin. But thanks to his session, my entire body seemed to be responding to the feel of the plastic, some nerve endings seeming to feel pleasure, while others seemed to protest the confinement. Bondage had always been a psychological experience for me, but Cal had just turned it into a physical experience beyond anything I had ever imagined it could be.

I could feel one of the B’s secure the dildo to the device, instantly locking me in place, and then heard a simple “good night, boy” as the back half of the pod was slowly closed. I will never forget the sensation I felt for the first time that night as the back half was sealed in place, suddenly covering the back half of my body in the same manner as the front, while also pressing me between the two halves and increasing the feeling of complete encasement. The back half of my body responded as the front half had done, and the sensation of my flogged nerve endings interacting with the total body encasement felt like an orgasm of its own, minus only the explosion of cum. I could hear faintly the sounds of the latches being closed along the edges of the device, eight of them by my count. The finality of each click was profound. There was no way that I could have possibly escaped from the device even before the first latch was closed, and yet each successive click made it feel as though I was doomed to permanent encasement inside the device.

A few second later, I sensed a change in gravity and felt the pod being lowered into sleeping position. Once the movement stopped, I pondered the position for sleeping, and recognized that it was likely an optimal position. I’d always preferred sleeping on my stomach, and the feeling of being suspended in a cocoon of plastic, face down, seemed even more helpless than I expected it would feel if I had been on my back. The only problem with the position was that it excited me to such a degree that I might never fall asleep.

I tested the extent of the confinement by trying to move my arms, my legs, my jaw. But nothing would move. Not a millimeter. Not a hair. As Cal had promised, I could feel my stomach expand slightly against the polymer, allowing easy breathing. But beyond that, there wasn’t a muscle that I could move.

A hand, or foot, or something, brushed against my cock, probably just to make sure I was aware of how hard it was as that moment. I hadn’t needed the reminder. It had been very clear to me that my cock was at the bursting point.

I could feel one of the B’s attach what felt like an external catheter to the head of my dick, and then I could feel or hear nothing – nothing that is, but the feeling of total encasement surrounding a body that was on fire, begging for more caressing of Cal’s flogger and hands, but locked away for a night of deprivation. I knew that the feeling in my skin would undoubtedly fade over the next few minutes, just as the realization that I could no longer see or hear anything would sink in as I lay there, immobile. I knew that the cessation of feeling, from an incredible high, to nothing at all, was exactly the feeling that Cal wanted me to experience as I submitted to his total control, and as I accepted what it would mean to be treated by him as a helpless bondage object.

It was evil, and yet it was perfect. In a few short hours, I had felt more intense bondage than I had ever thought I would get to feel, and had felt more intense physical sensation than I had known was possible. And now, those feelings would fade into nothingness, matching the nothingness of my inability to move, to speak, to see or to hear. All I could do was fade into sleep, while fantasies drifted in and out of my mind, and then to await release – if, or when, Cal would decide to release me. I had already had many third dates in my life, but I fervently hoped that this would turn out to be my last third date, and the beginning of something far more long term.

By Pup Nitro

Today is just a regular day for me – after work I headed straight for the gym. It’s pretty much an addiction for me, but I can’t help it. I love being big and muscular, and I love the looks on guys faces when they see me strutting my stuff.

Name here is Ian – and at 6’0” tall and 220 lbs. I’m definitely on the big and muscular side. I really get off on the pumped feeling I get at the gym, but I’m not gonna lie, I love the attention I get from it too. I love catching guys eyeballing me while I work out in my shorts and shredder t-shirt. I can’t tell you the number of times I’ve been sitting in the steam room after a good workout and had guys drooling all over me and fondling my hard muscles while we all sweat. I love it!

I could go on and on about the number of guys that want to just objectify my muscles, and better yet the ones that want me to Top them or Dom them, but that’s not at all what this is about. You see I have much darker interests, ones that I’m kind of afraid to explore.

Well that whole being afraid to explore it thing was about to become a chapter in my past instead of my present.

*****

“Come on PUSH! You’ve got one more set in you, fucker!” I growled to Jake as he was grunting on the benchpress. I’ve been helping him with his workouts lately.

“I swear you’re trying to kill me in here, Ian,” Jake said, wiping sweat off his face.

“Awe come on, it builds character. You’re doing good. One of these days you’ll be as big as me. Alright I’m gonna head to the house. Same time tomorrow?” I said to him as I gave him a high five and turned for the door.

I usually hit the steam room after my workouts, but I need to do some stuff at home today so I went ahead and headed to my car for the short drive home.

I really gotta clean this pig sty of a house, but I’m just so not in the mood for it so I sat down at the computer to check my messages. I flipped through the usual social media sites and nothing caught my attention, but then I switched over to one of the kink sites that I use. It has a feature that will show you when someone has viewed your profile, and one screen name definitely stood out to me: ImmobileRestraint … Oh I gotta check this one out.

I opened up the profile, and the pics in this profile could have been ripped straight from my darkest fantasies that I’m too nervous to tell anyone about. There are pics of guys in sleepsacks and hoods, cock and balls bound tightly in steel restraints, full rubber, full leather, strapped to boards, locked to chairs, and then there is the one in the bondage box … I didn’t even realize that I was stroking absentmindedly until I shot my load all over my stomach.

“Shit,” I grunted as I reached for a t-shirt off the floor to wipe up the mess. Then I dropped the t-shirt and used my meaty hands instead — growling as I sucked the cum off my fingers. Just as I was cleaning the last of my gooey load, I heard the “Ding” indicating I have a message.

I looked up at my screen and its a message from ImmobileRestraint.

ImmobileRestraint: “You just blew your nut picturing yourself in my playroom … ”

WHAT?!?!?! How did he possibly know that? I just sat there staring at the message then heard it again

“Ding.”

ImmobileRestraint: “Cat got your tongue, pig?”

Me: “You definitely have some hot pics on your profile.”

ImmobileRestraint: “Just going to ignore my question then? Your prerogative, just like it’s mine to hit the ‘block’ button.”

Me: “Wait — I didn’t mean to be rude — Yes, I blew a load picturing myself in your playroom.”

After that message there was no response, and I really thought I had screwed up my chance to actually see this guy’s playroom up close.

Just as I was about to shut my PC down for the night, I got a response.

ImmobileRestraint: “Good Pig.”

Me: “Thank you — Maybe I’ll get the chance to see your playspace sometime, or better yet NOT see it.”

I didn’t get any other response back, so I decided to turn in for the night.

I lay down on my big empty bed, but all I was picturing was spending the night in a sleepsack and hood in that playroom. I drifted off to sleep with a steady stream of precum sliding onto my tight abs.

DING

I hear the sound come from my phone the next morning from the kink site’s mobile app. I reach for my phone as I scratch my big nuts.

My eyes adjust as I see the message load on my screen. OMG, it’s from Him!

ImmobileRestraint: “Did the pig enjoy his dreams of being bound tight in my playroom?”

Surely I didn’t read that right — How can this guy possibly know?

I rubbed my eyes and read the message again, but it was right the first time.

Me: “I definitely did.”

ImmobileRestraint: “If you want to experience my playroom then, there is a price.”

Me: “Name It! Please!”

ImmobileRestraint: “You sure you’re up for the challenge? Refuse any request I give you and it will be the last time we speak.”

Me: “Just Name it — I want it — Please!”

ImmobileRestraint: “Go get a nice big bottle. Take it to the bathroom and fill it with every drop of your morning piss. Then chug it down to the last drop. Record the entire event on video, and send it to me when you’re done.”

This guy can’t be serious. He really expects me to do that? Aw, what the hell. It wouldn’t be the first time after all!

I look down and my 8 inches are at full mast thinking about it. “Hell, why not?”

I get out of bed and walk down the hall to grab a big empty bottle from the kitchen and take it to the bathroom along with my phone. I sit the bottle on the closed toilet lid and turn on the video camera on my phone. I start to fill the bottle pretty quickly. My stream stops just as the bottle fills right under the top. Without taking a second to think about it, I put the bottle to my lips and start drinking it down.

FUCK that is strong, been a while since I’ve downed morning piss.

I reach down, stopped the recording and immediately sent the video to ImmobileRestraint.

As soon as I hit send my meat throbbed to full mast again. I got in the shower and soaped up my muscled body, loving the feeling of the slick soap on my rock hard chest and abs. God I need someone here doing this for me right now. I reached down and pinched my nipple and my cock just throbbed all over again. From outside the shower I heard my phone: DING.

Has he already watched the video? The thought of that made me throb even more, but more importantly my kidneys have already filtered through the piss I chugged down.

I lay down on the floor of the shower and aimed my hard 8 inches at my face and let it flow full force at my open mouth, catching as much of it as I could and letting the rest blast my face and my stomach.

I soap up my hand and start rubbing my hard cock slowly, paying special attention to the head. God I just wish that this piss was coming through a funnel gag fed to me by a hot Bondage Master. I start breathing heavy thinking about that and I take my hand off my cock right before I shoot my load. I’m going to save this one. I stand up and finish my shower before I towel off.

Standing in my bathroom with my towel wrapped around my waist, I grab my phone and sure enough see a message from ImmobileRestraint. This guy wasn’t kidding around — he really wanted to see that video.

ImmobileRestraint: That was quite a load of morning piss, pig. Good job. You really do want to see my playroom, don’t you?

Me: More than anything, Sir.

God this guy is really cranking my gears.

I look over at the clock and it is almost 8 o’clock I really gotta get dressed for work.

DING

ImmobileRestraint: Lock a ballstretcher on yourself before you leave for work. Leave the key at home.

What the hell? Who does this guy think he is? Of course my hardon knows exactly who he is and I reach for my split collar ball weight on my desk. I pull my bull nuts down low in their sack and I work the metal weight on and screw in the bolt using the hex key. I know by the time I get home from the day these boys are going to be aching because I have a gym date with Jake after work today.

Me: Sir, it is locked on. I am getting dressed for work now or else I am going to be late to the office.

OK, so I enjoy showing off my body all the time. Work is no exception to that. I slide my big legs into a tight pair of slacks that show off my glutes and my big bulge, even bigger today because of the 2” ball weight locked on. I slide my tight polo shirt down over my big torso, my arms and chest stretch it out nicely.

I look at the clock and its now 8:10. I grab my work bag and phone and run out the door or I’m going to be way late.

DING

I don’t even have time to look at that now. I get in my car and fly to work as fast as I can. I walk in the front door right at 8:30, just in time.

I get to my desk and open up my phone and see a message from Him.

ImmobileRestraint: So how is that ball weight feeling?

God knowing that he is enjoying the immediate control I gave him makes my meat start to grow down my left pants leg.

Me: My balls are full and heavy, Sir. They are really going to ache by the time I get home tonight after the gym.

ImmobileRestraint: So you didn’t rub one out in the shower this morning then? Surely a big muscle stud like you rubs them out every chance you get.

Me: I edged and pissed in my mouth and on my face and body, but I stopped rubbing before I shot, Sir.

ImmobileRestraint: Good pig. You already know that I don’t want you blowing a load without permission.

Wait … what? I never agreed to full submission of this guy. We have never even met. Surely he can’t imagine that I’m going to just turn it all over to him like that? But, what about what I have already done today …

Oh well, I spend some time sorting through my e-mails that came through overnight and getting my day started. I can feel my meat pushing out a steady sticky flow of precum into my tight boxer briefs. Those are going to be perfect to sniff and chew on tonight after I get home.

DING

I keep answering e-mails and looking at my meeting schedule for the day. Today should be pretty slow, which always helps out.

I reach down and feel the added bulge in my pants from the ball weight and I can’t wait anymore. I reach for my phone and see the message.

ImmobileRestraint: Getting cold feet already I see? You have 5 minutes to send me a picture of your locked up balls with a piece of paper visible that says “54638 Pig.” This is a random number to ensure that it is a current pic. If I don’t have the pic within 5 minutes from the timestamp of this message then you can forget about seeing any of my playspace.

SHIT that message was 3 minutes ago! I grab a piece of paper and pen and my phone and dash to the bathroom closest to my office. I don’t know how I feel about how quickly this guy is assuming this level of control, but at the same time I don’t want to risk screwing up the chance to see his playroom.

I fly into the bathroom and write the sign up and jerk my pants down. My full thick 8 inches are standing straight out in front of me, clearly he likes this whole thing. I took the pic and sent it off to Him right at the 5-minute mark and right away heard it.

DING

ImmobileRestraint: I was beginning to think that you had given up already. Would be such a shame for a big stud like you to not even be able to follow basic instruction like that.

Me: Sorry for the delay, I am at the office. I’m dripping non-stop.

ImmobileRestraint: Get some work done, and don’t send me another message. When I am ready to hear from you, you will hear from me.

HELL! Now I’ve pissed him off.

I pulled my pants back up and headed out to my desk to get back to work.

For the rest of the day it was hard for me to focus. The ache in my nuts got worse and worse, and I couldn’t stop thinking about Him being pissed off at me. Then that just made me mad at myself because I don’t even know this person, but I’m turning all this emotion over to him. What the hell is going on with me?

The day starts to wind down and I still haven’t heard from Him. Well at least I can focus my energy into my workout with Jake.

I head out to my car and as I’m walking I hear it …

DING

I nearly dropped my bag trying to get to my phone fast enough.

ImmobileRestraint: Have a good workout, pig. Message when you get back home, and don’t unlock that weight without clear instruction to do so.

Me: Thank you, Sir! I’m getting in my car now. I will message you when I get back home after the gym.

I get in my car and head across town to the gym and go straight for the locker room. Jake was already standing in there changing clothes and waiting for me.

“Hey buddy how was your day?” Jake said as he snapped his shirt at me.

“Was kinda crazy. Long story,” I said under my breath.

I started stripping off my clothes, which is usually a joy for me as guys check me out in the locker room, but then I remembered the heavy ball weight. I never work out without changing into a jock, but I slid my slacks down and left the tight boxer briefs in place, and reached to grab my gym shorts.

“Ian, you getting shy on me now are ya? That’s not like you at all, big boy,” Jake taunted.

“Boy?” He’s never called me that even in joking.

“Nah. I just forgot to pack my jock today. Figured I’d keep these on instead of totally free balling,” I said

Jake reached down into my gym bag and picked up my jock that was buried in there. What the FUCK.

“Dude, your jock is right here. It’s a bit musty, but its here,” he said as he took a big sniff and tossed it at me.

“Oh thanks I didn’t even see it in there.” I didn’t really know what to do at this point without looking really out of character, so I just went with it and dropped my boxer briefs, exposing the 2-inch ball weight.

“OK, now that is just HOT,” Jake said as he reached out to grab the weight. “How long have you had that thing on?”

“Been stretching me out since about 8 this morning, dude,” I said with a grin.

“Damn, I’ll bet that is aching nicely then.”

“Yeah they are full and aching, but just means I’ll be even harder on you during our workout. Now quit fucking around and let’s go,” I said with a playful shove.

We got out to the gym floor and started in our routine for today. My balls were really sore now, and I swear that every time that I grimaced I saw Jake try to suppress a grin.

Jake laid back on the bench press and didn’t notice that while he was checking out some guy walking in I added an extra 20 lbs on each side of the bar. I stepped up over his head just a little too close for a normal spot and I grabbed the bar as he did, too.

“Alright fucker, let’s do this. Count ’em out,” I said as he pushed up on the weight. He realized right away what I had done with the weights, but he kept going anyway.

As he brought the bar down, I slowly lowered myself with it. To a casual observer they would think I was just spotting for a buddy. But I kept going down with the bar, until I felt the 2-inch weight rest on his forehead. Then I went back up with it.

“Come on, pussy, do 15 more just like that and I’ll keep ‘spotting you’ with each one,” I growled, noticing the tent in his shorts.

As he was pushing through his sets they started to slow down a bit. This was the highest weight he has done on these, after all. For me it just meant that I spent longer each time pressing the ball weight into his forehead.

He let out a big yell as he pushed the bar back up to the rack for the final time. I leaned down right in his ear and growled, “You have a fucking wet spot the size of a half dollar on the front of your shorts, faggot. Looks like you enjoyed your extra motivation.”

Jake got up off the bench and looked me square in the eyes. I didn’t see his hand moving until it already had a firm grip on my stretched nuts and started to squeeze. “Boy oh boy did I ever enjoy that, fucker.”

He started squeezing harder and my knees started to buckle a bit. “Dude, OK, OK, you made your point. Let go, that shit hurts.”

Jake never broke eye contact, and the harder he squeezed the more the corners of his lips curved into an evil grin. Right before he let go of my nuts, he increased the pressure so hard that I thought I was going to puke.

“Glad you see things my way now that you tried to kill me with this workout,” Jake said with the grin still on his face.

“Alright, I need to wrap up here, been a really long day,” I said to Jake as I cleaned off the bench and made my way to the locker room.

I open up my locker and see my phone sitting there showing a message. I reach for it and unlock my phone to see it’s from Him …

Just as I start reading it, Jake walks in behind me.

“Dude, you didn’t cut your workout short just so you could come in here and text. Seriously?” he said, making a grab for the phone.

“Nah, just checking a message before I head to the house,” I said, pulling my arm back so he couldn’t grab my phone.

ImmobileRestraint: Boy, time to see how serious you really are. If you expect to ever see my playroom, then you will be at my house no later than 7 PM. Address is 5795 Suburban Rd. No need to shower or change from your gym clothes, you won’t be wearing them long anyway.

Jake clapped my shoulder as he picked up his bag. “Alright bud, I’m going to hit the road. I know you said you were wanting to wrap up the day, and I’m sure you’re wanting to get home and unlock those nuts.”

“Yeah man, have a good one,” I responded, not really listening to much, just focusing on the message I was staring at.

Was this seriously happening? I don’t even know this guy, but he wants me to just show up at his house? Then what? My cock is tenting my shorts out big time and I know what decision it would make.

I look at the time on my phone and it is already 6:40, so I’m not going to have time to go home. I grab my bag and head out to my car. As I walk, I really start to notice the pain in my nuts from having this damn weight on for so long. I can’t believe I actually did it and left the key at home. Not like he would have known anything different.

Damn it’s hot out here, I’m sweating like a whore in church walking to my car.

I hop in the car, careful not to sit on my weighted nuts in the loose gym shorts. I crank up the car and put it into gear after putting the address in my GPS. Looks like its close enough that I’ll make it with a few minutes to spare.

I swear that as I’m driving across town I get hit by every single red light on the way. It’s putting me way behind schedule from what I wanted to be and now I only have a few minutes left.

I pull up to the house with just two minutes to spare. I park and start heading up the steps, but just before I ring the doorbell I see a note taped to the front door.

“Faggot, open the door and come on in. You will open the first door on your right and come downstairs. Take a look around when you get downstairs.”

My 8 inches throb in my shorts, and I swear I’m going to blow my load without even touching it. I open the door and step inside. This is so insanely out of character for me, no one even knows I’m here. This is the dumbest thing I’ve ever done, but I’m listening to the wrong head.

I shut the door behind me and I immediately see the door on the right He mentioned in the note. I reach for the doorknob and see the lights on the stairs are already turned on. I started walking down the stairs and I could already smell Leather, Rubber, and just plain Man.

When I get to the bottom of the stairs, I almost pass out from what I see. All the gear and equipment from ImmobileRestraint’s profile is right here in front of me. The energy bouncing around this room from all the guys who had been worked over in here is intoxicating.

Just as I step a few feet into the room and I’m looking around at all the gear hanging on hooks on walls, stored on shelves, I feel the energy shift as he steps up behind me with his hands on my shoulders and growls in my ear with a deep, gravelly voice. “Keep your eyes straight forward, faggot, and you’ll enjoy this. Turn around and we are done.”

Immediately my meat throbs straight in front of me and as soon as he touches me I feel lightheaded from the surge of energy he sends through me.

He reaches around and slides his hands over my hard cock and then grazes over my heavily weighted balls, that by now feel like they having a brick dangling from them.

“Looks like someone is enjoying this. Just wait, you’re going to see just how deep the rabbit hole goes, boy,” he growls as he grinds his hard-on into the back of my gym shorts.

He takes his hands off of me, and I immediately feel a thick leather hood sliding down my head. He slides it down expertly, lacing it as soon as it is properly seated. The hood has left my mouth and nose open and vulnerable (for now, I imagine), but has blocked out the entire rest of my head down to the base of my neck, effectively blocking my sight and cutting down my hearing.

Next thing I feel is something tight around my neck, then realize I can’t move my head at all. I feel a padlock click closed and realize he has just locked a posture collar on me over the bottom of the hood. That explains why it goes so low down the neck.

I feel him step around in front of me now and press his body against my front this time. He starts talking a little louder now to make it through the hood.

“Things just got very real for you, boy. You’re not getting out of that until I say so, but judging by that wet spot on your gym shorts, this is exactly what you needed. Has the boy enjoyed being under my control today?”

Not even letting a second pass I said, “Yes SIR! I want more, couldn’t stop thinking about it all day, SIR!”

“Good, pig, then let’s see just how badly you want it. Strip down completely, and don’t make a mess of my fucking floor with your filthy clothes,” he said

Immediately I pulled my shredder t-shirt over my head and folded it as best I could without being able to see. I placed it on the ground at my feet followed by the shorts and jock then my sneakers and socks on top of that. I think that it’s all in a neat pile. I hope it’s all in a neat pile. I stand back up straight with my hands at my sides. I can feel his eyes watching the tight muscles in my body as I move.

“Get down on the floor and start licking my boots, fag.”

I immediately drop down and start licking the toes of his boots like its the last thing I’ll ever do. I slowly run my tongue all over the toe-cap and the sides, working my way up the shaft. They feel like they are jump boots. He grabs me by the back of the head and pushes me over to his other boot and I start repeating the process. Nothing else in the world exists right now except these boots on this powerful man. A man that I haven’t ever even seen, since his profile had no face pics.

I feel his legs move a bit as his weight shifts and he sits down. Suddenly he raises his boots off the ground and shoves the sole of his right boot against my face, grinding the tread in a bit.

“A real pig will clean his SIR’s boot treads for him. Are you a real pig? Or just a fake like so many others?” he says as he keeps pressing it into my face.

I immediately open my mouth and slide my tongue along the sole of his boots, savoring the energy that is radiating out of that boot. I slide my tongue through the boot treads, tasting the dirt from the floor. He changes boots and puts the other one in my face, and I repeat the process on this boot, feeling my cock burp out strings of precum as I go along.

He takes his boots out of my face and reaches under me and wipes off the long string of precum that was hanging almost to the floor at this point. He slides his coated fingers into my panting mouth for me to clean off, and I suck them greedily.

“You’re in very deep boy, but you know that, don’t you?”

“Yes SIR! I want more, SIR!” I barked back like a military private to his drill sergeant.

He stands me up and pulls my arms behind my back. My big arms and shoulders don’t want to go that far behind my back, but he doesn’t stop and keeps pulling them harder until my wrists are almost touching and he locks them in leather restraints padlocked behind my back. This is putting a lot of strain on my arms and shoulders, and has my chest open and exposed. He reaches down and picks up my jock from the floor, and I hear water splashing. He shoves my dirty jock (that hasn’t been washed in a few weeks) into my mouth, and I immediately taste cold, stale piss. I try to spit out the disgusting gag, but he straps a plug gag around my hooded head just in time to make sure I can’t. Now I have no choice but to suck on the most vile piss that I’ve ever tasted. Even thru that, my cock hasn’t deflated even a little bit, and he clearly notices that as he starts stroking it as he talks.

“I’m not going to beat around the bush on this. You have been gagged because right now I don’t need to hear any response from you. Your hardon tells me everything I need to know. Your dirty jock is soaked in my piss from this morning to prove a point, that I can do whatever the fuck I want to you, and you’ll thrive on it.” He emphasizes this last part by slowly stroking the entire length of my hardon.

“I’ve been watching you for a long time, waiting for my chance to get you down here locked up, and then last night you viewed my profile. Sounds like perfect timing to me. Let me be very clear with you. You’re mine for a very long time, and there’s nothing you can do about it. I know it’s what you want anyway, pig.”

I grunt into the gag as he keeps stroking slowly.

“You really should have been upfront about who you were, and what you were looking for, boy,” he said as he stopped stroking me.

Wait, what? Now I’m confused. I grunt into the gag

“You still don’t get it, do you, faggot?” he growled into my ear. “If you still don’t know what is going on, then grunt twice.”

Grunt. Grunt.

“Let’s see if this helps to put some pieces together for you…”

One of his hands wraps around my locked and weighted nuts, and he starts to slowly squeeze. With his other hand, he pinches my nose closed just as I exhaled the air in my lungs. He starts squeezing harder and harder as my lungs start to burn needing air. All I can focus on right now is the taste of his stale morning piss soaking my dirty jock, the grip of his fingers digging into my balls, the fact that I need to breathe so bad right now… Wait… That grip… That voice…

“MMMMPPPPPPPPHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!” I scream into the foul gag, as he digs in harder.

“Aw, the dumb muscle jock finally used his brain for something. You finally caught on, huh faggot?” Jake said as he started squeezing even tighter on my sore nuts.

“MMMMMPPPPPPPPPpppphhhhhhhhhhh,” my pleading getting quieter now, needing to breathe so badly. How the hell could Jake do this?

He started squeezing even tighter, focusing energy with his fingertips and digging into my swollen balls. I don’t know if it was the pain or the need to breathe, but my body goes limp and I feel myself falling dropping to my knees and then blacking out as I hear Jake laughing.

End of Chapter 1

Metal would like to thank Pup Nitro, aka IntlLeatherboy2011, for this story! Be sure to leave comments to encourage him to write more!

By thatsonesickpuppy

i was 24, living in Manhattan and having a lot of fun. It was winter, and i was in a bar in the Village with a small backroom, i’d just come out from the back and sat down, having a beer, having a cigarette and relaxing, looking hot in my first pair of leathers.

He walked in, and i spotted him straight away, and i guess he saw my interest. Unlike everyone else he was wearing a three piece suit, tie and over coat,  just like he’d stepped out of a GQ spread.

About 28, just over 6′, wide shoulders, athletic build, handsome face. He was fucking hot, and he knew it. Turned out he was hung too. He got a drink, walked over and sat down at my table, picked up my cigarettes, took one out, and  looked at me – so i lit it, and he smiled. We talked a little, he explained i was going home with him. He made me kiss his hand over the table in front of everyone, then we got up and left, me following behind of course.

In the cab on the way to his place, he said to me “I’m going to pay for the cab. My apartment is Number xx. By the time I have paid for the cab, you will have run up the stairs, and be stripped naked and kneeling on the mat in front of my door. If you’re not naked and ready by the time I get there, you’ll pay for it inside.”

i ran up those stairs like lightning, cursing the fact i was in my Doc Martens with all those fucking holes and long laces, but somehow i got everything done, naked, kneeling, waiting, panting, scared, outside his door.  There were other doors opening onto the same landing – anyone cold have walked out. i could hear him coming up the stairs, and got more and more nervous and excited. He walked up, pushed me down so i was balled up on the mat, picked up my clothes, opened the door and walked inside, then shut it, leaving me there. After a minute, that felt like an hour, the door opened, and he leaned over me with a collar, put it on me, then attached a lead and pulled me inside.

He was a brutal, handsome sadist. i saw him about twice a month or so for the rest of the time i was there.

To read more from thatsonesickpuppy, check out his blog.

By slaveboi and MasterBooted Dom

I relaxed a bit. I couldn’t move apart from wriggling my fingers and blinking, but I managed to relax somehow. I was tied face down on the bench. Upper arms, wrists, thighs and ankles were strapped tightly to the four legs whilst my lower back and neck were strapped to either end of the flat surface.

My master was standing behind me beginning to relax as well, his still erect cock deep inside me was very slowly starting to reduce in size. Seconds before he had let out a loud roar as he pumped his hot spunk so far into me I thought I’d almost be able to taste it, but now he gently ran his fingers along the welts he had previously made before thrusting into me with such a passion it was all those thick leather straps could do to keep me in position.

My back, arse and upper thighs were lined with deep red marks and spotted with blood where first the cavalry whip then the dragon cane had ploughed into my flesh. As I looked down I saw the wet patches on the stone flags where my screams had forced, with some pressure, my spit round the ball gag, which was so tightly buckled to my face that it was cutting into the corners of my mouth, to join the tears that had flowed down my cheeks and pooled together, slowly drying proof of my total submission.

I felt him withdraw, slowly and carefully. I breathed deeply. The end of another session and some relief until the next time he decided that he needed to wield the cane again. He walked round the bench and rubbed the back of my head before unbuckling my arms, one strap at a time. When I was free I started to reach forward to get the blood flowing again but he grabbed both my wrists and forced them behind me ordering me to keep them there. Almost immediately he slid the leather sleeve cuff over them, a strap holding them tight at my wrists and the leather lacing forcing my arms together more and more as he laced them higher and higher, nearer my elbows. As my neck was still held in position I had no way of arching my back, thus relieving the pressure on my shoulder blades somewhat. My breathing became forced and I  moaned with the pain in my shoulders which were being forced up and together. He sometimes took me into his bed after a beating and fucking and sometimes I was tied so as to be ready for him to play with when he had rested, there being no danger of me playing with myself. Perhaps this was to be one of those times.

It was when he had finished lacing my arms that I realised this was not to be one of those times. He grabbed my balls from behind and pulled them between my legs adding my cock to the bundle with his other hand. Once he had them both in one palm he reached over and lifted the kneeler, carefully locking the centre cuff round them. It was at this point he started to unbuckle the other restraints I was pinioned with. When I was no longer held against the bench I was told to stand. This was not easy.

I was rather uncertain of my balance and the kneeler behind my thighs was going to tug at my balls if I made any swift movements. Once free of the bench I had to kneel whilst Sir cuffed each end of the spreader bar to my ankles, I was now in no better a position than I had been a few minutes earlier, in fact it was marginally worse as although I could now move more any movement I made was both painful and potentially disastrous for my beloved genitalia. I had not got long to wait kneeling there as I was ushered across the room towards a small wooden door built into one of the cellar walls.

“Oh God, not that cell,” was my only thought at this point. It was a brick lined cube a bit under three feet square with small rings set into all the sides and floor which I hated. I’d boil there in summer and freeze in winter.

In my present position it would kill my knees as I knelt there only able to make small shifts in position for any ease of back or legs. I moaned a bit through the ball gag which I still wore and got a sharp slap on my already marked arse. He pushed me forward until I was more or less totally inside the brick cell, reached forward and clipped small weights onto my nipples, looping the thin chain they were linked to the ring on the floor. I was in pain from the start. It wasn’t over warm but I was already showing small trickles of sweat down my back and over my face as I strained against the bondage restricting my arms and back. My leg muscles were screaming at me but I dare not move them, bricks and balls made my brain keep them still. My tits were now red hot, my neck was cramped, I felt like pleading and swearing at him both at the same time.

“Please let me out. I’ve been beaten in both senses. I’ve given you all I have, I want to die.”

The saliva drooled from my mouth.

The door of the cell slammed shut.

The orgasm was wonderful. I had lubricated his hole with my fingers, working the gel into every part of his tight little fleshy tube before forcing my swollen cock inside him. It felt good to be inside him, buried deep to the hilt. I waited a minute because the sensation of the entry had moved me close to the brink, then I began a slow, rhyhmic reaming of him that brought little squeals from behind the tightly strapped ball gag that I had quite deliberately adjusted so that the hard black rubber ball was forced deep inside his mouth. I loved the vulnerability of him tied this way, the heavy black leather straps securing him to the punishment bench that had now become the fucking bench.

The bloody weals on his back, across his arse and horizontally across both thighs showed the tracks of both the vicious cavalry whip and the dragon cane, both of which had been used liberally in the run up to the fucking of him. Every stroke seemed to make my rampant cock harder until it threatened to burst from my skin tight black leather breeches. I sank deeply into him again fully to the hilt of my smooth, heavily veined cock. I imagined the head as it penetrated him, the hole at the tip dilated and ready to spill it’s load of spunk, which I could tell from the sensations now coursing through my body would be very, very soon.

 I heard the roar almost before I realised that it was me who was the source of it. Then the most wonderful feeling as the first spurt delivered my juices deep inside his body, a curious mixture of pleasure, love and a desire to hurt him merged together in a weird cocktail of swirling heady emotions.

 I waited for the orgasm to subside and then zipped my temporarily flaccid cock back inside my breeches and considered what to do next. I knew what he would want. To be taken to my bed would be his choice, preferably after a hot soapy bath and a massage, but I wanted to continue the delicious mind game, to push him to, and maybe beyond, his limits of endurance.

I made to comfort him, rubbing his head as I liked to do prior to a gentle, relaxing lovemaking session, knowing that it would lull him into a false sense of the next direction in which he would be taken.

I began to unstrap him from the bench, but when he was more or less certain that things would move in the direction he desired I grabbed his arms, forcing them behind his back and secured them inside a leather single arm glove. I loved this cruel little device, the way the lacings, so easy to tighten translated with leveraged force into something that forced and pinioned his arms behind him in such a relentless manner. I began to stiffen again as I laced the glove up tight wrapping the restricting black leather tube to above his elbows and the securing the shoulder straps. He looked so good with the firm shoulder muscles distended by the pull of the glove and I felt the urge to fuck him once more, but resisted. I took the kneeler from the bench, feeling the chill of the cold steel on my fingers

Grabbed his genitals roughly I locked them into the steel holder before removing the key. He was now totally helpless once more. I picked up the leather leash from the table and clipped it to the D ring set in his leather slave collar and used it to pull him towards the timber door that covered the entrance to the punishment cell. Sensing a resistance, I picked up the cavalry whip and this was sufficient to ensure his instant compliance.

Effectively a bare brick cube, I had designed the cell to the smallest measurements possible to house the slave, just ninety centimetres in each direction it had been equipped with various steel securing rings which he had fitted on my instructions when I had forced him to build it.

Like a man digging his own grave he had lovingly drilled into the brickwork and set the steel rawl bolts exactly where I had ordered them to be put with the intention of using their carefully calculated positions to torture him to the limit and beyond. I watched him crawl inside trying desperately not to make the steel kneeler pull too tightly on his balls. I knew what he would be thinking and, had he not been so effectively gagged, he would probably have pleaded with me for mercy.

I was tempted to remove the gag just to hear it, knowing how the humiliation of it would break him as, despite the fact that he would be one hundred per cent certain that his pleadings would not succeed he would still put himself through it, such was the effectiveness of my cell as a torture instrument. As a final parting gift to the slave, I took a pair of weighted nipple clamps and pinched his flesh into peaks as I attached them before casually adding a couple of fairly substantial weights that he would be unable to prevent from dangling before him and adding just a little more to his agony.

I shut the door and slid the bolt into position with a satisfying clunk. I had not decided upon the length of his confinement but I knew my cock would remain firm for virtually all the time as I thought about what my use of my power was doing to him as he waited in the darkness far below. My high laced boots reverberated on the stone steps as I left the dungeon, I knew the sound would be bitter music in his ears.

I found it satisfying in a decadent sort of way to sit and relax with a good white wine in my hand, all the time knowing that he was locked painfully into the punishment cell as I sipped the chilled sauvignon blanc and reflected on the sheer physical pleasure that I gained from my ownership of him.

Of course the fucking was great whether I used his tight little arse or his talented mouth the result was always the same, a mind blowing orgasm of such quality that it quickly had me wanting more.

And I loved the freedom that the deal I had cut with him gave me. It was a pretty straightforward one really, I did what I wanted to him and he took it. The tacit agreement was that I wouldn’t maim or permanently harm him, but apart from that it was pretty much carte blanche. He had absolutely no right to object to whatever level of pain I saw fit to subject him to, that was very much my department.

It had been difficult at first to come to terms with this freedom and I did feel pangs of guilt initially, but we had become close in every way and I came to understand that he wanted it that way. He saw his position as a slave as one in which it was his duty to suffer for his Master’s pleasure.

Once I had got my head completely around this it became easy to up the punishments. Whether I used one of the singletail whips, the Dragon cane or the electro torture kit the result was inevitably the same, a big sensuous long lasting hard on followed by a mind blowing orgasm with him swallowing all of my hot spunk like the little puppy dog he was, then coming back for more.

For my part of the deal I knew that I fitted the bill exactly for him. At six foot two and dressed in figure hugging black leather and high laced knee boots, how could I fail to? I pretty much represented his fetish fantasy Master, and that made me feel so good inside. I glanced down and saw a minor scuff on the toe of my right boot just beneath the lace panel. I had most likely grazed the highly polished leather on the stairs. But nevertheless I made a mental note to beat him for it later.

It wasn’t his fault of course, it was just a scuff, but again it was part of the fantasy at the centre of our life together, it was the deal that we had made and we both knew that I didn’t need an excuse to hurt him, what it did to my cock was quite sufficient a reason in itself.

I drained the last of the wine and glanced at my watch. It was just over an hour since I had left the dungeon and I had enough empathy to understand just how his muscles would be torturing him. The confinement within the tiny cube by itself would be quite enough but the fact that additionally he was wearing the single arm leather glove that I had hooked up to the roof bolt high behind him in the cage and that the kneeler held him by the genitals with his thighs splayed moved his situation well into the area of torture.

In a way it was worse than that for him though. Often the object of torture is to break the subject to obtain information or compliance. I needed neither from him and the torture was purely for my enjoyment.

When I unlatched the cell door I almost felt sorry for him. Tears streaked his face as the torment of the position had worn him down I guessed that all he could do was try to come to terms with the pain and sob. He now seemed broken even beyond that position and I felt my cock twitch as I looked upon his utter surrender.

By Rich

In September of this year, on a cold afternoon, I decided it was too cold to ride my regular motor unit, a BMW r1150p, and decided not to change out of my uniform and just jump into a patrol vehicle. I’ve been an officer with the California Highway Patrol for 8 years and a motor unit for 4 years. It’s the best job in the world and I can’t think of doing anything else.

It seemed that things slowed down on a that cold day and I parked to catch some rest in an orchard near Interstate 5. As I parked I opened the recon app on my phone and was searching people in the area that were 100% active or masters. I noticed one was very close to where I was parked, and I was kind of surprised because it is a rural area. So I began messaging him and after he began inquiring about me, I remember the message: “Sir, I am a motorcycle officer and currently I am in a marked patrol unit, my boots and socks are wet and I’d love nothing more than to be in a warm sleep sack or strait jacket.” He laughed and we continued to talk over the next month or so.

The end of November came, and he sent a message ordering me to come over for my lunch hour. Of course I told him that I was the only motor unit for 200 square miles and if a priority call came through the radio I would have to respond immediately. He said he understood but ordered me there at 6:00pm.

I was on my bike that day and showed up to this incredible Victorian style house with a barn near a town that’s only known for being the birthplace of Ghirardelli Chocolate. No other houses around and I pulled up and immediately parked in the barn to conceal my bike. As I took my helmet off, I noticed a piece of paper tacked to the front door. It said “come inside, I’ve laid out wrist restraints, a collar and a hood you will put on but not lock in place. Do not take off any piece of your clothing.”

I walked in and was so nervous I was nearly shaking because I had never done anything like this, but I’ve had the desire to do bondage since I can remember. Surely if I was caught I would have been fired or worse. I noticed a pair of large restraints that were made of thick steel and the outside was wrapped in leather and connected by a chain. There was a collar that was the same leather and metal combination and a thick padded hood with only a small nose hole. I can’t explain the feeling I had or the thoughts totally racing in my head. (In the academy, they teach us to think of what the headlines in the paper would say if we did something stupid or unethical. All I could think was, “Gay Cop Found in a Cage With Leather Mask On.”)

There were leg irons similar to those we put on prisoners in the sallie port of the jail, but my boots were too big to fit them around so I left them alone. I put on the other gear as ordered.

I stood there and the thoughts continued, it was a few minutes and I got scared and thought about leaving because nobody had showed up.

Then I hear a heavy boot stomp coming down the steps. I hear “Hello slave” and my cock gets rock hard and pushes against my cup. (A hooker kicked me in the nut sack a few years back and I started wearing a cup after my nut was ruptured, it was fucking awful).

I feel him walking toward me and he touches my cheek and begins running it. I can’t see anything and my heart starts pounding but my cock likes it very much and I can feel wetness on my dick.

It goes quiet again and then THWACK! I feel a whip hit my ass, but it didn’t hurt because I had my vest and duty belt still on. He told me to get down on my knees and answer him as to why I didn’t have my leg irons on as the note said but before I could answer he hooked a leash to the big metal collar and locked it on with a big padlock.

I stood up and he led me down a hallway. I kind of felt like the gimp from pulp fiction, but the sexual energy running through me was intoxicating.

He set me down on all fours and I could feel a heavy clamp come down on both ankles around my boot, from which there was no escape. Then my forearms were locked down and I heard a drill, which scared the fuck out of me, but from what I gathered, the big metal restraints were attached to a table and I was literally bolted down to a table on all fours. Two of the metal restraints clamped down just above my boot at the top of my calf and two were on my forearms.

He tore the seat of my pants open and jammed in a huge plug into my ass and then I felt a tension on the hood which kept my head in an up fixed position.

He opened my pants and put these two straps around my balls and dick. Suddenly I felt this incredible massaging feeling from my asshole to the head of my cock. It became very strong, almost to the point that I couldn’t take it. He kept saying that I was a good slave and there were no safe words allowed.

I shot a load into my cup and felt like I almost couldn’t take it.

I was released from the table and it felt good to stretch out a bit. He put a set of heavy steel restraints around my ankles and I head a click. I then heard a motor, like a winch motor, and he told me to sit. It wasn’t easy but I made it to the ground. In less than a minute I was hanging upside down. He took the hood off and placed a huge gag in my mouth that began to expand as if it was inflatable. Then he placed a thick leather eye blindfold on my eyes and ear plugs in my ears. My hands were chained to a shipping strap attached to the wall, and he pulled so tight my arms were at a fixed position directly pointing at the hook holding the strap on the wall. He left me there alone for approximately 10 minutes, and I felt as though I would cum again and not even had touched my dick.

He came back and played with my nipples. I had them pierced a few years back and it makes me feel dirty when my vest rubs against them at work.

Anyway, I ended up cumming again when I felt him begin flogging my backside. Again I didn’t feel much due to my belt, belt keepers and vest being in the way.

After he let me down, he ordered me to lay on my stomach in this big steel dog cage. I was hog tied and again left to try and wiggle around. The thick metal/steel restraints felt so good I almost didn’t want them to be taken off.

He reached under me while I was in the cage and slid a tube into my urethra and I lost control of my ability to piss. I could hear drips into a container and this huge tube down my cock hole.

After about 20 minutes or so, he came in and released me. I got my helmet and jacket on and left. I get hard every time I ride by.

I’ve messaged him a few times, and luckily no priority calls came in during that time. My sergeant did see the tear in my pants when I got back to the office. I told him that I caught it on a tree stump.

I left his house and haven’t been back since. I drive by every now and then just to see if maybe he has a slave outside his house or maybe catch a glimpse of him but I haven’t.

It was risky to go on duty, but I feel like a bondage addict, like I want to go over there every time I get a chance.

Anyway, thanks for letting me share this. I don’t think I gave away too much information. It was my first bondage experience and I really, really want another one. Maybe even one day become someone’s slave.

By old boy bill

Chapter 1: Finally Meet

We/we had corresponded on recon and aol for several weeks.  Apparently what HE wanted and what I needed were dead on.  He said He had strong need for control.  As a boi-slave, I needed to be controlled.  He got hard inflicting pain.  I needed pain.  He got turned on by bondage.  I crave bondage, not symbolic or fake, but real straps, a real straight jacket, inescapable until He lets me out.

So, finally a session.  I travel a lot and need to tack sessions onto my trips, either outbound or inbound.  Travel gives me the excuses I need:  “flight cancelled,” “weather delay,” “air traffic control delay.”  They all work at one time or another.  He’s in Baltimore, so I made this biz trip out of BWI.  Told my boss it was cheaper than PHL, Philly, my regular airport.  The session would be held at His house.

I packed all my gear in my black kit bag:  wrist and ankle cuffs (lockable), leather slave collar (lockable), my favorite punishment hood (lockable), as well as a new CD I got which was brutal to wear.  He took a liking to my description:  small metal cock cage, penis tube, ball stretcher, and a large metal ass ball on a metal cantilever to the stuff in front.  Lockable.  Plus some Foley caths and lots of needles.  He said He liked needles.  I’ve had my tits pierced, but I wanted to have my nuts skewered while in bondage.  I also welcomed Him to make a pin cushion out of my ass, if it so pleased Him.

Part of the excitement of this session was the unknown.  In the e-mails we talked about what turned Us/us on, but I didn’t really know what He was going to do.  I gave Him carte blanche within the normal hard limits:  no scars, no scat, no drugs.  I also added that piss was OK.  He said His big turnon was to put on His Leathers and take control and I very much wanted to give Him that gift.  In return I would get bondage and pain, abuse and maybe a good fucking.

But, truth be told, we hadn’t met first, only corresponded.  His pic on recon was dynamite:  confident, relaxed pose, every inch a Master.  He was sitting on a chair wearing leather shorts, a slim leather vest open to show a good chest, and big, sexy black boots.  Only his lower face could be seen; the rest was hidden by a black leather partial face hood and skull cap, I think they’re called “executioner’s hood” or something like that.  His hands lightly cradled his crotch package, which bulged nicely.  I wanted to crawl over to Him, nuzzle his pouch until He let me suck Him off.  Then He would beat me on the back with a whip.

For the session, I had given Him an idea from another Master I suffered under:  slave would knock and enter open door.  Master would be in another room.  Slave strips, locks on wrist and ankle cuffs, slave collar from the kit bag.  Then it straps on a blindfold which had been laid out on the floor by the Master.  Suitably ready, the slave lays on the floor legs straight, arms out in a cross, face to the carpet.

When ready, the Master enters and places His booted foot on the slave’s neck, declaring the boy His slave, working His boot up and down the slave’s back and ass, hurting him, almost standing on the boy, who grunts and groans from the pain.  The cool element here is that the blindfold is never removed, not until the boy is ready to leave – and it gets dressed again in an empty room.  He never sees the Master and has no idea of what the Master actually looks like, other than the recon picture.  It keeps a strong element of mystery to the whole scene.  So that’s what He said would happen.

I get there, park my car in His driveway, and take my kit bag in.  I knock on the front door and enter.  He has left it open.  I walk into an empty foyer, and directly notice the black, leather blindfold on the floor.  Yup, this must be the right place!

I strip down, put the ankle and wrist cuffs on and the slave collar and then apply all the locks to the buckles.  I have the keys color-coded to the locks on a chain, which I put on the floor for Him.  I lay out the punishment hood, the nasty CD, and my offering of a huge variety of syringes and needles.  Then I put the blindfold on and buckle it tightly in the back.  Darkness.  The true world of the slave.

As agreed, I lay down on the floor in a cross shape, my face to the carpet and enter the waiting period.  The house is warm and I start to sweat a bit.  This period of anticipation drives me nuts.  There’s a huge cold knot of fear in my stomach:  what would He be like?  Was He really “safe and intense?”  Just how far would He go in the tortures?  But there’s also the feeling of trust and confidence.  This is critical to safe and sane BDSM.  Frees the slave up to cede control to the Master.

I hear footsteps approach, booted footsteps.  The Master approaches the slave and puts His Boot onto the slave’s neck, grinding down.

“I am your Master, boy.  You are my slave,” He says quietly, moving His Boot up and down my back, grinding the sole into my skin, my ass, my legs, asserting Control.  “I am dressed in My full Leathers.  You are naked.  That’s the way it should be,” He adds, still grinding away.

I groan from the pressure on my back and ass.

He orders the slave to his knees, allows him to nuzzle His crotch, which is still covered by the leather shorts.  Then, when He is ready, he lets the slave suck Him off, directing its head with His Hands.  The Master may or may not cum, His decision.  If He cums, the slave will swallow every precious drop, continuing the suck until the Master ends it.

The Master needs to inflict bondage and pain.  So the slave is spread eagled either hanging from the ceiling in chains or stretched out tight on a bed.  The room is warm and both Master and slave are sweating.  The Master uses a variety of straps and whips on the boy’s back and ass.  It is a heavy beating leaving painful welts.  The Master rubs salt over the bruises to disinfect them and cause the boy more pain.

“Now we’re going to put the special CD on you,” He then announces.

This is one of the Main Events the boy had been anticipating for weeks.  Due to the complexity of the CD, the boi has to put it on.

“You may raise the blindfold just enough to see what you are doing.  If you look any further or look up, the session will end and I will not keep you as a slave.”

“Sir, yes, Sir!” was my standard answer.

He handed me the CD, which was made of heavy metal.  I have one small nut and one very big nut and need to lasso them both with cord to keep them under control.  I wound the black cord around my nuts, looped a double knot, and pulled them out away from my crotch.  Then I slid the ball stretcher bracket over the base of my nut sack and screwed the two bracket parts together.  I had modified the brackets to make the clearance between them smaller, again so the little guy wouldn’t slip out.

Then I swung up the main retention ring and asked Sir to hold the two halves together while I maneuvered the cock cage.  I lubed up the penis tube with antibiotic and slowly slipped the thing onto my cock.  I always enjoy the feel of the penis tube as it forces its way into my urethra.  I modified this also by adding a 3-inch length of plastic tubing so the tube extends even farther.  The cock cage has a metal piece at the top with a hole in it to receive the tabs sticking up from the ring.  Master slips the tabs in and applies the brass lock.  He had the key on a chain around his neck, along with all the other bondage keys.

He reaches over and pulls the blindfold down, shutting out the small slit of sight and returning the boy to its natural, dark environment.

“I’ll put the ass plug in, boy,” He said.

“Sir, yes, Sir!” I reply, spreading my legs and bending over.

He applies some spit to the ball, positions it over my asshole, and roughly shoves the thing home.

I grunt as the big ball forces my asshole muscle open, but the ball goes in – and the incredible sensations from this unique CD flood me.  The ball pulls all the front equipment down and back.  This puts a good stretch on your balls and angles the cock cage down.  It hurts!

Chapter 2: Confinement

“Now the hood, boy,” He says.  “Kneel down!”

“Sir, yes, Sir!  Sir, thank You, Sir!” I say dutifully.

He drapes the hood over my head, keeping the blindfold on.  This hood is a nasty hood.  It’s called a “punishment hood,” and earns its name.  There are no eye holes, not that that mattered with the blindfold.  There is a small opening for the nose, and a large, thick leather panel which covers the mouth area.  There is a hole in the center of the panel and the hood comes with various sized cock gags.  The punishment part of the hood are the straps:  one across the eyes, one forcing the mouth panel tightly against your head, and the third under the chin and up over the top of your head.  All the straps have buckles at each end and all the buckles are lockable.  All told, there are eight locks.

First, however, the hood has to be laced on.  I had asked Master in one of our e-mails to put the damned thing on as tightly as He could.  That begins with the lacing.  He pulls several crossovers tight and ties them off as He works slowly down the back.  With each tug, the leather hood presses more strongly and snugly against my head.  The sensation is slow, unstoppable confinement.  The periodic knots prevents any slip; the hood was going on the tightest I have ever experienced.  Master was very good at bondage.  He had said bondage turned him on.  Every now and then He pushes His Rock Hard Cock against my shoulders or neck.  The message was clear:  I’m enjoying this, boy, and I know you are too.

Then he pulls the straps brutally tight, putting my head into a vice grip of leather.  I have to close my eyes when the blindfold and eye pads crush in.  The mouth panel straps pull the thick leather panel firmly against my lower face, barely leaving room for my nose to breath.  That was another aspect of the “punishment” part.  Breathing took careful control and attention.  The worst strap, however, was under the chin.  This forces the lower part of your mouth up and makes it very difficult to even swallow.

He attaches all the buckle locks.  I hear faint clicks as each locked guaranteed the hood was going to stay on until He decided to take it off.

Then He decides to face fuck me through the opening in the mouth panel.  I feel His Cock, which barely fits through the hole, fill my mouth.  He thrusts in and out a few times, groaning with pleasure.  I feel good giving my Master pleasure.  But then He decides to continue the bondage.

He pulls His Cock out and replaces It with one of the cock gags.  The gag goes tightly into the hole and attaches on the outside to two metal posts in the leather mouth panel.  The mouth panel strap has to be temporarily relaxed to thread the gag over the posts, but then He pulls it in tight again.  The posts have holes for the final locks.  Eight locks.  Count ‘em, boy, in your head.  You’re fucked!

“Stand up, boy,” He yells at me.

Once the hood was on tight, it was somewhat difficult to hear Him, but when He yelled, I could make out what He wanted.  I get to my feet, immersed in the darkness and confinement of the hood.  He steadies me with His Hand.

“I’m going to put some needles in those big tits of yours.  Stand firm and take it!” he says.

I again mumble “Sir, yes, Sir!” producing nothing but muffled gurglings.

He pinches and rubs each of my tits until they were erect.  Then the needles go in.  Hurts like hell, but I stand firm.

“I’m putting some duct tape over the needles.  Don’t want them to snag and tear,” he says.

I hear sections of tape being ripped off a roll and then he presses them to my chest, covering the needles and my nips.

“Now the straight jacket I promised you,” He says.

“Sir, yes, Sir!  Sir, thank You, Sir!” I say, but the words are totally garbled by the cock gag.

“Hold out your arms, boy!” He orders.

“Sir, yes, Sir!” is my muffled reply.  Sounds like “uhr! umm, uhr!”

I feel the soft leather of the SJ slip across my skin.  The arms are tapered and the leather tightens as the main body panel pushes against my chest.  Then He begins closing the SJ around me.  There were several straps in the back, maybe six in all.  I feel each one drawn in tight and buckled off.  The leather pulls across some of the strap bruises on my back.  Then he goes through another round and takes each strap in one more hole.  More pain from the welts.  The SJ completely compresses my torso.  There are minor breathing problems, in that I can’t take in a deep breath.  But the tightness compounds the breathing problems with the hood.  My breathing is loud in my head and I could hear my blood rush.  I also started to sweat.

My arms are now crossed over my chest, further tightening the leather.  That’s the step that really tells you you are in for a difficult confinement.  A SJ is not forgiving in the slightest when it’s put on as tightly as He did.  He pulls the arm ends together behind my back, tugs to get them tight, and straps them off.  I feel several keeper straps going around my arms in the front.

The crotch straps are next.  He threads them up between my legs, pulls in tightly, and buckles them off in front.  Every fucking strap is tight.  And THIS bondage was truly inescapable.  The locks on the hood seemed silly in light of the fact that my arms are encased in strapped-in-tight leather.  I can hear the locks rattling if I move my head.  The locks do add to the idea of inescapability.  I feel like I was descending deeper and deeper into a pit.  This was going to get worse.  But, then again, that’s what He wants and that’s what I want.

He grabs my arms and orders me to follow Him.  He moves slowly so I wouldn’t topple over or lose my balance.  I feel the backs of my legs push against something.  From the height, it feels like the seat of a chair.

“Sit down carefully,” He yells at me.

I plop down onto the chair, pushing the ass ball of the CD high up my rectum.  My balls press against the chair seat, which feels wooden, and I groane from the jolt of pain.

Then He straps several belts around me, securing me to the chair.  Three go around my upper body, pushing me firmly against the chair back.  Then he moves my knees way apart and straps my lower legs to the legs of the chair.

I think I hear another chair being pulled up in front of me; not sure.  But then Master lifts up my stretched balls.  They can’t move very far due to the ring and ass ball holding the stretcher part fairly firm.  He pulls them out farther and I feel something being inserted under them, holding them in the stretched position.  Feels like a piece of wood.

Chapter 3: Needlework

“Now for the special treat, boy,” Master says to me.

“Before we start, I need to know if you’re OK, boy, in the bondage so far,” he adds.

I nod my head.  I can’t tell you how gratifying this check in is.  All the good Masters do it, especially when the slave is bound up and gagged.  Yeah, it “breaks the scene” a tad, but, WTF, we all know BDSM is a dangerous game to begin with.  He said He specialized in “safe and intense.”  I was in the middle of “intense,” and it was good to also feel “safe.”  Once the slave knows the Master is being truly careful, the boy is free to get immersed in the “scene.”  I also had discussed with Him the idea of “no safe word.”  This truly frees both Master and slave, but still needs the periodic check in.  After all, got to keep the slave healthy for more torture.

Then He continues:  “I have always wanted to run needles through a slave’s nuts and now I’m getting the chance to do it,” he says, more loudly this time.  His voice is dripping with lust.

I stiffen when I hear His plans.  We had talked about this.  He wanted to do it, I wanted it done, but I am still terrified.

I had brought with me several needle and syringe sizes.  I had no idea what He was going to use, but it wasn’t long before I feel a sharp pin prick on my right nut, the larger of the two.  It’s zero hour.

He slowly pushes the needle in.  I can feel every millimeter of its penetration through my testicle.  I scream into the cock gag; the pain is terrible.  “Agh!  A-a-a-g-g-h-h!” which comes out as a muffled “Ah!  A-a-a-h-h-h!”

The needle emerges from the other side of my ball and seems to stick into whatever is under my poor ball sack.  (Found out later is was a piece of balsa wood, covered in blood).

Then he moves the needle back and forth, further agonizing my testicle.  I scream and struggle, scream and struggle.  By now my head and torso are soaked in sweat under the leather bondage.  The struggling was futile, of course, but there’s some basic instinct that makes you try to escape the torment.  I tense every muscle in my body.

Like the good Master He was, he stops and asks me if I was OK.  I nod my hooded head the best I can to indicate that I am indeed OK and want the torture to continue.

Then he starts on a second needle, this one into my shriveled left nut.  More screaming, more struggling, more agony.  Jesus, the needles really hurt.  I had no idea!  Some he plunges in fast; that produces a very sharp pain.  Most he pushes in very slowly, prolonging the pain, prolonging the terror.  It is unbelievable.  He moves the needles back and forth, intensifying the pain.  A few times he flicks his finger at the outer ends of the needles, sending lightning jolts of pain into my poor nuts.

I am sweating hard, breathing hard, pulling against the bondage hard, and mm in the sea of pain He has created.  This is His gift to the slave boy.

Finally He stops with the needles in my nuts and again checks in.

“Still OK, boy?” he asked.

I again nod, but it takes all my willpower to agree to continue.  I should have known what was coming next.

I feel a sharp pin prick on my cockhead.  My dick was trying desperately to get hard, but the tight cage pretty much shut down the whole sequence.  I feel my cock skin pressing against the metal cage, and I realize he is going to skewer my dick with more needles.  OMG, this is going to be rough!

And rough it is.  He sticks pin after pin through my dick, some more in the cockhead, most along the shaft.  Each one sends a jolt of electricity from my crotch.  The pain is intense, but I will myself to take it, to endure it, for my Master’s pleasure.  Of course, I scream a lot and continue to pull stupidly against the straps holding me to the chair.

Then He stops.  I think I hear a camera snapping, not sure.  But there is a break from further intense pain.  The pins already there make my cock and balls throb, ache in a scary way that says your basic sex plumbing has been attacked.  You’re screwed, boy, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

“I’m going to take a break, boy,” he says after the picture taking.  “Are you OK?” he again asks.

I nod vigorously.  Yes I am not only OK, I am in fuckin’ slave heaven!  Bound and gagged, locked into an unbelievably painful CD, a big frickin ball up my ass, and my cock and balls pinned to a piece of wood like some bug collection.

I continue to sweat, however.  The hood and SJ leather are tight and hot.  I still struggle a bit, whenever a sudden wince of pain shoots from my crotch.  I wonder how bloody my gonies were.  I wonder how long He will be gone.  I wonder what He will do next.  That’s the downside to being a slave in bondage:  you got a lot of mental time to worry about your situation.  You review all the pains you have been subjected to so far and wonder what’s next.

Chapter 4: A Strapping

I lose track of time, stewing there, bound to the chair, drowning in sweat.  My cock and balls still ache and if I move my body the slightest, hurt all over again.  So I have to keep myself totally still, focus on breathing, focus on the cold ball of ice in my stomach from fear of what else He was going to do, but also feel the fire in the blood that only a slave in tight bondage can feel.  He was the Master indeed.

Then I hear noises and realize He is back.  He comes over to me and plays with the needles again, making me scream and struggle in the SJ and straps.  Then he starts to take them out, some slowly, some quickly.  This part of the torture doesn’t hurt as much as I thought it would.  Then all the needles are out and he removes the piece of wood under my tortured nuts.  They drop to the chair seat, sending a jolt of pain.  Guess they would be tender for a bit.

I feel the chair straps being loosened and soon I am free of that particular bondage.  He helps me stand up and then guides me somewhere.  Let me tell you, being blindfolded and hooded is a total trip!  You have no idea of what’s going on.  Even tell tale sounds are muffled.  And the straight jacket says:  boy, you’re fucked!  There is no way you are getting out of this until He allows it.  And you have no idea what He has in mind.

He did unstrap my arms from across my chest, and it is a relief when they drop to my sides.  He slowly guides me across the concrete, saying nothing.  Then I bump into something wooden.  He moves me a few inches to the right and then puts pressure on my upper back, indicating I was to bend over.

My chest hits a horizontal pad and my arms, as they dangle down, feel vertical supports of some type.  It feels like I am draped over a small bondage bench.  He secures my legs and arms to the legs of the bench with multiple straps, and then adds two across my back.  He pulls these in especially tight, again cramping my breathing.  The metal cock cage butts against one end of the bench; my balls still ache.  And I have to hold my head up or the slave collar would dig into my chin.  The hood straps are still locked on as tight as ever and I start to sweat all over again.

He doesn’t say a word.  I can feel His Hard Dick brushing across my ass.  Feels like He had a really big Cock.  Then I feel something being brushed against my skin, something flexible, flat.  A strap, maybe?  There is a quick whoosh of air, a sharp crack as the strap hits my ass, followed by an explosion of pain.  I still have the gag in place, so my screams are still muffled.

I am surprised when I feel him unlocking the gag on my hood’s leather mouth panel.  Then He eases the gag out of my mouth.  It’s followed by tons of drool which had built up in my mouth.

“Sir, thank You, Sir!” I manage to say.

“Oh, there’s nothing to thank me for,” He says.  “I’m taking the gag out so I can hear you screaming better.  The dungeon down here is totally sound-proof, so feel free to scream.”

I was going to again thank Him, but I hear the second whoosh of air and prepare myself for the stab of pain from my ass.  “A-a-g-g-h-h!” I scream.  It does feel more satisfying to scream without a gag; the screaming somehow helps handle the pain.

Another quick lash with the belt.  Another “A-g-h!!” tears from my mouth.  I strain and struggle on the bench, pulling stupidly against the straps and accomplishing nothing except making me sweat some more in the hood and SJ.

Another, another, and another!  Scream!  Scream!  Scream!  I feel like a robo-slave:  He slashes my ass with the belt, I scream bloody murder and jolt like a puppet in the bondage.  I’ve never been strapped like this, I mean, with both a hood and SJ on.  Have to say, I asked for bondage, He delivered in spades.  In a crazy way I was happy for the tight bondage.  He had indicated that turned Him on and I was happy to give that gift to Him.

God, my ass hurts!  I lose track of the number of strokes, but my ass cheeks are now totally on fire.

He stops the strapping and I feel Him moving the metal arm connecting the ball stretcher on my CD to the ass ball.  Boom!  He pulls the metal ass ball out and unscrews the metal arm from the front of the CD.

This is followed by a few more strap lashes as my brain, saturated with pain, still realizes that there is likely a fucking in my future.

Then He stops the lashing and runs His Fingers over my bruised and likely bleeding ass (it wasn’t, I found out later; He was very good with the strap and the whip:  welts galore, but very little bleeding).  Then I feel his big Cockhead.  I can tell what It was from the engorged hardness.  There’s no other feeling  slave recognizes better than the Master’s Cockhead poised to ram home.

“Oh, yes, boy,” He says loudly.  “I liked that strapping!  You got me very, very hot right now and I think I need some release!”

Chapter 5: Merit Fuck

He moves His Cockhead up and down my crack, now sweaty from all the struggling.  I can feel it between my bruised cheeks.  Then He pulls out for a second and when He put His Cock back in, I feel the slippery lube.

He centers over my asshole and pushes eagerly.  Then He grunts and pushes really hard, blasting through my hole muscle with His Big Cockhead.  He continues to grunt as He thrusts the rest of His Tool up my ass, not so gently.  I feel His arousal and lust.  I feel like I am being assaulted by a Real Master, Who took what He wanted from His slaves.

Then His Pube Hair scratches against my skin and I feel His Hips.  The scratching rubs against raw skin and I jolt from this extra pain.  Plus, His Cock is long.  Remember, I hadn’t ever seen It yet, maybe I never would with the blindfold.  But I did suck it off and It certainly was big then!

OK, so now the thrusting starts in earnest.  The Master is going to fuck His slave.  The gift of the Man’s Cock to a slave was very gratifying.  It said:  “You did good, boy.  Here’s one of your rewards!”

The speed picks up.  I gather this was not going to be what they call a “leisurely fuck.”  He was aroused, hot, and needed to get His Rocks off up the boy’s ass.  He grunts loudly now.  He has His Hands on one of the SJ’s leather back straps and is using the strap as a fuck tool.  He moves His Cock from side to side, churning my guts.  I moan along with Him.  I also yelp a few times when His Dick hits some nerves up my ass.

I know THIS WAS IT when He really starts to fuck me hard.  He is going wild, fucking a newly bruised ass, fucking a piece of meat totally strapped down in tight bondage.  He said this was what He wanted and the boy was very happy to provide it.

Then He peaks.  “Ya!  Ya!  Ya!” he yells, bucking me hard, pulling like a Wildman on the SJ straps He is holding.  I can feel His Dick spurt inside me, another Gift from the Master.  He continues to fuck my ass, even as His Dick was softening.

Then He sort of collapses onto my back, draping his arms around mine and breathing hard with His Head right next to mine.

He stays there for several minutes.  Both of us are “spent,” Him from a good cum, the slave from the beating and the fucking.  I am drenched in sweat.  My ass aches from the recent torture.  AND my balls still ache from the needling.

Chapter 6: Pin Cushion

He finally raises His Chest from on my back.  He moves away from the bench, I guess.

“Are you still OK, boy?” He asks, moving His Head next to mine so I could hear Him through the leather hood.

“Sir, yes, Sir!  Sir, thank You, Sir! I answer, although my mouth is dry.

I was concerned about what else He had planned.  We/we had discussed several other things, but I had no idea of what order He might use – or if He would use any of the stuff, opting for something totally different instead.  That’s the really cool thing for a slave:  the uncertainty generates a real element of fear, a cold knot in the belly, but the certainty and trust that the Master was totally safe and sane made it easy to just let go, cede control to Him, for whatever He wanted.

But my thoughts are interrupted when I suddenly feel a sharp slap to my ass.

“Y-e-e-o-o-o-w-w-w!” I cry out at the sudden pain.

“Ha!” He laughs.  “That’s only the beginning, boy!” He threatens.

As I just said, I have no idea what He was referring to, other than fearing what else He might have in store.  I don’t have to wait long.

“I need to get hard, again, boy,” He says, gently rubbing his hand over my hooded head.  “And there’s more needle work I planned to do to you,” He adds.

OK, boy, I realize.  That’s what’s next.  Pin cushion, I’ll bet.  I told Him to feel free to make my ass into a total pin cushion for His Pleasure.  I didn’t know what size needles He would use, of course; that was part of the fear element.  I had brought some pretty thick gauge needles, some of them over 2” long.  Jesus, that would really hurt!  I also had some smaller pins, the ones holding a new shirt in place on the cardboard holder.  I had a bunch of them.

I think He starts off with some narrow, short ones.  He pushes the pin in sharply, takes it out, pushes it into another location, and keeps repeating this several more times until He finally let it stay in.  Then He does the same thing with another needle, using it to make half a dozen sticks before embedding it in my ass cheek.

I grunt.  The pricks hurt, but it isn’t agony.  Then the pain rams up; guess He changed to a thicker needle.  “Ah!” I yell at some of the nastier sticks.

Then it really starts to hurt and I start to scream:  “A-a-g-h-h!” reverbs in the dungeon room, scream after scream.

“Oh, yes!” He starts to yell as He continues to imbed the needles, deeper into my ass cheeks.

I scream with every thrust now.  But I am startled when He stops pricking my ass with the needles, but, instead, I feel his engorged Cockhead again moving up and down my ass crack, seeking out my hole.

Was He going to fuck me with the needles still in?  That would be awful!  We/we didn’t talk about that!

Chapter 7: Needle Fuck 

When He again forces His Cockhead through my hole, I know the worst was going to happen.  He is going to keep the needles in!

I yell in panic:  “No, no!  Stop!  Take them out!”

But I don’t use the safe word, which was “yellow light.”  That would have meant to stop and check how I was going, that I was getting overwhelmed and needed some rest.  “Red light” meant genuine distress, take me out of the bondage, game over.   I was actually going to try to endure a fucking with needles all over my ass.  I also realized He was pushing my limits, which every Master must really take pleasure in doing.

This time, when His Cock is all the way in and His Hips hit my ass cheeks, it was total agony.  I screamed like it was the end of the world.  He was pushing against maybe a dozen or so needles, moving them around in my ass flesh.  The pain is incredibly intense – but I realize He is right.  He thought I could take it and I agreed to accept this new, unanticipated level of pain.

This fuck was even quicker than the last one.  He rapidly hits high gear.  He told me later He was totally primed with the idea of fucking a slave with needles in its ass and He couldn’t restrain Himself from a quick cum.

He yells His pleasure.  I yell from the searing pain in my ass.  I can even feel my dick pressing against the metal cock cage, trying to respond to the situation.  Doesn’t work.  The cock cage is too small.

My ass is on fire!  He gives three intense hips thrusts, yells along with me, and then it was over

This time, He doesn’t stay inside me.  He pulls out, moves His Hips away from my ass, and then collapses onto my back, breathing heavily just like last time.  This time He puts His Arm around my hooded head.  I hear Him murmuring:  “Good boy.  Good boy,” as He pats me on the top of my head.  I am very proud at that moment to be His slave.  My ass cheeks and asshole throb with pain, a reminder of the gift I had just given to my most special Master.  I also feel His Jism oozing from my asshole, the gift He has given to His slave.

Chapter 8: Respite

He lays on my back for a long time.  It was a very special moment and I appreciate His lingering.  He keeps  His Hand on my head, occasionally rubbing my hooded scalp.

Then it’s over.  He gets up and I feel Him removing all the needles from my poor ass cheeks.  This doesn’t take long; He pulls them all out quickly.  Then I feel something like a coarse powder being rubbed on my ass and it instantly stings.  It’s salt.  He’s cauterizing the needle wounds, as well as making His slave feel more pain.

i yell from the intense stinging, but it doesn’t last long.  Then He unstraps me from the bondage bench and helps me straighten up.  It feels good to stand up after being strapped over the bench for such a long time.

“You did good, boy,” He says to me.  “Exceeded My expectations, in fact.”

“Sir, thank You, Sir!” I intone.

“I think we both need a beer break,” He says to me, putting His Hand on my shoulder.  “What do you say to that, boy?”

“Sir, that would be excellent, Sir!  Sir, thank You, Sir!” I respond.  He’s right, this would be a good time for a break.  I know I’m shredded!

I feel him begin to remove the SJ.  This takes a while; there are so many straps.  He pulls the bondage garment off my arms.  I suddenly feel a little cold, after having been immersed in hot sweat for so long.

Then He begins the elaborate process of unlocking and unbuckling the hood straps.  This also takes a while.

The hood comes off.  My head now feels cold.  Same deal, used to hot sweat for the past 2 (?) hours.  He does not remove the blindfold, but checks the security of the buckle behind my head.

“No, the blindfold stays on,” He says to me.

“Sir, yes, Sir!  Sir, thank You, Sir!” I answer, as required.

“I am going to lead you to my kitchen upstairs.  Don’t worry, I will guide you up the steps.  We will take a break up there.  I have some items to review with you,” He says.

“Sir, yes, Sir!  Sir, thank You, Sir!” is my answer.  That is the only proper answer a slave can give.

He grabs my right arm and gently directs me.  We go up some stairs.  He is very careful to ensure I don’t stumble.  What a caring Master! I think to myself.

At the top of the stairs We/we walk a distance and then He glides me onto a chair.  I wince and grunt as my bruised ass cheeks hit the padded seat.  My aching balls, still stretched out, are pressed into the seat cover.  I hear two brewskies being uncapped and He hands me one.

“You will continue to address Me as ‘Sir,’ of course, but I want you to know you can talk freely now.  We are taking a break from the Master/slave scene,” He says to me.

I hear a chair being pulled out.  Presumably He is sitting close to me.  I take a long swig from the beer bottle.  God, it tastes good!  My mouth is parched from screaming and the gag, and the beer is an incredible treat.

“So, boy, you’ve been through our first scene,” He says in a very friendly manner.  “Did you enjoy it?”

“OMG, Sir,” I say.  “It was one of the best scenes the boy has ever been through, Sir!” I honestly answer.

“Good, good,” He replies.  “I enjoyed it, too.  How was the pain level, boy?  Excessive?” He asks.

“Well, Sir,” I answer, “You did push the boy’s limits, Sir”  [The slave cannot use the word “I” in the presence of the Master].  “And the boy thanks You for checking in, Sir.  That really upped the slave’s confidence and trust, Sir.  The boy totally let go, Sir,” I add.

“Well, I did promise you ‘safe and intense,’” He says.  “Did I deliver?”

“OMG, Sir, in spades, Sir!” I answer.

He laughs:  “Ha!  That’s good to hear!”

There is a period of silence.  I drink more beer.

“Are you hungry, boy?” He asks.

“Sir, no, Sir!” I answer truthfully.  I had cleaned out my ass before the session and the last thing I wanted now was food.  I did enjoy the beer, though.

“We had talked about some medical scenes,” He says.

“Sir, yes, Sir!” I answer.  “Sir, I brought the foley caths with me, Sir.  You indicated You were interested in them, Sir.”  It really was strange talking with Him, but still blindfolded.  Totally diabolical.  All I had was the recon picture in my head.  That alone was impressive, but I really wanted to see Him, especially in His Leathers.

“Yes,” He replies.  “My previous boy was interested in them but We/we didn’t get a chance to try them out.  Are you game?”

“Sir, absolutely, Sir!” I answer, again truthfully.  Medical scenes have always been one of my turn ons.  I wasn’t sure of what He had in mind, though.  We/we hadn’t fleshed that out in our e-mailings.

Let me describe the unique feeling I have at this moment.  There is always a big element of fear in any BDSM session.  I mean, is the Guy really safe and sane?  You simply never know.  At this point, however, my trust level was 100%.  He had tortured me brutally, but nothing We/we hadn’t talked about.  The big factor was that He had checked in with me periodically as He escalated the tortures and abuse.  That sort of clinched it in my mind that I could cede total trust and total control to Him. At that moment the slave still feels fear – you simply don’t know what’s next, other than it will be painful.  But you can also freely give in to the fear knowing that you are in the Hands of a True Master.  He had promised “safe and intense.”  And now I knew that’s what I was going to get.  It’s a unique moment in the Master/slave relationship and I cherished it deeply.  This Guy was Special!

“Do you need a rest?” He asks.  “Maybe a nap?”

“Sir, absolutely not, Sir!  Sir, the boy is raring to go, Sir!” I respond.

He laughs again, but says nothing further for a while.  I finish off my beer and He takes the bottle from me.

Chapter 9: Medical Prep

We/we sit there a few minutes in total silence.  I wasn’t sure what was going on, but I just sat there awaiting action on His part.  The beer had tasted good, but my head was still quite clear.  Takes more than one to get the boy buzzed.  Alcohol and BDSM is never a good combination.

I hear His chair creak, interpreting this that He got up.  Then He grabs one of the D-rings in my slave collar and indicates I should get up, which I do.

“We/we are now back in Master/slave role,” He says to me.  “Mind your manners!”

“Sir, yes, Sir!” the boy answers.

Guiding me carefully, we go down the steps to the dungeon again.  I can immediately feel the warmth of the room at the bottom of the steps.

He guides me somewhere and then We/we stop.  My hip is touching something which feels like a leather or vinyl pad of some sort.

He guides me onto the pad and I lay down on my back against an angled pad .  The earlier welts throb when they touch the slick pad fabric.  My ass, however, is not touching anything.  He indicates I need to move a few inches over, which I do.  Then the bondage starts.

My arms are hanging down along the sides of whatever thing I’m on.  He lifts each up in turn, positions it against a rigid, metal holder of some type, which extends out horizontally to the sides, and then straps my arms to the metal.  He threads a short rope through D-rings in my wrist cuffs and ties the ropes off.

Then He lifts each leg way up into an angled metal holder, like stirrups.  My legs are spread widely apart and then strapped to the metal holder.  Feels like a medical examination bench, modified with restraints, with the focus on my crotch and ass.  I’m still wearing the metal cock cage, retainer ring, and ball stretcher.  At least He didn’t put the metal ass ball back in after He fucked me.

Two final belts:  one across my chest, just under my pecs; the second one across my lower stomach, a few inches above my cock.  He pulls these in surprisingly tight, especially the stomach strap.  Hurts, even, it’s so tight.

I feel Him unscrewing the penis plug from the metal cock cage.  It screws into a hole at the very front of the cock cage.  He slowly pulls the plug out.  It’s been a while since a had a good pee, so I guess I was ready for what came next:  the catheter.

He had asked for instructions for inserting the catheter via e-mail before We/we met, and I detailed each step of the insertion, first of which is lubing up the wide tube (I had brought a half dozen 24 French caths, the widest they make).  I didn’t know what He was doing until I felt the cath tip penetrate my piss slit.  It’s a wild sensation as the cath is slowly threaded up your dick.  It goes in all the way to the bladder.  You can feel it pass through the bladder entrance by a slight resistance the bladder muscle exerts.  And you have to have a towel ready because once the cath is in the bladder, any piss there shoots out uncontrollably.  Which it does.  Then you push the cath in another 4 to 6 inches.

The Foley has a small bulb at the tip which can be inflated.  I had ordered caths with the larger bulb size, 30 cc, and told Him to fill up a syringe with 30 cc water, connect it to the auxiliary port at the outboard end of the cath, and then inject the water to fill the bulb.  I can feel him doing this, and once the bulb is filled, He pulls on the cath until the bulb seals firmly against the bladder opening.

At this point the slave no longer has control of his bladder.  There are options at this point.  I also brought leg pouches which can hold several hours of piss.  Some Masters like to put the cath outlet into the slave’s mouth for direct recycle.  Some just let it drain into a jar on the floor – for future use.

There are other, more painful options also.  The cath can be used to inject stinging fluids into the bladder, or even beer.  You can block off the exit of the cath, trapping piss and gas inside.  As the beer warms up, the gas builds up tremendous pressure to pee – which is denied by the Master for as long as He wants.  The pain can get really intense.  Plus, you have the humiliation of having no control over your own bodily function.  I don’t know what He is going to do – clearly part of the torture.

Then I feel something probing my asshole, something rubbery.  It’s wide, but not as bad as the metal asshole ball I had in for the past few hours.  He pushes harder and the thing slips up into my ass.  I’m not even sure what it was.  Small dildo?  Electro plug?

Then I feel something expanding just inside my asshole, something like a bag or bladder getting inflated.  Ah ha!  It’s a Bardex enema plug.  These things have inflatable bulbs on the inside and outside of your asshole and when they are both inflated, the enema tube is firmly sealed into your gut.  Nothing gets in and nothing can leave except by way of the tubing.

He inflates the inner bag quite a bit; it starts to generate shit-pressure on my colon.  Then I feel the outer bladder being filled up with air.  As it inflates, it pulls on the inner bulb until there is a very tight seal on my asshole – just what the Bardex was designed for.

Then the enema torture begins.  I feel a surge of very cold water shoot up my rectum.  It cames in fast and my gut swells up fast.  First you feel increased pressure to crap.  Just the inner bulb alone created this, but the extra fluid magnifies it something awful.  You try to relieve the pressure, but you can’t.  You will your ass to shit, but nothing happens – except the pressure gets worse by the minute as more fluid is forced in.

Then I feel the same kind of pressure in my bladder; He was shooting water up the cath.  The pressure turns to pain which progresses to agony very quickly.  And the humiliation is that you can’t do a thing about it; He has control of two of your three holes.

I start to groan as the pain mounts and then I feel something being forced into my mouth.  It was another gag, this one a wide cock gag which filled my mouth.  OMG, I thought, now he controls all three major holes.  I’m fucked!  And I’m trapped in strap bondage to this damned exam table.

Of course I also start to struggle against the bonds – stupid but predictable slave move.  Master had told me He likes to see His vics struggle.  He’s put them in inescapable bondage, so the whole thing is pointless, but He does like to see them strain!  He said it re-emphasizes His Total Control of the slave.

Suddenly the pressure in my bladder is relieved; liquid was shooting out through the catheter.  The relief didn’t last long.  More liquid is shot in, coolish this time.

“Yeah, slave, now you’re getting some beer – only I don’t think you’ll like this brand,” He said devilishly.  He was right, as always.  The beer fills my bladder and I feel the pressure to pee.  The cath was crimped off, however, and nothing comes out.  The beer slowly warms up inside me and the true nature of the torture is revealed:  as the gas builds up, so does the pressure to pee.  It is very uncomfortable, and then actually painful.

Then he goes to work on my ass again, shooting in more cold liquid.  I guess my abdomen is bulging now; feels like a gallon of liquid was in there.  That hurst, especially as the stomach strap was on so tightly.

When you’re blindfolded, the other senses are heightened.  So it was with me:  I was aware of everything touching my body.  I feel something slimy and sticky being pushed against my lower abs.  There are several, four?  Don’t know.  He applies tape over them.

Then I realized the pads were for electro-stim.  On His orders I had brought with me the TENS unit I’ve used for years.  It’s a lot of painful fun and I have a variety of electrodes.  One problem I found was that with a metal cockcage, it’s hard to get a good stimulation of the cockhead; there’s just too much metal.  Don’t forget, in electro-stem the smaller the electrode, the nastier the current.  He knew this, too, for the next sensation is something being slipped up my dick alongside the cath.  It’s a bare wire, which I had told Him was a good way to get a strong shock to the dickhead even with a metal cock cage on.

I scream when he plunges two needles into my nuts, which are still stretched out and aching from the previous needle torture.  The gag turns my scream into an incoherent gurgle, but it still feels good to scream.  I can feel something being clipped to the needles and the realization blazes across my brain that He was going to use the nut needles as the other electrodes.  OMG, I’ve never tried that before.  How much would it hurt?  I had no idea – but seeing I was strapped down pretty tightly on the exam table, guess I would find out shortly.

Then He pulls the duct tape from over my nips.  The original needles are still there.  Again I feel something getting attached or clipped to the needles – more wires, no doubt.  He is going to give me a full electro treatment:  cock and balls, abs, and now nips.  The TENS only has two outputs, so I didn’t know what the third power source was going to be.

OK, I thought, so I’m all wired up now.  Any moment He’s going to start the electro and any moment now I’ll start screaming.

But that does not happen.  I grow increasingly apprehensive, stewing there in the bondage, wired up, nowhere to go.  He told me later that letting me just hang there, suspended between being prepared for torture and the actual start of the pain, was a good form of torture itself.  The slave’s nerves are on edge.  Apprehension mounts.  I start to sweat again, the knot of fear revisits my stomach.  The pressure in my bladder and gut transitions from uncomfortable to pain.  But I realize this pain was nothing compared to what was going to happen any second now.

Then, unexpectedly, it starts.  I feel the tingling in all the electrodes as they are activated.  Low level electro feels good, actually.  It stimulates the muscles and feels good on your cock.  The sensation of “vibration,” which is how I feel mild electro, is kind of cool.  My dick, in fact, starts to try to get hard, which pushes the shaft and cockhead against the metal bars of the cock cage.  Ouch.

He ups the current and the surge starts to hurt.  From a pleasant vibration, the vibration is now a painful stinging.  He goes higher and the pain gets intense; I start to groan and yelp from the pain in my crotch and my nipples.  I pull on the straps.  Yup, they are tight.

Another jump in current.  I yell and struggle, it really hurts now.  “U-u-h-h!”

Then a big jump in the electro level.  It makes me scream and throw my head back in agony.  “A-a-g-g-h-h!  No-o-o-o!  A-a-g-h-h!” tears from my lips, but is garbled by the gag.  It’s brutal.  He’s brutal.  He thoroughly enjoys torturing men, taking them to the breaking point, proving HE is The Master and they are worms in His total Control.

Then He varies the current levels in the different electrodes.  He also changes the frequency.  Sometimes it was a low, throbbing pain.  Then He ups it to intense stinging.  Then a steady buzz, followed by back to the spaced out pulses.  The pain plays with your body.  The changes in electro levels plays with your mind.

I lose track of time.  Sounds like a cliché, but it’s true.  You get into a zone where you are immersed in the pain, nothing else exists except the punishing torture in your body.  He varies it to keep you focused, make sure you are aware of every element He is inflicting on you.  You scream, struggle, pull against straps like a crazy person, scream some more.  Sometimes you start to cry.

My crotch is on fire.  The electro to my nuts by way of the needles is excruciating and my cockhead is throbbing from the current.  My pecs are involuntarily spazing and the current stings my nipples severely.

On and on the torture goes.  My throat is now hoarse from screaming and the straps are starting to chaff against my skin.  The “zone” I thought I was in is getting a little fuzzy around the edges.

Then it stops.  The pain, the electricity, the vibration, even the screaming.  It gets very quiet and still.  I am left breathing real hard to catch my breath.  Maybe I hear some pictures being taken, maybe I don’t.  Doesn’t matter.  I just hang there in the bondage, very proud of my Master, very pleased with what He has given me:  wave after wave of purifying pain.

I feel Him pat me on the top of the hood.

“Good boy,” He says.  “You did good, boy.”

That is a slave’s ultimate praise, at least verbally.  He removes all the electrodes.  The nut needles hurt going out.  He leaves the nip needles in but disconnected the wire clips.  He left the cath up my dick, but deflated the Bardex bulbs in my ass.  When He pulled the enema plug out, I couldn’t help myself.  There was a gusher of liquid.  He told me later He used a special bucket to capture all the mess from my ass, and then dumped it down the toilet.

Then He helped me off the exam bench.  From the feel of it I realized I was back on the fuck bench.  After restrapping me to the bench, He gave me a slave’s ultimate gift:  He fucks me long and hard.  It was fantastic!

Chapter 10: Goodbye, boy

After He came, He pulls out and gives me one last, hard slap across the ass.

“Sir, thank You, Sir!” I say, hardened into my slave role.

He unstraps me from the bench and helps me up.  Following His guidance, I walk a bit and feel myself in a much cooler room.

“You will wait two minutes, boy, and then remove the blindfold, and all the other stuff.  You will pack up your stuff, except for the chastity device and all the needles.  I will keep the CD here and use it on other boys, as well as put the needles to good use.  Take your cuffs and collar.  And the hood.  The keys to the locks are on the floor.  Leave Me the key to the CD.”

He puts His Hand on my shoulder.  “Good bye, boy.  You did good.  I enjoyed this.  I might consider another session.”

“Sir, thank You, Sir!” was the only reply I can make.

I hear a door close behind me, but I wait about two minutes and then follow His orders.  Luckily the room was not too bright when I remove the blindfold.  It was the same room I initially entered hours earlier.  I feel like I have finally returned to planet Earth after visiting planet Pain.  My whole body hurts as I bend down to lay the folded blindfold on the floor and pick up the keys.  My nips and nuts ache from the abuse.  I unlock the CD and carefully take it off.  What a relief!  That thing is a torture all by itself.  I can see why He’d want to use it on other boys.  I remove its key from the chain and leave it on the floor beside the gleaming metal device.

I pack up the cuffs, collar, and hood in my black kit bag and open the front door.  The daylight outside blinds me for a few seconds.  Before I close the front door to His house, I yell back in:  “Sir, yes, Sir!  Sir, thank You, Sir!”

And then I get in my car and drive to the airport.  My ass hurts from the whipping and the needles, a very nice souvenir I will have to endure for the plane ride to Houston.

“Sir, yes, Sir!  Sir, thank You, Sir!” I say out loud several times on the interstate.  The pain of the session still reverbs in my body.  This Guy was good, really good.

The end

By Rob

Everyone, especially those of us who are into kink like leather, rubber, bondage, SM or any of its derivatives, has a particular set of fantasies that usually evolve from experience to the nest. There are those fantasies that persist even after experience or multiple similar experiences.

Sometimes I feel like I lose interest in everything.  Surfing through porn sites and watching videos seems perfunctory at best. Then, without looking an image or thought arrives that touches the id, stirring desire and causing a swell of adrenalin.

There was a Leo Ravenswood drawing that I wish I could find again.  The drawing was of a guy bound to a stool.  He wore a head harness that was tied to the closet rod above his head.  His arms were tied behind his back.  Another man reached into the closet to deposit his cap on the shelf above his captives head.  My partner (Master at the time) didn’t understand the psychology behind long term bondage at the time but we cleared out a closet on the third floor of our house and played out the fantasy many times.  He eventually perfected the situation so that I could barely move and an accident would be nearly impossible.  I could put myself into this bondage predicament if I felt the need.  I relied on Master to free me.  A friend named Chris lived with us. Although he said he wasn’t into kink, we could rely on him take care of the house and occasionally me when I was in trouble.

What I liked about this particular scenario was the idea of being stored like an object.  There was one day when the predicament turned from play into a sort of reality.  Master’s cousin came to visit that day and Master wanted me out of site while he was there.  Master took me up to the closet that morning and locked me away until almost midnight when his cousin left to catch his red-eye flight. It was the longest time that he put me into storage.  I actually felt like an object late in the day as I became tired and bored.

To get to this level in our relationship took time and trust.  We also had to reach the level where one of us really submitted to the other.  We also reached the level when infatuation was less of a driving force in the relationship than love and respect for each other.

So the reason that I am writing this is the picture that appeared on the Metal’s blog.  It is almost an exact situation that I lived out for several years.  Sometimes I was bound and told to stand quietly in a corner of a room.  Sometimes I was bound that way and left in the horse barn with a wood dowel under my arms to hold me up if I became too fatigued to stand or fell asleep.  It kept me from accidently hanging.

I was easily accessed while in the house.  Master loved spanking more than any other kink. The ottoman in front of his chair stored his favorite spanking toys.  He had me lay over his ottoman while he watched Television and took out his hatred of commercials on my ass.  He also removed the gag from the head harness and “fucked my head” as he called it.  I was also helpless when he wanted to fuck me.

I got tired of being bound almost every night but his was his idea.  To get what I enjoyed I submitted to his enjoyment.

So this picture stimulated me in such a way that I could feel my body chemistry react in the same way that it did in our early days together.  It was fear, adrenalin, a drop in blood pressure, hopelessness, excitement, dick stiffening, boredom but most of all it was the feeling of actually fully committing myself to Master enough to completely submit to him.

The picture above is from Bound Jocks

The shoulder-to-wrist restraint available from Mr S.

By Hot Boy

Australia

Perth Old Jail Museum

After a fairly boring day looking round Perth, Ross stumbled upon the Old Jail. He quite fancied a look around — it would allow him to indulge in some nice fantasies. However, it looked like it was closed tomorrow — the sign saying, “Closed Wednesday” was a clue — and the security guard seemed to be locking up.

“We’re just closing, mate,” he said.

“No chance of a quick look around?” asked Ross.

“No, mate.” The guard looked Ross up and down, he was a handsome lad in his early twenties, “…although…” he seemed to think for a while, “…we do have a special interactive tour. Although, since it’s quite a bit longer, it is a bit more expensive. I think you’ll really get a lot out of it though.” He grinned, “It sure will be memorable.”

“Eh, yeah, okay, that sounds pretty cool.”

“Come on in then.”

Ross stepped into the foyer, and the guard picked a key from his large bunch and locked the door.

“The idea of the interactive tour,” explained the guard, “is that you get to really experience what it’s like to be a prisoner.”

“That sounds pretty cool,” said Ross, not really thinking about it.

“So, first things first, you’d better get these handcuffs on.”

“Oh eh er.”

“Come on boy! Hands behind your back!”

Ross complied without thinking. Click, click. Ross was now handcuffed, his manacled wrists resting on his pert buttocks.

“We need to go to the Arrivals Registration room,” said the guard.

Ross followed as the guard led them through a couple of solid-looking doors, carefully locking each once through. The guard looked to be in his 50s and was wearing a khaki uniform. Ross felt slightly aroused to be under his power. He wondered what he was getting himself in for. They reached the Arrivals Registration room. It was a plain room with a desk, chair and two doors. Once inside, the guard locked the door they had come through and as he sat behind the desk barked, “Stand in front of the desk, boy!”

Ross stood as ordered facing the desk, hands cuffed behind his back. The guard took a pen and pad of forms from a drawer in the desk, “Right, we need some particulars. Full name, Date of Birth, Place of Birth, Nationality, Address, Next of Kin, Marital Status.”

Ross gave his details reluctantly. It felt curiously intrusive to give away so much information to a man whose name he did not even know. Especially when he seemed so interested in how Ross was single, travelling from the UK alone. The guard ripped off the form he had just filled in, titled Prisoner 246, and led Ross through the second door. This room was split in two by a long, waist-high counter. Behind the counter was a set of shelves, split into little boxes, each carefully numbered. The guard locked the door and said, “Okay, we need to take an inventory of your belongings. I’m going to uncuff you and I don’t want any funny business, Prisoner 246. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Do You Understand Boy?!”

“Y-yes, yes sir!” Ross felt obliged to reply.

The guard seemed satisfied and untied Ross’s cuffs. As Ross rubbed his wrists, the guard moved behind the counter. “Right, empty your pockets.” Ross did so. “Hanky, wallet, mobile phone, passport, keys,” stated the guard as Ross placed each item on the counter. “Remove your watch.” The guard looked at it closely: Nike watch, Velcro strap, he wrote carefully on the form. “Is that everything?” asked the guard as he put the items into a clear plastic bag.

“Yes sir,” replied Ross.

“No necklace or bracelet?”

“No sir.”

The guard sealed Ross’s possessions in the bag and wrote 246 on the outside with a marker pen. “Okay, strip!”

“Eh sorry, what was that?” stuttered Ross.

“Strip your clothes off boy! You don’t expect prisoners to wear their own clothes do you?!”

“Eh I guess not…”

“You’ll need to get into your prison suit. So get on with it then boy! We don’t have all day!” Ross couldn’t help but feel that this could be a defining moment: of the next few hours certainly, of the rest of his life, quite possibly. He may never be the same again. The guard seemed to be enjoying himself rather a lot. How far would he go? This seemed to be getting a bit dodgy; but equally, also really quite exciting. Life after all, is for living. Ross pulled his jumper over his head and then started unbuttoning his shirt. He peeled this off, revealing his lean, tanned torso, then bent to untie his trainers and take off his socks. Now he was standing in only his shorts in front of the guard. The guard stared greedily.

Ross pulled down the zip on his shorts, and then the shorts themselves. Now he was standing only in his white cotton briefs, which suddenly seemed very skimpy. He handed the rest of his clothes to the guard. The guard listed them on Prisoner 246′s form: jumper, shirt, Adidas trainers, socks, shorts and then pointed for Ross to sign away his possessions.

“Turn around!” instructed the guard. Ross did so and the guard roughly shackled his wrists again. The guard now led Ross along a cold, dark corridor, down a flight of stairs and along colder, darker corridors. The walls were painted brick, the floor smooth cement. As he walked, Ross felt exposed, his hands tied behind his back, wearing only his underwear. As the guard locked another door behind them, Ross realised he was in a large communal shower room. There was probably space for 100 men to shower at a time. The showerheads were attached to pipes that ran along the ceiling of the room, and all controlled by one large lever by the door.

“Showertime!” laughed the guard and he quickly pulled down the Ross’s pants. Ross’s semi-erect cock sprung out in surprise. Ross blushed, although the guard hadn’t seemed to notice; he was already unfastening Ross’s handcuffs. As the guard thrust a square of pink soap into his hand and pointed to the middle of the large room, Ross stepped out of his white briefs. Then as Ross turned, the guard suddenly slapped his left buttock! Whack! “And watch out for that cute ass of yours if you drop the soap!”

Before Ross could reply, the guard pulled on the lever by the door and all the showers burst into life, drenching Ross in water that seemed to get colder and colder. It was freezing!

“You’ll get out once you’ve given yourself a thorough scrub,” shouted the guard over the roar of the gushing water. Ross stood under the shower nearest the centre of the room. It felt very isolated and exposed out there. He could imagine feeling very intimidated if there had been others in the room. The water from all the other showers flowed past him, and into a large central drain. He could imagine the water having run over the bodies of thousands of muscular, horny men over the many years of the prison’s operation. “Don’t forget to clean under your foreskin!” shouted the guard with delight, “And up your ass crack!” Ross did as instructed, as the guard watched closely. Finally, when he seemed satisfied, the guard turned off the icy water and recuffed Ross. Ross was led, completely naked now, further along a labyrinth of cold, dark corridors, through a number of barred gates, to a classic prison scene. It was a large hall, 3 stories high, and lined on either side by hundreds of small, barred prison cells. Ross was led to one of these, “In you go.” Said the guard.

Ross complied, the gate was slammed shut behind him and the guard stalked off. Ross was now alone, naked, wrists handcuffed behind his back, in a small prison cell, in a large prison, on the wrong side of the world. He tried to lose his erection.

Note from Metal: This is a story found on the internet. If you are the author (Hot Boy) or know how to reach him, please get in touch!

By Bound2plzu

I’ve lived in a small rural town for a number of years and never considered it to be a big advantage over city life, until now. Our local police department was recently required to replace its almost 100-year-old jail with a new, state-of-the-art facility. The old building was left as it had been, on its last day of service. Even though the electric had been turned off, all of the mechanisms were controlled manually. Working for the town, I am also friends with one of the local officers. I asked him to show me sometime how the levers and control rods worked to open, close and lock the cells. He said he would be glad to.

I think it was nostalgic for him, but I was so amped when he called and said things were slow and that he could show me the place that afternoon. He unlocked the steel door, and we went in. After a tour of the three floors, we wound up on the third. He demonstrated how the control rod was pulled out to engage a cell, then a long lever was pulled forward to “Cycle” something (never really understood how it worked myself) then pushed back to its original place. The cell door unlatched and slid into the open position. I took a look at the dark cell. It was bad. No ventilation, no overhead lights, just old, rusty and dirty.

My friend asked if I wanted to try it out. I tried to hide my excitement, smiled and said “Sure.” He walked me down to the center cell, motioned for me to get in and stretch out on the steel bed. There was no blanket or any bedding of any kind. It was like lying on the concrete floor. Not comfortable in any way.

He said to put my hands up over my head, reaching back through the bars. When I did, he latched his handcuffs on me, preventing me from being able to get back up or out of the cell. He said that would settle down their most unruly inmates. He went back to the panel with the levers, and the door slid and locked solid.

Even if I had wanted to, I was going nowhere. He asked if I wanted out or to try it for “awhile.” I smirked and said I was good, and I’d like to try it out for a bit. He smiled and said, “OK, I’ll be back in a bit!” As soon as he was gone, I wondered what in the heck had I just done! And how long is “awhile”? Well, it was too late to be thinking up those questions. I would just have to wait to find out. After what seemed like “awhile” to me, I noticed my arms where starting to ache. It was a challenge to find a position that did not hurt from either the cuffs or the bars.

Time seemed to be passing very slowly. I could stare at the underside of the top bunk, or the steel walls, or over my head through the bars. There was nothing to really do. It was very warm in there, and I was ready to head on out of there. I really thought my friend would have been back to get me by now, it was easily past my usual time for dinner. Then is when I noticed, it was starting to get darker. I could not believe it! It gets dark about 8:30 or so this time of year. I had been locked up three hours or so! What if he didn’t get back till morning? How could I stand this overnight? My arms and wrists were hurting a lot by now. What could I do? There was no one in the building, and no one anywhere nearby. I had left my cell phone in his car for safekeeping. I was really stuck! After I could no longer see through the bars or the upper bunk, I knew it must be after 9. This was crazy. What was I thinking?

Finally I heard a car, then steps on the metal stairs, and the flicker of an approaching flashlight. It was my friend. All I could think of to say to him was, “I was hoping that was you.”

He said he was sorry to have been so long but had been called out and this was his first opportunity to get back. I had been locked up for only four hours. It had seemed like days to me.

I was pleased to have the handcuffs off, so much so it did not even seem a big deal when the door slid open and I was “freed.” My friend pointed out that was a very authentic jail experience I had just had. I smiled and said we should do it again sometime soon. He laughed and said anytime I was ready.

By slave4Strict713

Tuesday – 8:00 p.m.

Andy was frustrated and horny. His slave cravings had been haunting him. They began with abduction fantasies. In college, he ventured to the adult bookstore, and through magazines and old Drummer reprints he discovered the world of Masters and slaves. It was like putting a match to lighter fluid. Since then, he had been working in a smaller city, with no real leather community to speak of, so he had been living vicariously online, spending his evenings and weekends in various adult chat rooms and masturbating to porn images.

There was a lot of shame around his cravings. He felt like he was wasting his life on the internet, but he couldn’t imagine that being a man’s slave would be the life his parents had wished for him. At 27, he hadn’t even bolstered the courage to tell them he was gay. His whole life he worked like crazy to be what everyone else expected. He was viewed by those who knew him as bright, educated and a hard worker. The thought of those same people finding out about his slave desires was terrifying.

What Andy desired, at his core, was to have a strict Master own him completely and add structure and discipline to his life. He wanted to be fully “out-of-the-closet” with his slave nature to at least that one person on the planet, and valued for what he really is. A Master who could make decisions for him and put him in his place scrubbing floors and toilets — and serving sexually. Andy’s conscious thoughts and upbringing, however, made him feel that these desires were to be avoided.

His pubescent abduction fantasies made Andy especially sensitive to being restrained or kept captive. The idea of being kept restrained or captive not only sparked the core of his submissive desires, it made him feel, in a perverse sort of way, valued — valued enough to want to keep. A Master who valued him would want to keep him on a short leash, to make certain he didn’t stray from his core purpose or get distracted by other things in life. As a result, he fantasized about strict Masters who took ownership very seriously.

Andy sat down at his home computer and launched a browser. He began typing search terms “master slave gay permanent ownership” and hit return. There were some number of Masters out there who require real and permanent ownership. He though it would definitely be intoxicating to chat with them, so he wondered if there was a place on the internet where he could find and contact these types of Masters.

He started looking through the search results, skipping past the usual pornography and pay sites. About 12 pages deep in the results, he read a listing for “Gay Master Slave Discussion Groups” and clicked on it. It was a list of discussion boards. One of the groups was titled “REAL AND PERMANENT ENSLAVEMENT,” which is probably what picked up Andy’s search terms. He clicked on it and was taken to a page displaying a description of the discussion group:

“This is an adult group for gay Masters and slaves seeking permanent 24/7 ownership. This group is NOT for the faint of heart. It is only for those who are ready to be taken into servitude and slavery and those who know how to make that happen. LEGAL DISCLAIMER: You engage in the use of this group discussion at YOUR OWN risk. If you wanted a fantasy you wouldn’t be here, would you?”

Andy decided to register and post a profile on the board, along with a number of photos. He also provided a fairly precise description of what he craved.

Wednesday – 8:10 p.m.

Andy logged into the discussion board again. About a minute after logging in, an instant message appeared from DomMaster23:

“Has it been taken yet?”

“No Sir,” Andy replied.

“Phone number, slave — NOW.”

Andy’s cell phone rang from an unknown number. “Hello.”

“Is the slave alone?”

“Yes Sir.”

“Does it live alone?”

“Yes Sir.”

“The slave will now strip and get on its knees.”

“Does it understand that a slave is property — period? That it is not a man? That it is a slave pretending to be a man? Has it noticed that it is unable to stop seeking a real Master to own it?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“That means it is a slave. And eventually its presenting itself to real Masters will result in its enslavement, with or without its consent. Does it understand what it means to be taken?”

“Yes Sir. it is looking for the right situation and Master. With that in place, it is more than open being taken into custody.”

“And enslaved permanently?”‘

“Yes, Sir.”

“Very well, slave. Read my profile carefully and thoroughly. My profile describes exactly the ‘situation’ it would be getting itself into, and the type of Master I am. If it wishes to explore possibilities with this Master, it will respond via instant message indicating that I am the ‘right’ Master, and that I offer the ‘right situation.’ I want a yes or no answer within an hour. There are no buts, questions or half-baked responses. It is either YES or NO. Is that clear slave?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good slave. I am Master Burke. Dismissed.”

Click. Then, dial tone.

Andy clicked on Master Burke’s profile to view it. Wow. He would keep a slave naked, collared, shaved, buzz-cut and in shackles, with just enough mobility to perform housework. He would also require His slave to sleep in a sleep sack and eat out of a dog bowl. The primary purpose of a slave, in His view, was to serve sexually and domestically. He also expressed His views on ownership: that a slave was property, to be kept in its place. He indicated His seriousness about disciplining His slave to secure its full obedience.

Most Masters Andy had interacted with online were either ugly or didn’t think about slavery in the same way. In contrast, Master Burke’s photos were breathtaking. Not in an 8-by-10, glossy way, but he was masculine, fit, 46 and rugged-looking. One photo showed His large cock, which was looking amazing, and His profile shared that he was 7 by 6 cut. Andy was more into girth and knew that 6 inches in girth was about the max he could take into his mouth. In short, DomMaster23’s photos were amazing. But it was the text on His profile that left Andy speechless:

“A slave is property — PERIOD. it needs to be stripped of not just its clothing, but its rights, dignity, privacy, excuses, freedom and that external facade that it wears in its attempts keeps the world from knowing who and what it really is — its identity and individuality — must also be completely removed (shaving, buzz-cut, hooding, objectification, etc.). The slave shall be put in its place — naked, collared, shackled (just enough mobility to perform housework, in chastity, and often muzzled. Every sentence spoken will begin and end with “SIR,” although it won’t speak unless it is spoken to. The slave shall perform housework, cook meals, serve sexually and keep its body fit for My use. it will eat out of a dog bowl and sleep in a sleep sack. The slave will be trained and disciplined to complete obedience. it will follow My rules, orders and to a schedule approved by Me. Any deviations require permission or approval. it will NEVER stand in my presence or use furniture in private (unless necessary to obey an order I have given it), and it will not so much as piss without getting My permission.

Sex will be varied, but generally consists of the slave serving My cock with its mouth and ass. I enjoy restraining my slave while I fuck its mouth and ass. Once collared, I always bareback and breed its mouth or ass EVERY time. My slave will work to bring My cock as much pleasure as possible.

ALL of My requirements are mandatory and non-negotiable. If it is still reading this, it knows what it is, and knows that it needs. it will respond now, and get ready to simplify its life.”

Wednesday – 9:07 p.m.

Andy was nervous but extremely hot for this Master, and the hour was almost up. So he typed and instant message to Master Burke, “Yes Sir. it NEEDS that level of control, Sir.”

“Of course it does. it is a slave.” There was a short period of silence, then, “I bet it feels flush right now, doesn’t it?”

“Yes Sir.”

“Got a lump in its throat?”

“Yes Sir.”

“Cock swelling? Ballsack firm and tight?”

“Yes Sir.”

“And that was just reading about how it will be kept and used. Imagine how much more intense it will be when it is naked, collared and kneeling before me.”

Another pause with silence. Andy was craving this Master.

“Do I look like the type of Master it wants to worship? Do My pics make it want to kneel and serve Me?”

“You are totally hot, Sir. Yes, Sir.”

“From its profile it struck me as a real-need slave. A slave who is a good fit for a total-control Master. What emotions is it experiencing currently?”

“Sir, it is feeling nervous and submissive, Sir.”

“Is it nervous because it knows that this is right situation and chemistry and that I’m going to move this along quickly?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“The important thing at this point is that it listens to its desires. its actions will be determined by Me. I can get it to the place it ultimately wants to be, but it will have to obey ALL of My instructions to the letter from this point forward to get there. Is that clear slave?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“First things first, slave. Until I make My final decision on collaring it permanently, it is provisionally collared. it is my property for evaluation purposes. it will put a message at the top of its profile that says ‘PROVISIONALLY COLLARED BY A MASTER. THIS SLAVE NOT PERMITTED TO INTERACT WITH OTHER MASTERS. ALL MESSAGES WILL BE FORWARDED TO ITS MASTER FOR REVIEW.’ Is that clear slave?”

“Yes Sir.”

“it is owned now, so it will start using proper slave speech etiquette. All sentences begin and end with Sir. Is that clear?”

“Sir, yes Sir.”

“That’s better. it may ask for permission to speak or to go to the bathroom. Otherwise it will only speak when spoken to. Got it slave?”

“Sir, yes Sir.”

“Before we go any further, I will need to arrange for a Master in your town to inspect it, because We/we live in different parts of the country, and report back to me. In preparation for that inspection, it will begin strict slave grooming. That means a No. 2 buzzcut and complete body shaving. The shaving will commence as soon as we finish this conversation. The buzz cut will be done by 7 p.m. tomorrow, and the slave shall shave again every morning and clean the slave ass with an enema syringe. Understood, slave?”

“Sir, yes Sir.”

“Good. It will report back via IM at 7 p.m. tomorrow night. Dismissed.”

Thursday – 7 p.m.

“Sir, Your slave is naked and awaits Your instructions, Sir.”

“Good slave. Has it fulfilled My orders?”

“Sir, yes Sir.”

“So ALL of its body hair, pubic hair, ball hair, and ass hair is gone, correct?”

“Sir, yes Sir. Sir, it is completely gone, Sir.”

“Very good. Look down at your smooth crotch, slave. Now everyone who sees it naked can tell that its a slave. its grooming is now controlled by Master. I’m sure it has looked at its buzzed hair in the mirror. I’ve removed its hairstyle. It’s gone. No more individuality. Every part of its existence will be aligned with the fact that it is a slave.”

“its inspection with be tomorrow, Friday, at 2 p.m. it will arrange to be there exactly on time. If it is 1 second late W/we are done. it will report to the Target parking lot on San Felipe at that time. it will walk around to the back of the building, stand there and wait. it will be wearing blue jeans and a white t-shirt. Master William will pick the slave up and take it to a private location for its inspection. it will obey all of Master William’s instructions and will not speak unless spoken to. If it passes inspection, it will have a lot to do this weekend, so it will clear out its schedule. Understood slave?”

“Sir, yes Sir.”

“Don’t disappoint Me, slave. Dismissed.”

Friday – 1:56 p.m.

Andy was very nervous as he sat in his car in the Target parking lot. He took a deep breath. ‘Time to get out of the car,’ he thought as he opened the door. He walked around to the back of the building. Several minutes seemed like an eternity.

A white SUV pulled up alongside Andy, and the drivers side window came down. “Master Burke’s slave property?”

“Sir, yes Sir.”

“I see. While it is in my custody it will follow ALL of My instructions without question or hesitation. Is that clear?”

“Sir, yes Sir.”

Master William put the car in park and got out. “This way, slave cunt.” Andy followed Him to the back of His SUV. He opened the back doors. “Bend over and place wrists behind back.” Andy obeyed. “I said BEND OVER!” Master William pushed down on Andy’s back until his chest was on the floor of the SUV. He then peeled off a strip of duct tape and bound Andy’s wrists with it. Then He peeled off a larger quantity and taped Andy’s mouth shut, going around the back of the neck several times to ensure that it was secure. “Get in, slave.”

Andy started climbing in the best he could. Master William grabbed Andy’s ass and pushed him the rest of the way in. A small black cloth bag then was placed over Andy’s head. It had a drawstring that was pulled taut to ensure it wouldn’t come off. “Stay on the floor, slave.” The doors shut. The SUV went into drive and they were off.

2:18 p.m.

The SUV came to a stop, and the engine turned off. Andy heard the sound of the rear doors opening. He could feel his shoes being pulled off and then his pants. He felt a pull on his t-shirt and the sound of fabric being cut, then his t-shirt was pulled off of him. Andy was then pulled out and onto his feet. He felt the firm grip of Master William’s hand on his left triceps as he was being led, but could not see where he was being taken. He could feel concrete under his bare feet. He could tell he was now indoors, but it was very hot.

“Kneel, slave-cunt.” Andy complied. The bag over Andy’s head was removed and dropped to the floor. Andy could see he was in a small, nearly empty warehouse. There was a small office about 20 feet in front of where he was kneeling, the kind with windows from the waist up so a supervisor could see what was going on in the warehouse. Next to the door to the office was a metal box with holes in it, about 3 feet tall. It looked like a cage for a large dog.

Master William started taking photos of Andy from all sides with a digital camera. After snapping off a dozen or so, He ordered Andy to bend over and took a number of shots of Andy’s ass. Master William grabbed Andy’s triceps again. “Stand up, slave cunt.” Andy stood up. “Feet together. Stand at attention. That’s a good slave,” he said as he let go of Andy and started taking more pictures.

Master William then grabbed Andy by the triceps again and led him toward the office.

“We will have to wait for Master Burke to review these photos.” They stopped in front of the door to the office. “The slave-cunt will wait here until He gives us feedback.” Master William pointed to the metal box on the floor. The front and top had panels that swung open. “Sit facing the front, slave.” He helped Andy maintain his balance. After seated, a strap was placed around Andy’s neck and was secured to the back wall of the cage. It was much narrower that it looked at first. Barely wide enough to fit Andy’s shoulders.

Master William left Andy and walked into the office. Andy could hear typing on a computer in the office.

“Hey, sent you the pics …” Andy heard Master William talking on the phone, but couldn’t hear the voice on the other end. “Did you get them?”

“Good.”

— Pause —

“Yeah, this one’s exceptional. If you don’t want it I’m sure I can get a good price for it.”

— Pause —

“Nah, the slave-cunt has been completely submissive and compliant the entire time. No resistance, no hassles.”

— Pause —

“OK. Call me back in a few once you’ve finished reviewing the pics.”

Master William came out of the office. He cut a small slit in the duct tape where Andy’s mouth was, and pushed a clear flexible tube through the duct tape into Andy’s mouth. The other end went through one of the holes in the cage to the outside. He then placed more duct tape over Andy’s mouth, securing the tube in place.

“If its thirsty, drink. We’ll hear back from Master Burke on the photos shortly.”

Andy sucked on the tubing and found cool water flowing into his mouth. It felt good. Master William closed the front panel of the box, but left the top panel open, then returned to the office. Andy continued to enjoy the cool water, as his skin had accumulated a thin layer of sweat in the hot warehouse.

Another man arrived and walked in the office, not even giving Andy a glance.

“You’re late!”

“Yeah, well, traffic.”

“Never mind. I think this one’s a done deal. We might as well get it prepped.”

“Cool.”

Master Williams’s cell phone rang.

“Hello.”

— Pause —

“Great.”

— Pause —

“No problem. We’ll take good care of your property.”

The two men came out of the office and stood next to the cage.

“Is it a fresh one?”

“Yeah, but its been pretty well behaved so far.”

“We better muzzle it, just to be safe.”

“Alright.”

Andy was a bit confused and scared. The second man left for a minute and came back with a medical-restraint style leather muzzle with lots of padding through the mouth section. It had large brown leather straps that fastened behind Andy’s head. The duct tape and water tube were still in place, with the tube coming out of the side of the muzzle.

“Still getting water, slave-cunt? Suck on the tube.” Andy sucked and water still flowed in. “Good.”

“Good news,” said Master William while looking at Andy. “Master Burke has approved its photos. The slave has passed inspection. I’m leaving it in the good hands of my associate here. Just a word of advice, slave: There is nothing it can do about what is happening to it now, or what will happen to it from this point forward. So there’s no use expending energy trying to resist or fight it.”

Now Andy was REALLY scared. ‘What have I done?’ he thought. This was just supposed to be an ‘inspection.’

Master William left. The second man looked down at Andy while he placed a bed pan on the floor of the box.

“I don’t know how it got to this point in its life, but frankly I don’t give a shit. My paperwork says it is the property of a Master Burke, and all I care about is delivering the property to a certain address and collect the other half of my transportation fee. The property will piss and shit in the bed pan, and remain completely silent during shipping. If it can’t follow those instructions, I’m happy to stop the van and take my cattle prod to it for as long as it takes to get it to cooperate.”

The cage was then closed, locked, and loaded into the van. In less than one week, Andy’s fate was sealed.

Part 2

Andy was on his way — naked, caged, neck securely fastened to the back of the cage by the wide leather strap, wrists and mouth duct taped, water delivered through a feeding tube. A week earlier he was just a guy with a secret craving. Now, to his captors, he was the property of Master Burke, cargo to be transported for a fee.

Andy started to get scared. Thoughts like ‘What have I done?’ raced through his mind. He started pulling on his duct-taped wrist binds to get free. He pulled and struggled as hard as he could — and nothing. What would he do if he got his wrists free? He was still in a cage with his neck strapped and locked in place. As he realized how helpless he was, his fear escalated. By putting a profile on that website, he had triggered a chain of events that he no longer had any control over.

He desperately wanted to get out, but now he knew that wasn’t an option. Realizing that there were no choices, no options, Andy felt powerless and fully controlled. While still consciously wanting out, his internal desires betrayed those thoughts. Andy’s cock was fully erect. He could feel his heart pounding in his chest. With each beat he could feel his dick throb. Andy couldn’t comprehend it. How could he consciously not want something, yet subconsciously crave it at the same time? Why did his submissive sexual orientation demand, and thrive on, the very thing he was consciously fighting to get free of?

The truck continued to drive into the evening. During the night Andy was able to sleep, at most, 20 minutes at a time. The next thing he knew was the sound of the rear door of the truck sliding up and open. Some of the dawn light pierced the holes in Andy’s cage. It was morning. Andy had a thin layer of sweat covering his body. His mouth was parched. He sucked in through the water tube and heard that sound you get when you suck through a straw and get mostly air.

The door of the cage opened and the driver removed his bed pan, then closed and locked the cage again. Andy could hear him moving around in the truck.

“Drink, slave.” Andy tried sucking in again and got something cool, wet and fruity, like Gatorade or something. It tasted great. Then he began to feel lightheaded and dizzy. He wondered if he had just gotten too dehydrated, so he drank more, eventually sucking the bottle dry, but he only felt woozier. Then it became clear: someone had drugged his water bottle. Everything faded to black.

***

Andy awoke to new surroundings. He was now in a new cage with bars and an unfinished, rough wooden floor. He felt a different leather implement around his neck, a collar. It was somehow connected to something behind him. His tape gag was gone and replaced with a full-head harness muzzle. The muzzle had a large, cock-shaped bit that filled Andy’s mouth. His duct tape wrist binds were gone, and replaced with suspension restraints that were locked to a bar of the top of the cage over Andy’s head.

Andy looked down at his crotch. A Houdini chastity cuff was now the new home for his cock and balls. The cuff had been clamped down so tight that Andy’s balls were bulging out from either side of the stainless-steel tube, and his sack skin was taut. His cock began to swell inside the tube. The chastity device was held firmly in place by a leather chastity harness. The harness had a leather strap that connected to the bottom of the cuff below his balls and ran along his ass crack up to the back of the harness belt in the back. This strap was holding a large butt plug in place.

Andy looked slightly forward from his crotch and saw that his ankles now had leather shackles on them, which were locked to eyebolts on the floor of the cage. His eyes looked beyond the cage at dark concrete walls and a ceiling of 2-by-10 wooden rafters — he was in a basement of what looked like a fairly old house.

The fear started coming back to Andy as his mind raced, trying to make sense of what was happening. He realized he had no control over what was happening. Despite his fear, his cock grew increasingly uncomfortable as it kept getting harder, testing the limits of the chastity device.

There was a staircase to the right of the cage coming down from the house. Andy’s attention was drawn to it, as light peered down from the top of the stairs. Then he heard the sound of boots striking the wooden treads of the staircase. He had company. As Master Burke reached the bottom of the stairs and walked toward the cage, Andy’s heart pounded visibly through his chest.

Master Burke was wearing leather boots, a jock strap and a black t-shirt. His muscular arms made the short sleeves of the t-shirt tight. Master peered into the cage to see Andy’s cock trying to escape the confines of the chastity tube.

“Looks to me like the slave’s predicament is aligned with its slave orientation,” Master Burke concluded. “Plugging a slave in both ends is very effective. Gets the slave just aroused enough to be submissive and compliant.”

“its profile said that it needed a Master that would be aggressive about moving things along. Guess this might have been a bit more than it was expecting.”

“I’m not without ethics. I only enslave REAL NEED boys. That is, slaves who need real and permanent ownership and can’t seem to stop looking for it. See, real need slaves end up spending all their free time wanting and masturbating, or looking for a Master. All that wasted time that could have been spent serving a Master. A real need slave isn’t of any value to anyone until it is collared and put in its place.”

Master Burke opened the cage and locked a chain to the suspension cuffs, then released the collar and unlocked Andy’s ankles from the eyebolts. With the click of a switch, the chain was being hoisted by an electric winch toward the ceiling. Andy had no choice but to follow it out of the cage. Within moments, the winch was lifting him off the floor, then it stopped. Master connected two other chains from the floor to the ankle restraints, so that Andy’s ankles were about shoulder-width apart.

“This slave fits the real need slave to a T. its slave desires have grown to the point where it can’t control them anymore. it was ripe for collaring. The fact that it placed an ad offering itself on a website catering to Masters seeking real and permanent slaves was quite telling.”

Master Burke started looking over an assortment of floggers and whips, pondering which he would start with. Andy’s eyes were as big as saucers, as he knew what was coming next.

“Let’s get a few things straight, slave. I paid to have it acquired and delivered. This slave now belongs to me. This slave is MY PROPERTY — PERIOD! it has NO RIGHTS, NO CHOICES AND NO WAY OUT.”

“Releasing a real need slave is entirely non-productive. A week after release, it would either be begging to come back or searching for another Master. That’s a waste of a week of productive service. A total waste of time. That’s not good for Me as its Master or for the slave’s development. So there won’t be any release.”

“Upstairs it will be living its fantasy life as my slave. While it will still be shackled up there, it will have enough mobility to scrub My floors and toilets, serve My meals, and to serve My dick. In contrast, down here, in the basement, is a life of misery. This is not a play space. It is designed for training and punishment.”

“Once I break its will, it will be allowed to progress upstairs to serve Me. During that service to Me, if I have the slightest problem with it, it will taken back down here for further whipping and training. How much time it spends down here is up to it. If it ends up down here more than I would like, I will increase the intensity of the whipping to make it more effective. We can do it the easy way or the hard way.”

Andy’s eyes were as big as saucers. He thought his heart would explode through his chest, it was beating so hard. The fear had him twitching with nervousness. Yet his face and chest became flush. He had a lump in his throat, and his cock swelled even more within the chastity tube. ‘OMG,’ Andy thought, ‘I’m in fucking deep shit!’

“We’re going to start with some simple affirmations. For now, the muzzle will stay in place. I will know what it is trying to say. it must first accept what it is, and that’s My slave and property. So when I ask it what this thing is, the only appropriate reply is ‘Sir, this thing is Your slave Sir. Sir, this slave is Your property, Sir.'”

“So slave, what is this thing in front of Me?”

Andy hesitated, not understanding how he could respond with the muzzle in place.

“Goddammit!” Master Burke picked up a flogger and started working Andy over. You could hear the sound of it swinging thought the air, followed by the thud of it striking Andy’s skin, then by the sound of Andy’s discomfort, muffled by the gag.

Whoosh – Thud – “MMMFF”

Whoosh – Thud – “MMMFF”

Whoosh – Thud – “MMMFF”

Whoosh – Thud – “MMMFF”

Whoosh – Thud – “MMMFF”

“See, it can make sounds. Isn’t that right, slave?”

“Answer Me, faggot!”

“MMM – MMM – MMM”

“Hmmm, see, it said ‘Sir, Yes Sir.’ I can usually get it based on the context. So let’s start again. What is this thing in front of Me?”

“MMM, MMMM MMMMM MM M MMMMM MMM. MMM, MMMM MMMMM MM MMMM MMMMMMMMM MMM.” [Translation: 'Sir, this thing is Your slave Sir. Sir, this slave is Your property Sir.']

“LOUDER!”

“MMM, MMMM MMMMM MM M MMMMM MMM. MMM, MMMM MMMMM MM MMMM MMMMMMMMM MMM.”

“Pathetic! The slave is going to be whipped for weeks at this rate. Perhaps it doesn’t understand how serious I am about this.” Master Burke traded his standard bull-hide flogger for a braided cat. “Maybe this will get more cooperation. Each time I finish a set of lashes, the slave will tell me what it is. If I hear more conviction than the last time, the next set will consist of one lash. But if I hear less conviction, the next set will be 10 lashes. Since I was unimpressed by the last one, we start with 10.”

Whoosh – Thud – “MMMFF”

Whoosh – Thud – “MMMFF”

Whoosh – Thud – “MMMFF”

Whoosh – Thud – “MMMFF”

Whoosh – Thud – “MMMFF”

Whoosh – Thud – “MMMFF”

Whoosh – Thud – “MMMFF”

Whoosh – Thud – “MMMFF”

Whoosh – Thud – “MMMFF”

Whoosh – Thud – “MMMFF”

“MMM, MMMM MMMMM MM M MMMMM MMM. MMM, MMMM MMMMM MM MMMM MMMMMMMMM MMM.”

“Better!”

Whoosh – Thud – “MMMFF”

“MMM, MMMM MMMMM MM M MMMMM MMM. MMM, MMMM MMMMM MM MMMM MMMMMMMMM MMM.”

“Nope. That one pisses me off slave…”

Whoosh – Thud – “MMMFF”

Whoosh – Thud – “MMMFF”

Whoosh – Thud – “MMMFF”

Whoosh – Thud – “MMMFF”

Whoosh – Thud – “MMMFF”

Whoosh – Thud – “MMMFF”

Whoosh – Thud – “MMMFF”

Whoosh – Thud – “MMMFF”

Whoosh – Thud – “MMMFF”

Whoosh – Thud – “MMMFF”

This went on for 20 minutes. The skin on slave andy’s back and ass cheeks were red and welted, with abrasions everywhere. The slave couldn’t think by this point, because all of its energy was going into trying to comply with Master Burke’s expectations.

“Very good, slave.” Master Burke unlocked the mouth insert, but left the head harness in place. “Now we start again so that I can hear it say the words.”

Whoosh – Thud – “MMMFF”

“SIR, THIS THING IS YOUR SLAVE, SIR. SIR, THIS SLAVE IS YOUR PROPERTY, SIR.”

“Not good enough!”

Whoosh – Thud – “MMMFF”

Whoosh – Thud – “MMMFF”

Whoosh – Thud – “MMMFF”

Whoosh – Thud – “MMMFF”

Whoosh – Thud – “MMMFF”

Whoosh – Thud – “MMMFF”

Whoosh – Thud – “MMMFF”

Whoosh – Thud – “MMMFF”

Whoosh – Thud – “MMMFF”

Whoosh – Thud – “MMMFF”

“SIR, THIS THING IS YOUR SLAVE, SIR! SIR, THIS SLAVE IS YOUR PROPERTY, SIR!”

After another 20 minutes of affirmations and whipping, Master Burke was satisfied for the moment. He placed two dog bowls on the floor in front of the slave. One was filled with milk, the other with dog food.

“My slave hasn’t eaten in some time. We have a lot of training ahead, so it will need to keep its energy up.”

Master Burke lowered the winch, and in a few moments His slave was on its hands and knees.

“Lap it up, slave! If it leaves a single crumb, there will be hell to pay.”

The slave feverishly consumed its dog food and milk. Ironically, it was so hungry and thirsty that all civility was gone from how it normally ate. The food and milk was completely devoured in a matter of a few minutes.

“Now it will show Me how appreciative it is for that meal by licking my boots.”

“Sir, yes, Sir.”

“Now, slave!”

The slave started licking Master’s boots.

“it is obviously not that appreciative!” Master Burked switched on the winch again and hoisted the slave up, then locked the cock mouth piece back into the muzzle. “I was going to let it rest, but apparently We/we have more work to do.”

“Mere compliance is not enough, slave. it will put all of its mind, body and soul into fulfilling my orders and all of its slave duties! Perhaps 50 more lashes will make it get the point.”

Note from Metal: This story by slave4Strict713 is one that was found on the internet by a Metalbond reader and emailed to me. I do not know how to reach slave4Strict713, but if you are out there, slave4Strict713, please let me know!

By Jimmy S

Hey Metal. Glad to be able to submit (pun intended) this description of how we play the game. My partner, Jack, lives far away, so real-life meetings are few. Therefore when we need a bit of bondage, we have to coordinate carefully. But if no contact is possible, any keys to freedom are locked in a box with a combo lock under the popular program Timelock for some random period of time.

But it’s much better to be controlled, we’ll all agree. So here’s a description of one such session where Jack held my keys and I was locked in a dog cage. Cages turn me on ever since being locked real time in Florida once or twice.

My own cage is the standard wire cage variety from Petco, 48 inches long, 30 inches wide and 33 inches tall. It has two doors, one on the end which is permanently locked, and the side door, which during a session is secured with much chain and the combo lock. (Before I forget, a metal file is kept in the cage for emergency use.) One can’t stretch out fully. Sitting against the back of it, legs can be extended, but head is just a tad below the top of the cage, and becomes tight when the leather hood is locked on.

To start a session, a randomly set combo lock is scanned into a jpg file and emailed to Jack. He verifies it is readable. It is then deleted from this computer, not that that matters, since I won’t have access to the computer while caged. Release will come when Jack decides, and a land line telephone is with me in the cage to receive that vital call with the combo.

Naked now, I apply whatever chains and locks necessary to restrict movement. It’s easy to go overboard at this point where the hormones are raging, but the better part of valor is discretion. A small baggie with heavy towel inside goes into the cage in case I need to pee. Maybe a bottle of an energy drink, the heavy leather hood, and the key to all its locks frozen in a two-ounce bottle of ice. Oh yeah, nothing like a hood you know. A chastity device has already been locked on, but I’m already hard with anticipation. I email Jack with starting time, then make one last systems check. Everything is in place, so I can now enter the cage and lock myself in.

There’s the click of the lock, and I know I’m in it for the long haul. It’s a delicious feeling. Now it’s time to lock the heavy leather hood on with the three locks. Done. Earplugs help deaden sound along with the thick ear pads in the hood. Now there is only blackness, and awareness of my cock straining against the plastic case.

Time stands still. I can of course wrap my hands around the ice bottle with hood keys, but I resist, knowing that it should take about two and half hours, based on past experience. I just hope we don’t suddenly have another ice age!

All kinds of fantasies fill my brain. Random thoughts also about what if something happens to Jack way out there.

The feelings of horniness cause a peaceful feeling, knowing that there’s nothing I can do either to get free or have an orgasm. Silence. Blackness.

Why did I do this? Why DO I even want this? Not sure I even want to know why. Just go with the flow. Relax, enjoy. I doze off with no idea for how long.

How much later? Don’t know, but I feel the bottle and the ice has melted and I now have the key to unlock my hood. Partial freedom at last. But not total freedom, because Jack still controls, and I just stare at the phone.

In the cage with me are those painful clover clamps, and a life-sized silicone dildo for sucking on. These, plus a certain medium-sized insertable plug, are there to entertain me until the phone rings eventually. No clock, no computer, and no idea of what time it is.

Yes, eventually the phone rang, and release was at hand. (Another pun? Forgive me.)

Now if any reader thinks about doing this, make sure you trust your long-distance partner, especially if you forgot to have a metal file in the cage. That will work to cut the heavy chain, but it is a long and slow process. What if the locks jammed on the hood? A single-edged razor blade was in the cage to use to cut the expensive hood off. Not a good option.

All in all, it’s a good ride, especially if you haven’t cum in a week. (Grin.)

Sincerely bound,

Jimmy S

By old boy bill

Chapter 1: Finally Meet

We/we had corresponded on recon and aol for several weeks.  Apparently what HE wanted and what I needed were dead on.  He said He had strong need for control.  As a boi-slave, I needed to be controlled.  He got hard inflicting pain.  I needed pain.  He got turned on by bondage.  I crave bondage, not symbolic or fake, but real straps, a real straight jacket, inescapable until He lets me out.

So, finally a session.  I travel a lot and need to tack sessions onto my trips, either outbound or inbound.  Travel gives me the excuses I need:  “flight cancelled,” “weather delay,” “air traffic control delay.”  They all work at one time or another.  He’s in Baltimore, so I made this biz trip out of BWI.  Told my boss it was cheaper than PHL, Philly, my regular airport.  The session would be held at His house.

I packed all my gear in my black kit bag:  wrist and ankle cuffs (lockable), leather slave collar (lockable), my favorite punishment hood (lockable), as well as a new CD I got which was brutal to wear.  He took a liking to my description:  small metal cock cage, penis tube, ball stretcher, and a large metal ass ball on a metal cantilever to the stuff in front.  Lockable.  Plus some Foley caths and lots of needles.  He said He liked needles.  I’ve had my tits pierced, but I wanted to have my nuts skewered while in bondage.  I also welcomed Him to make a pin cushion out of my ass, if it so pleased Him.

Part of the excitement of this session was the unknown.  In the e-mails we talked about what turned Us/us on, but I didn’t really know what He was going to do.  I gave Him carte blanche within the normal hard limits:  no scars, no scat, no drugs.  I also added that piss was OK.  He said His big turnon was to put on His Leathers and take control and I very much wanted to give Him that gift.  In return I would get bondage and pain, abuse and maybe a good fucking.

But, truth be told, we hadn’t met first, only corresponded.  His pic on recon was dynamite:  confident, relaxed pose, every inch a Master.  He was sitting on a chair wearing leather shorts, a slim leather vest open to show a good chest, and big, sexy black boots.  Only his lower face could be seen; the rest was hidden by a black leather partial face hood and skull cap, I think they’re called “executioner’s hood” or something like that.  His hands lightly cradled his crotch package, which bulged nicely.  I wanted to crawl over to Him, nuzzle his pouch until He let me suck Him off.  Then He would beat me on the back with a whip.

For the session, I had given Him an idea from another Master I suffered under:  slave would knock and enter open door.  Master would be in another room.  Slave strips, locks on wrist and ankle cuffs, slave collar from the kit bag.  Then it straps on a blindfold which had been laid out on the floor by the Master.  Suitably ready, the slave lays on the floor legs straight, arms out in a cross, face to the carpet.

When ready, the Master enters and places His booted foot on the slave’s neck, declaring the boy His slave, working His boot up and down the slave’s back and ass, hurting him, almost standing on the boy, who grunts and groans from the pain.  The cool element here is that the blindfold is never removed, not until the boy is ready to leave – and it gets dressed again in an empty room.  He never sees the Master and has no idea of what the Master actually looks like, other than the recon picture.  It keeps a strong element of mystery to the whole scene.  So that’s what He said would happen.

I get there, park my car in His driveway, and take my kit bag in.  I knock on the front door and enter.  He has left it open.  I walk into an empty foyer, and directly notice the black, leather blindfold on the floor.  Yup, this must be the right place!

I strip down, put the ankle and wrist cuffs on and the slave collar and then apply all the locks to the buckles.  I have the keys color-coded to the locks on a chain, which I put on the floor for Him.  I lay out the punishment hood, the nasty CD, and my offering of a huge variety of syringes and needles.  Then I put the blindfold on and buckle it tightly in the back.  Darkness.  The true world of the slave.

As agreed, I lay down on the floor in a cross shape, my face to the carpet and enter the waiting period.  The house is warm and I start to sweat a bit.  This period of anticipation drives me nuts.  There’s a huge cold knot of fear in my stomach:  what would He be like?  Was He really “safe and intense?”  Just how far would He go in the tortures?  But there’s also the feeling of trust and confidence.  This is critical to safe and sane BDSM.  Frees the slave up to cede control to the Master.

I hear footsteps approach, booted footsteps.  The Master approaches the slave and puts His Boot onto the slave’s neck, grinding down.

“I am your Master, boy.  You are my slave,” He says quietly, moving His Boot up and down my back, grinding the sole into my skin, my ass, my legs, asserting Control.  “I am dressed in My full Leathers.  You are naked.  That’s the way it should be,” He adds, still grinding away.

I groan from the pressure on my back and ass.

He orders the slave to his knees, allows him to nuzzle His crotch, which is still covered by the leather shorts.  Then, when He is ready, he lets the slave suck Him off, directing its head with His Hands.  The Master may or may not cum, His decision.  If He cums, the slave will swallow every precious drop, continuing the suck until the Master ends it.

The Master needs to inflict bondage and pain.  So the slave is spread eagled either hanging from the ceiling in chains or stretched out tight on a bed.  The room is warm and both Master and slave are sweating.  The Master uses a variety of straps and whips on the boy’s back and ass.  It is a heavy beating leaving painful welts.  The Master rubs salt over the bruises to disinfect them and cause the boy more pain.

“Now we’re going to put the special CD on you,” He then announces.

This is one of the Main Events the boy had been anticipating for weeks.  Due to the complexity of the CD, the boi has to put it on.

“You may raise the blindfold just enough to see what you are doing.  If you look any further or look up, the session will end and I will not keep you as a slave.”

“Sir, yes, Sir!” was my standard answer.

He handed me the CD, which was made of heavy metal.  I have one small nut and one very big nut and need to lasso them both with cord to keep them under control.  I wound the black cord around my nuts, looped a double knot, and pulled them out away from my crotch.  Then I slid the ball stretcher bracket over the base of my nut sack and screwed the two bracket parts together.  I had modified the brackets to make the clearance between them smaller, again so the little guy wouldn’t slip out.

Then I swung up the main retention ring and asked Sir to hold the two halves together while I maneuvered the cock cage.  I lubed up the penis tube with antibiotic and slowly slipped the thing onto my cock.  I always enjoy the feel of the penis tube as it forces its way into my urethra.  I modified this also by adding a 3-inch length of plastic tubing so the tube extends even farther.  The cock cage has a metal piece at the top with a hole in it to receive the tabs sticking up from the ring.  Master slips the tabs in and applies the brass lock.  He had the key on a chain around his neck, along with all the other bondage keys.

He reaches over and pulls the blindfold down, shutting out the small slit of sight and returning the boy to its natural, dark environment.

“I’ll put the ass plug in, boy,” He said.

“Sir, yes, Sir!” I reply, spreading my legs and bending over.

He applies some spit to the ball, positions it over my asshole, and roughly shoves the thing home.

I grunt as the big ball forces my asshole muscle open, but the ball goes in – and the incredible sensations from this unique CD flood me.  The ball pulls all the front equipment down and back.  This puts a good stretch on your balls and angles the cock cage down.  It hurts!

Chapter 2: Confinement

“Now the hood, boy,” He says.  “Kneel down!”

“Sir, yes, Sir!  Sir, thank You, Sir!” I say dutifully.

He drapes the hood over my head, keeping the blindfold on.  This hood is a nasty hood.  It’s called a “punishment hood,” and earns its name.  There are no eye holes, not that that mattered with the blindfold.  There is a small opening for the nose, and a large, thick leather panel which covers the mouth area.  There is a hole in the center of the panel and the hood comes with various sized cock gags.  The punishment part of the hood are the straps:  one across the eyes, one forcing the mouth panel tightly against your head, and the third under the chin and up over the top of your head.  All the straps have buckles at each end and all the buckles are lockable.  All told, there are eight locks.

First, however, the hood has to be laced on.  I had asked Master in one of our e-mails to put the damned thing on as tightly as He could.  That begins with the lacing.  He pulls several crossovers tight and ties them off as He works slowly down the back.  With each tug, the leather hood presses more strongly and snugly against my head.  The sensation is slow, unstoppable confinement.  The periodic knots prevents any slip; the hood was going on the tightest I have ever experienced.  Master was very good at bondage.  He had said bondage turned him on.  Every now and then He pushes His Rock Hard Cock against my shoulders or neck.  The message was clear:  I’m enjoying this, boy, and I know you are too.

Then he pulls the straps brutally tight, putting my head into a vice grip of leather.  I have to close my eyes when the blindfold and eye pads crush in.  The mouth panel straps pull the thick leather panel firmly against my lower face, barely leaving room for my nose to breath.  That was another aspect of the “punishment” part.  Breathing took careful control and attention.  The worst strap, however, was under the chin.  This forces the lower part of your mouth up and makes it very difficult to even swallow.

He attaches all the buckle locks.  I hear faint clicks as each locked guaranteed the hood was going to stay on until He decided to take it off.

Then He decides to face fuck me through the opening in the mouth panel.  I feel His Cock, which barely fits through the hole, fill my mouth.  He thrusts in and out a few times, groaning with pleasure.  I feel good giving my Master pleasure.  But then He decides to continue the bondage.

He pulls His Cock out and replaces It with one of the cock gags.  The gag goes tightly into the hole and attaches on the outside to two metal posts in the leather mouth panel.  The mouth panel strap has to be temporarily relaxed to thread the gag over the posts, but then He pulls it in tight again.  The posts have holes for the final locks.  Eight locks.  Count ‘em, boy, in your head.  You’re fucked!

“Stand up, boy,” He yells at me.

Once the hood was on tight, it was somewhat difficult to hear Him, but when He yelled, I could make out what He wanted.  I get to my feet, immersed in the darkness and confinement of the hood.  He steadies me with His Hand.

“I’m going to put some needles in those big tits of yours.  Stand firm and take it!” he says.

I again mumble “Sir, yes, Sir!” producing nothing but muffled gurglings.

He pinches and rubs each of my tits until they were erect.  Then the needles go in.  Hurts like hell, but I stand firm.

“I’m putting some duct tape over the needles.  Don’t want them to snag and tear,” he says.

I hear sections of tape being ripped off a roll and then he presses them to my chest, covering the needles and my nips.

“Now the straight jacket I promised you,” He says.

“Sir, yes, Sir!  Sir, thank You, Sir!” I say, but the words are totally garbled by the cock gag.

“Hold out your arms, boy!” He orders.

“Sir, yes, Sir!” is my muffled reply.  Sounds like “uhr! umm, uhr!”

I feel the soft leather of the SJ slip across my skin.  The arms are tapered and the leather tightens as the main body panel pushes against my chest.  Then He begins closing the SJ around me.  There were several straps in the back, maybe six in all.  I feel each one drawn in tight and buckled off.  The leather pulls across some of the strap bruises on my back.  Then he goes through another round and takes each strap in one more hole.  More pain from the welts.  The SJ completely compresses my torso.  There are minor breathing problems, in that I can’t take in a deep breath.  But the tightness compounds the breathing problems with the hood.  My breathing is loud in my head and I could hear my blood rush.  I also started to sweat.

My arms are now crossed over my chest, further tightening the leather.  That’s the step that really tells you you are in for a difficult confinement.  A SJ is not forgiving in the slightest when it’s put on as tightly as He did.  He pulls the arm ends together behind my back, tugs to get them tight, and straps them off.  I feel several keeper straps going around my arms in the front.

The crotch straps are next.  He threads them up between my legs, pulls in tightly, and buckles them off in front.  Every fucking strap is tight.  And THIS bondage was truly inescapable.  The locks on the hood seemed silly in light of the fact that my arms are encased in strapped-in-tight leather.  I can hear the locks rattling if I move my head.  The locks do add to the idea of inescapability.  I feel like I was descending deeper and deeper into a pit.  This was going to get worse.  But, then again, that’s what He wants and that’s what I want.

He grabs my arms and orders me to follow Him.  He moves slowly so I wouldn’t topple over or lose my balance.  I feel the backs of my legs push against something.  From the height, it feels like the seat of a chair.

“Sit down carefully,” He yells at me.

I plop down onto the chair, pushing the ass ball of the CD high up my rectum.  My balls press against the chair seat, which feels wooden, and I groane from the jolt of pain.

Then He straps several belts around me, securing me to the chair.  Three go around my upper body, pushing me firmly against the chair back.  Then he moves my knees way apart and straps my lower legs to the legs of the chair.

I think I hear another chair being pulled up in front of me; not sure.  But then Master lifts up my stretched balls.  They can’t move very far due to the ring and ass ball holding the stretcher part fairly firm.  He pulls them out farther and I feel something being inserted under them, holding them in the stretched position.  Feels like a piece of wood.

Chapter 3: Needlework

“Now for the special treat, boy,” Master says to me.

“Before we start, I need to know if you’re OK, boy, in the bondage so far,” he adds.

I nod my head.  I can’t tell you how gratifying this check in is.  All the good Masters do it, especially when the slave is bound up and gagged.  Yeah, it “breaks the scene” a tad, but, WTF, we all know BDSM is a dangerous game to begin with.  He said He specialized in “safe and intense.”  I was in the middle of “intense,” and it was good to also feel “safe.”  Once the slave knows the Master is being truly careful, the boy is free to get immersed in the “scene.”  I also had discussed with Him the idea of “no safe word.”  This truly frees both Master and slave, but still needs the periodic check in.  After all, got to keep the slave healthy for more torture.

Then He continues:  “I have always wanted to run needles through a slave’s nuts and now I’m getting the chance to do it,” he says, more loudly this time.  His voice is dripping with lust.

I stiffen when I hear His plans.  We had talked about this.  He wanted to do it, I wanted it done, but I am still terrified.

I had brought with me several needle and syringe sizes.  I had no idea what He was going to use, but it wasn’t long before I feel a sharp pin prick on my right nut, the larger of the two.  It’s zero hour.

He slowly pushes the needle in.  I can feel every millimeter of its penetration through my testicle.  I scream into the cock gag; the pain is terrible.  “Agh!  A-a-a-g-g-h-h!” which comes out as a muffled “Ah!  A-a-a-h-h-h!”

The needle emerges from the other side of my ball and seems to stick into whatever is under my poor ball sack.  (Found out later is was a piece of balsa wood, covered in blood).

Then he moves the needle back and forth, further agonizing my testicle.  I scream and struggle, scream and struggle.  By now my head and torso are soaked in sweat under the leather bondage.  The struggling was futile, of course, but there’s some basic instinct that makes you try to escape the torment.  I tense every muscle in my body.

Like the good Master He was, he stops and asks me if I was OK.  I nod my hooded head the best I can to indicate that I am indeed OK and want the torture to continue.

Then he starts on a second needle, this one into my shriveled left nut.  More screaming, more struggling, more agony.  Jesus, the needles really hurt.  I had no idea!  Some he plunges in fast; that produces a very sharp pain.  Most he pushes in very slowly, prolonging the pain, prolonging the terror.  It is unbelievable.  He moves the needles back and forth, intensifying the pain.  A few times he flicks his finger at the outer ends of the needles, sending lightning jolts of pain into my poor nuts.

I am sweating hard, breathing hard, pulling against the bondage hard, and mm in the sea of pain He has created.  This is His gift to the slave boy.

Finally He stops with the needles in my nuts and again checks in.

“Still OK, boy?” he asked.

I again nod, but it takes all my willpower to agree to continue.  I should have known what was coming next.

I feel a sharp pin prick on my cockhead.  My dick was trying desperately to get hard, but the tight cage pretty much shut down the whole sequence.  I feel my cock skin pressing against the metal cage, and I realize he is going to skewer my dick with more needles.  OMG, this is going to be rough!

And rough it is.  He sticks pin after pin through my dick, some more in the cockhead, most along the shaft.  Each one sends a jolt of electricity from my crotch.  The pain is intense, but I will myself to take it, to endure it, for my Master’s pleasure.  Of course, I scream a lot and continue to pull stupidly against the straps holding me to the chair.

Then He stops.  I think I hear a camera snapping, not sure.  But there is a break from further intense pain.  The pins already there make my cock and balls throb, ache in a scary way that says your basic sex plumbing has been attacked.  You’re screwed, boy, and there’s nothing you can do about it.

“I’m going to take a break, boy,” he says after the picture taking.  “Are you OK?” he again asks.

I nod vigorously.  Yes I am not only OK, I am in fuckin’ slave heaven!  Bound and gagged, locked into an unbelievably painful CD, a big frickin ball up my ass, and my cock and balls pinned to a piece of wood like some bug collection.

I continue to sweat, however.  The hood and SJ leather are tight and hot.  I still struggle a bit, whenever a sudden wince of pain shoots from my crotch.  I wonder how bloody my gonies were.  I wonder how long He will be gone.  I wonder what He will do next.  That’s the downside to being a slave in bondage:  you got a lot of mental time to worry about your situation.  You review all the pains you have been subjected to so far and wonder what’s next.

Chapter 4: A Strapping

I lose track of time, stewing there, bound to the chair, drowning in sweat.  My cock and balls still ache and if I move my body the slightest, hurt all over again.  So I have to keep myself totally still, focus on breathing, focus on the cold ball of ice in my stomach from fear of what else He was going to do, but also feel the fire in the blood that only a slave in tight bondage can feel.  He was the Master indeed.

Then I hear noises and realize He is back.  He comes over to me and plays with the needles again, making me scream and struggle in the SJ and straps.  Then he starts to take them out, some slowly, some quickly.  This part of the torture doesn’t hurt as much as I thought it would.  Then all the needles are out and he removes the piece of wood under my tortured nuts.  They drop to the chair seat, sending a jolt of pain.  Guess they would be tender for a bit.

I feel the chair straps being loosened and soon I am free of that particular bondage.  He helps me stand up and then guides me somewhere.  Let me tell you, being blindfolded and hooded is a total trip!  You have no idea of what’s going on.  Even tell tale sounds are muffled.  And the straight jacket says:  boy, you’re fucked!  There is no way you are getting out of this until He allows it.  And you have no idea what He has in mind.

He did unstrap my arms from across my chest, and it is a relief when they drop to my sides.  He slowly guides me across the concrete, saying nothing.  Then I bump into something wooden.  He moves me a few inches to the right and then puts pressure on my upper back, indicating I was to bend over.

My chest hits a horizontal pad and my arms, as they dangle down, feel vertical supports of some type.  It feels like I am draped over a small bondage bench.  He secures my legs and arms to the legs of the bench with multiple straps, and then adds two across my back.  He pulls these in especially tight, again cramping my breathing.  The metal cock cage butts against one end of the bench; my balls still ache.  And I have to hold my head up or the slave collar would dig into my chin.  The hood straps are still locked on as tight as ever and I start to sweat all over again.

He doesn’t say a word.  I can feel His Hard Dick brushing across my ass.  Feels like He had a really big Cock.  Then I feel something being brushed against my skin, something flexible, flat.  A strap, maybe?  There is a quick whoosh of air, a sharp crack as the strap hits my ass, followed by an explosion of pain.  I still have the gag in place, so my screams are still muffled.

I am surprised when I feel him unlocking the gag on my hood’s leather mouth panel.  Then He eases the gag out of my mouth.  It’s followed by tons of drool which had built up in my mouth.

“Sir, thank You, Sir!” I manage to say.

“Oh, there’s nothing to thank me for,” He says.  “I’m taking the gag out so I can hear you screaming better.  The dungeon down here is totally sound-proof, so feel free to scream.”

I was going to again thank Him, but I hear the second whoosh of air and prepare myself for the stab of pain from my ass.  “A-a-g-g-h-h!” I scream.  It does feel more satisfying to scream without a gag; the screaming somehow helps handle the pain.

Another quick lash with the belt.  Another “A-g-h!!” tears from my mouth.  I strain and struggle on the bench, pulling stupidly against the straps and accomplishing nothing except making me sweat some more in the hood and SJ.

Another, another, and another!  Scream!  Scream!  Scream!  I feel like a robo-slave:  He slashes my ass with the belt, I scream bloody murder and jolt like a puppet in the bondage.  I’ve never been strapped like this, I mean, with both a hood and SJ on.  Have to say, I asked for bondage, He delivered in spades.  In a crazy way I was happy for the tight bondage.  He had indicated that turned Him on and I was happy to give that gift to Him.

God, my ass hurts!  I lose track of the number of strokes, but my ass cheeks are now totally on fire.

He stops the strapping and I feel Him moving the metal arm connecting the ball stretcher on my CD to the ass ball.  Boom!  He pulls the metal ass ball out and unscrews the metal arm from the front of the CD.

This is followed by a few more strap lashes as my brain, saturated with pain, still realizes that there is likely a fucking in my future.

Then He stops the lashing and runs His Fingers over my bruised and likely bleeding ass (it wasn’t, I found out later; He was very good with the strap and the whip:  welts galore, but very little bleeding).  Then I feel his big Cockhead.  I can tell what It was from the engorged hardness.  There’s no other feeling  slave recognizes better than the Master’s Cockhead poised to ram home.

“Oh, yes, boy,” He says loudly.  “I liked that strapping!  You got me very, very hot right now and I think I need some release!”

Chapter 5: Merit Fuck

He moves His Cockhead up and down my crack, now sweaty from all the struggling.  I can feel it between my bruised cheeks.  Then He pulls out for a second and when He put His Cock back in, I feel the slippery lube.

He centers over my asshole and pushes eagerly.  Then He grunts and pushes really hard, blasting through my hole muscle with His Big Cockhead.  He continues to grunt as He thrusts the rest of His Tool up my ass, not so gently.  I feel His arousal and lust.  I feel like I am being assaulted by a Real Master, Who took what He wanted from His slaves.

Then His Pube Hair scratches against my skin and I feel His Hips.  The scratching rubs against raw skin and I jolt from this extra pain.  Plus, His Cock is long.  Remember, I hadn’t ever seen It yet, maybe I never would with the blindfold.  But I did suck it off and It certainly was big then!

OK, so now the thrusting starts in earnest.  The Master is going to fuck His slave.  The gift of the Man’s Cock to a slave was very gratifying.  It said:  “You did good, boy.  Here’s one of your rewards!”

The speed picks up.  I gather this was not going to be what they call a “leisurely fuck.”  He was aroused, hot, and needed to get His Rocks off up the boy’s ass.  He grunts loudly now.  He has His Hands on one of the SJ’s leather back straps and is using the strap as a fuck tool.  He moves His Cock from side to side, churning my guts.  I moan along with Him.  I also yelp a few times when His Dick hits some nerves up my ass.

I know THIS WAS IT when He really starts to fuck me hard.  He is going wild, fucking a newly bruised ass, fucking a piece of meat totally strapped down in tight bondage.  He said this was what He wanted and the boy was very happy to provide it.

Then He peaks.  “Ya!  Ya!  Ya!” he yells, bucking me hard, pulling like a Wildman on the SJ straps He is holding.  I can feel His Dick spurt inside me, another Gift from the Master.  He continues to fuck my ass, even as His Dick was softening.

Then He sort of collapses onto my back, draping his arms around mine and breathing hard with His Head right next to mine.

He stays there for several minutes.  Both of us are “spent,” Him from a good cum, the slave from the beating and the fucking.  I am drenched in sweat.  My ass aches from the recent torture.  AND my balls still ache from the needling.

Chapter 6: Pin Cushion

He finally raises His Chest from on my back.  He moves away from the bench, I guess.

“Are you still OK, boy?” He asks, moving His Head next to mine so I could hear Him through the leather hood.

“Sir, yes, Sir!  Sir, thank You, Sir! I answer, although my mouth is dry.

I was concerned about what else He had planned.  We/we had discussed several other things, but I had no idea of what order He might use – or if He would use any of the stuff, opting for something totally different instead.  That’s the really cool thing for a slave:  the uncertainty generates a real element of fear, a cold knot in the belly, but the certainty and trust that the Master was totally safe and sane made it easy to just let go, cede control to Him, for whatever He wanted.

But my thoughts are interrupted when I suddenly feel a sharp slap to my ass.

“Y-e-e-o-o-o-w-w-w!” I cry out at the sudden pain.

“Ha!” He laughs.  “That’s only the beginning, boy!” He threatens.

As I just said, I have no idea what He was referring to, other than fearing what else He might have in store.  I don’t have to wait long.

“I need to get hard, again, boy,” He says, gently rubbing his hand over my hooded head.  “And there’s more needle work I planned to do to you,” He adds.

OK, boy, I realize.  That’s what’s next.  Pin cushion, I’ll bet.  I told Him to feel free to make my ass into a total pin cushion for His Pleasure.  I didn’t know what size needles He would use, of course; that was part of the fear element.  I had brought some pretty thick gauge needles, some of them over 2” long.  Jesus, that would really hurt!  I also had some smaller pins, the ones holding a new shirt in place on the cardboard holder.  I had a bunch of them.

I think He starts off with some narrow, short ones.  He pushes the pin in sharply, takes it out, pushes it into another location, and keeps repeating this several more times until He finally let it stay in.  Then He does the same thing with another needle, using it to make half a dozen sticks before embedding it in my ass cheek.

I grunt.  The pricks hurt, but it isn’t agony.  Then the pain rams up; guess He changed to a thicker needle.  “Ah!” I yell at some of the nastier sticks.

Then it really starts to hurt and I start to scream:  “A-a-g-h-h!” reverbs in the dungeon room, scream after scream.

“Oh, yes!” He starts to yell as He continues to imbed the needles, deeper into my ass cheeks.

I scream with every thrust now.  But I am startled when He stops pricking my ass with the needles, but, instead, I feel his engorged Cockhead again moving up and down my ass crack, seeking out my hole.

Was He going to fuck me with the needles still in?  That would be awful!  We/we didn’t talk about that!

Chapter 7: Needle Fuck 

When He again forces His Cockhead through my hole, I know the worst was going to happen.  He is going to keep the needles in!

I yell in panic:  “No, no!  Stop!  Take them out!”

But I don’t use the safe word, which was “yellow light.”  That would have meant to stop and check how I was going, that I was getting overwhelmed and needed some rest.  “Red light” meant genuine distress, take me out of the bondage, game over.   I was actually going to try to endure a fucking with needles all over my ass.  I also realized He was pushing my limits, which every Master must really take pleasure in doing.

This time, when His Cock is all the way in and His Hips hit my ass cheeks, it was total agony.  I screamed like it was the end of the world.  He was pushing against maybe a dozen or so needles, moving them around in my ass flesh.  The pain is incredibly intense – but I realize He is right.  He thought I could take it and I agreed to accept this new, unanticipated level of pain.

This fuck was even quicker than the last one.  He rapidly hits high gear.  He told me later He was totally primed with the idea of fucking a slave with needles in its ass and He couldn’t restrain Himself from a quick cum.

He yells His pleasure.  I yell from the searing pain in my ass.  I can even feel my dick pressing against the metal cock cage, trying to respond to the situation.  Doesn’t work.  The cock cage is too small.

My ass is on fire!  He gives three intense hips thrusts, yells along with me, and then it was over

This time, He doesn’t stay inside me.  He pulls out, moves His Hips away from my ass, and then collapses onto my back, breathing heavily just like last time.  This time He puts His Arm around my hooded head.  I hear Him murmuring:  “Good boy.  Good boy,” as He pats me on the top of my head.  I am very proud at that moment to be His slave.  My ass cheeks and asshole throb with pain, a reminder of the gift I had just given to my most special Master.  I also feel His Jism oozing from my asshole, the gift He has given to His slave.

Chapter 8: Respite

He lays on my back for a long time.  It was a very special moment and I appreciate His lingering.  He keeps  His Hand on my head, occasionally rubbing my hooded scalp.

Then it’s over.  He gets up and I feel Him removing all the needles from my poor ass cheeks.  This doesn’t take long; He pulls them all out quickly.  Then I feel something like a coarse powder being rubbed on my ass and it instantly stings.  It’s salt.  He’s cauterizing the needle wounds, as well as making His slave feel more pain.

i yell from the intense stinging, but it doesn’t last long.  Then He unstraps me from the bondage bench and helps me straighten up.  It feels good to stand up after being strapped over the bench for such a long time.

“You did good, boy,” He says to me.  “Exceeded My expectations, in fact.”

“Sir, thank You, Sir!” I intone.

“I think we both need a beer break,” He says to me, putting His Hand on my shoulder.  “What do you say to that, boy?”

“Sir, that would be excellent, Sir!  Sir, thank You, Sir!” I respond.  He’s right, this would be a good time for a break.  I know I’m shredded!

I feel him begin to remove the SJ.  This takes a while; there are so many straps.  He pulls the bondage garment off my arms.  I suddenly feel a little cold, after having been immersed in hot sweat for so long.

Then He begins the elaborate process of unlocking and unbuckling the hood straps.  This also takes a while.

The hood comes off.  My head now feels cold.  Same deal, used to hot sweat for the past 2 (?) hours.  He does not remove the blindfold, but checks the security of the buckle behind my head.

“No, the blindfold stays on,” He says to me.

“Sir, yes, Sir!  Sir, thank You, Sir!” I answer, as required.

“I am going to lead you to my kitchen upstairs.  Don’t worry, I will guide you up the steps.  We will take a break up there.  I have some items to review with you,” He says.

“Sir, yes, Sir!  Sir, thank You, Sir!” is my answer.  That is the only proper answer a slave can give.

He grabs my right arm and gently directs me.  We go up some stairs.  He is very careful to ensure I don’t stumble.  What a caring Master! I think to myself.

At the top of the stairs We/we walk a distance and then He glides me onto a chair.  I wince and grunt as my bruised ass cheeks hit the padded seat.  My aching balls, still stretched out, are pressed into the seat cover.  I hear two brewskies being uncapped and He hands me one.

“You will continue to address Me as ‘Sir,’ of course, but I want you to know you can talk freely now.  We are taking a break from the Master/slave scene,” He says to me.

I hear a chair being pulled out.  Presumably He is sitting close to me.  I take a long swig from the beer bottle.  God, it tastes good!  My mouth is parched from screaming and the gag, and the beer is an incredible treat.

“So, boy, you’ve been through our first scene,” He says in a very friendly manner.  “Did you enjoy it?”

“OMG, Sir,” I say.  “It was one of the best scenes the boy has ever been through, Sir!” I honestly answer.

“Good, good,” He replies.  “I enjoyed it, too.  How was the pain level, boy?  Excessive?” He asks.

“Well, Sir,” I answer, “You did push the boy’s limits, Sir”  [The slave cannot use the word “I” in the presence of the Master].  “And the boy thanks You for checking in, Sir.  That really upped the slave’s confidence and trust, Sir.  The boy totally let go, Sir,” I add.

“Well, I did promise you ‘safe and intense,’” He says.  “Did I deliver?”

“OMG, Sir, in spades, Sir!” I answer.

He laughs:  “Ha!  That’s good to hear!”

There is a period of silence.  I drink more beer.

“Are you hungry, boy?” He asks.

“Sir, no, Sir!” I answer truthfully.  I had cleaned out my ass before the session and the last thing I wanted now was food.  I did enjoy the beer, though.

“We had talked about some medical scenes,” He says.

“Sir, yes, Sir!” I answer.  “Sir, I brought the foley caths with me, Sir.  You indicated You were interested in them, Sir.”  It really was strange talking with Him, but still blindfolded.  Totally diabolical.  All I had was the recon picture in my head.  That alone was impressive, but I really wanted to see Him, especially in His Leathers.

“Yes,” He replies.  “My previous boy was interested in them but We/we didn’t get a chance to try them out.  Are you game?”

“Sir, absolutely, Sir!” I answer, again truthfully.  Medical scenes have always been one of my turn ons.  I wasn’t sure of what He had in mind, though.  We/we hadn’t fleshed that out in our e-mailings.

Let me describe the unique feeling I have at this moment.  There is always a big element of fear in any BDSM session.  I mean, is the Guy really safe and sane?  You simply never know.  At this point, however, my trust level was 100%.  He had tortured me brutally, but nothing We/we hadn’t talked about.  The big factor was that He had checked in with me periodically as He escalated the tortures and abuse.  That sort of clinched it in my mind that I could cede total trust and total control to Him. At that moment the slave still feels fear – you simply don’t know what’s next, other than it will be painful.  But you can also freely give in to the fear knowing that you are in the Hands of a True Master.  He had promised “safe and intense.”  And now I knew that’s what I was going to get.  It’s a unique moment in the Master/slave relationship and I cherished it deeply.  This Guy was Special!

“Do you need a rest?” He asks.  “Maybe a nap?”

“Sir, absolutely not, Sir!  Sir, the boy is raring to go, Sir!” I respond.

He laughs again, but says nothing further for a while.  I finish off my beer and He takes the bottle from me.

Chapter 9: Medical Prep

We/we sit there a few minutes in total silence.  I wasn’t sure what was going on, but I just sat there awaiting action on His part.  The beer had tasted good, but my head was still quite clear.  Takes more than one to get the boy buzzed.  Alcohol and BDSM is never a good combination.

I hear His chair creak, interpreting this that He got up.  Then He grabs one of the D-rings in my slave collar and indicates I should get up, which I do.

“We/we are now back in Master/slave role,” He says to me.  “Mind your manners!”

“Sir, yes, Sir!” the boy answers.

Guiding me carefully, we go down the steps to the dungeon again.  I can immediately feel the warmth of the room at the bottom of the steps.

He guides me somewhere and then We/we stop.  My hip is touching something which feels like a leather or vinyl pad of some sort.

He guides me onto the pad and I lay down on my back against an angled pad .  The earlier welts throb when they touch the slick pad fabric.  My ass, however, is not touching anything.  He indicates I need to move a few inches over, which I do.  Then the bondage starts.

My arms are hanging down along the sides of whatever thing I’m on.  He lifts each up in turn, positions it against a rigid, metal holder of some type, which extends out horizontally to the sides, and then straps my arms to the metal.  He threads a short rope through D-rings in my wrist cuffs and ties the ropes off.

Then He lifts each leg way up into an angled metal holder, like stirrups.  My legs are spread widely apart and then strapped to the metal holder.  Feels like a medical examination bench, modified with restraints, with the focus on my crotch and ass.  I’m still wearing the metal cock cage, retainer ring, and ball stretcher.  At least He didn’t put the metal ass ball back in after He fucked me.

Two final belts:  one across my chest, just under my pecs; the second one across my lower stomach, a few inches above my cock.  He pulls these in surprisingly tight, especially the stomach strap.  Hurts, even, it’s so tight.

I feel Him unscrewing the penis plug from the metal cock cage.  It screws into a hole at the very front of the cock cage.  He slowly pulls the plug out.  It’s been a while since a had a good pee, so I guess I was ready for what came next:  the catheter.

He had asked for instructions for inserting the catheter via e-mail before We/we met, and I detailed each step of the insertion, first of which is lubing up the wide tube (I had brought a half dozen 24 French caths, the widest they make).  I didn’t know what He was doing until I felt the cath tip penetrate my piss slit.  It’s a wild sensation as the cath is slowly threaded up your dick.  It goes in all the way to the bladder.  You can feel it pass through the bladder entrance by a slight resistance the bladder muscle exerts.  And you have to have a towel ready because once the cath is in the bladder, any piss there shoots out uncontrollably.  Which it does.  Then you push the cath in another 4 to 6 inches.

The Foley has a small bulb at the tip which can be inflated.  I had ordered caths with the larger bulb size, 30 cc, and told Him to fill up a syringe with 30 cc water, connect it to the auxiliary port at the outboard end of the cath, and then inject the water to fill the bulb.  I can feel him doing this, and once the bulb is filled, He pulls on the cath until the bulb seals firmly against the bladder opening.

At this point the slave no longer has control of his bladder.  There are options at this point.  I also brought leg pouches which can hold several hours of piss.  Some Masters like to put the cath outlet into the slave’s mouth for direct recycle.  Some just let it drain into a jar on the floor – for future use.

There are other, more painful options also.  The cath can be used to inject stinging fluids into the bladder, or even beer.  You can block off the exit of the cath, trapping piss and gas inside.  As the beer warms up, the gas builds up tremendous pressure to pee – which is denied by the Master for as long as He wants.  The pain can get really intense.  Plus, you have the humiliation of having no control over your own bodily function.  I don’t know what He is going to do – clearly part of the torture.

Then I feel something probing my asshole, something rubbery.  It’s wide, but not as bad as the metal asshole ball I had in for the past few hours.  He pushes harder and the thing slips up into my ass.  I’m not even sure what it was.  Small dildo?  Electro plug?

Then I feel something expanding just inside my asshole, something like a bag or bladder getting inflated.  Ah ha!  It’s a Bardex enema plug.  These things have inflatable bulbs on the inside and outside of your asshole and when they are both inflated, the enema tube is firmly sealed into your gut.  Nothing gets in and nothing can leave except by way of the tubing.

He inflates the inner bag quite a bit; it starts to generate shit-pressure on my colon.  Then I feel the outer bladder being filled up with air.  As it inflates, it pulls on the inner bulb until there is a very tight seal on my asshole – just what the Bardex was designed for.

Then the enema torture begins.  I feel a surge of very cold water shoot up my rectum.  It cames in fast and my gut swells up fast.  First you feel increased pressure to crap.  Just the inner bulb alone created this, but the extra fluid magnifies it something awful.  You try to relieve the pressure, but you can’t.  You will your ass to shit, but nothing happens – except the pressure gets worse by the minute as more fluid is forced in.

Then I feel the same kind of pressure in my bladder; He was shooting water up the cath.  The pressure turns to pain which progresses to agony very quickly.  And the humiliation is that you can’t do a thing about it; He has control of two of your three holes.

I start to groan as the pain mounts and then I feel something being forced into my mouth.  It was another gag, this one a wide cock gag which filled my mouth.  OMG, I thought, now he controls all three major holes.  I’m fucked!  And I’m trapped in strap bondage to this damned exam table.

Of course I also start to struggle against the bonds – stupid but predictable slave move.  Master had told me He likes to see His vics struggle.  He’s put them in inescapable bondage, so the whole thing is pointless, but He does like to see them strain!  He said it re-emphasizes His Total Control of the slave.

Suddenly the pressure in my bladder is relieved; liquid was shooting out through the catheter.  The relief didn’t last long.  More liquid is shot in, coolish this time.

“Yeah, slave, now you’re getting some beer – only I don’t think you’ll like this brand,” He said devilishly.  He was right, as always.  The beer fills my bladder and I feel the pressure to pee.  The cath was crimped off, however, and nothing comes out.  The beer slowly warms up inside me and the true nature of the torture is revealed:  as the gas builds up, so does the pressure to pee.  It is very uncomfortable, and then actually painful.

Then he goes to work on my ass again, shooting in more cold liquid.  I guess my abdomen is bulging now; feels like a gallon of liquid was in there.  That hurst, especially as the stomach strap was on so tightly.

When you’re blindfolded, the other senses are heightened.  So it was with me:  I was aware of everything touching my body.  I feel something slimy and sticky being pushed against my lower abs.  There are several, four?  Don’t know.  He applies tape over them.

Then I realized the pads were for electro-stim.  On His orders I had brought with me the TENS unit I’ve used for years.  It’s a lot of painful fun and I have a variety of electrodes.  One problem I found was that with a metal cockcage, it’s hard to get a good stimulation of the cockhead; there’s just too much metal.  Don’t forget, in electro-stem the smaller the electrode, the nastier the current.  He knew this, too, for the next sensation is something being slipped up my dick alongside the cath.  It’s a bare wire, which I had told Him was a good way to get a strong shock to the dickhead even with a metal cock cage on.

I scream when he plunges two needles into my nuts, which are still stretched out and aching from the previous needle torture.  The gag turns my scream into an incoherent gurgle, but it still feels good to scream.  I can feel something being clipped to the needles and the realization blazes across my brain that He was going to use the nut needles as the other electrodes.  OMG, I’ve never tried that before.  How much would it hurt?  I had no idea – but seeing I was strapped down pretty tightly on the exam table, guess I would find out shortly.

Then He pulls the duct tape from over my nips.  The original needles are still there.  Again I feel something getting attached or clipped to the needles – more wires, no doubt.  He is going to give me a full electro treatment:  cock and balls, abs, and now nips.  The TENS only has two outputs, so I didn’t know what the third power source was going to be.

OK, I thought, so I’m all wired up now.  Any moment He’s going to start the electro and any moment now I’ll start screaming.

But that does not happen.  I grow increasingly apprehensive, stewing there in the bondage, wired up, nowhere to go.  He told me later that letting me just hang there, suspended between being prepared for torture and the actual start of the pain, was a good form of torture itself.  The slave’s nerves are on edge.  Apprehension mounts.  I start to sweat again, the knot of fear revisits my stomach.  The pressure in my bladder and gut transitions from uncomfortable to pain.  But I realize this pain was nothing compared to what was going to happen any second now.

Then, unexpectedly, it starts.  I feel the tingling in all the electrodes as they are activated.  Low level electro feels good, actually.  It stimulates the muscles and feels good on your cock.  The sensation of “vibration,” which is how I feel mild electro, is kind of cool.  My dick, in fact, starts to try to get hard, which pushes the shaft and cockhead against the metal bars of the cock cage.  Ouch.

He ups the current and the surge starts to hurt.  From a pleasant vibration, the vibration is now a painful stinging.  He goes higher and the pain gets intense; I start to groan and yelp from the pain in my crotch and my nipples.  I pull on the straps.  Yup, they are tight.

Another jump in current.  I yell and struggle, it really hurts now.  “U-u-h-h!”

Then a big jump in the electro level.  It makes me scream and throw my head back in agony.  “A-a-g-g-h-h!  No-o-o-o!  A-a-g-h-h!” tears from my lips, but is garbled by the gag.  It’s brutal.  He’s brutal.  He thoroughly enjoys torturing men, taking them to the breaking point, proving HE is The Master and they are worms in His total Control.

Then He varies the current levels in the different electrodes.  He also changes the frequency.  Sometimes it was a low, throbbing pain.  Then He ups it to intense stinging.  Then a steady buzz, followed by back to the spaced out pulses.  The pain plays with your body.  The changes in electro levels plays with your mind.

I lose track of time.  Sounds like a cliché, but it’s true.  You get into a zone where you are immersed in the pain, nothing else exists except the punishing torture in your body.  He varies it to keep you focused, make sure you are aware of every element He is inflicting on you.  You scream, struggle, pull against straps like a crazy person, scream some more.  Sometimes you start to cry.

My crotch is on fire.  The electro to my nuts by way of the needles is excruciating and my cockhead is throbbing from the current.  My pecs are involuntarily spazing and the current stings my nipples severely.

On and on the torture goes.  My throat is now hoarse from screaming and the straps are starting to chaff against my skin.  The “zone” I thought I was in is getting a little fuzzy around the edges.

Then it stops.  The pain, the electricity, the vibration, even the screaming.  It gets very quiet and still.  I am left breathing real hard to catch my breath.  Maybe I hear some pictures being taken, maybe I don’t.  Doesn’t matter.  I just hang there in the bondage, very proud of my Master, very pleased with what He has given me:  wave after wave of purifying pain.

I feel Him pat me on the top of the hood.

“Good boy,” He says.  “You did good, boy.”

That is a slave’s ultimate praise, at least verbally.  He removes all the electrodes.  The nut needles hurt going out.  He leaves the nip needles in but disconnected the wire clips.  He left the cath up my dick, but deflated the Bardex bulbs in my ass.  When He pulled the enema plug out, I couldn’t help myself.  There was a gusher of liquid.  He told me later He used a special bucket to capture all the mess from my ass, and then dumped it down the toilet.

Then He helped me off the exam bench.  From the feel of it I realized I was back on the fuck bench.  After restrapping me to the bench, He gave me a slave’s ultimate gift:  He fucks me long and hard.  It was fantastic!

Chapter 10: Goodbye, boy

After He came, He pulls out and gives me one last, hard slap across the ass.

“Sir, thank You, Sir!” I say, hardened into my slave role.

He unstraps me from the bench and helps me up.  Following His guidance, I walk a bit and feel myself in a much cooler room.

“You will wait two minutes, boy, and then remove the blindfold, and all the other stuff.  You will pack up your stuff, except for the chastity device and all the needles.  I will keep the CD here and use it on other boys, as well as put the needles to good use.  Take your cuffs and collar.  And the hood.  The keys to the locks are on the floor.  Leave Me the key to the CD.”

He puts His Hand on my shoulder.  “Good bye, boy.  You did good.  I enjoyed this.  I might consider another session.”

“Sir, thank You, Sir!” was the only reply I can make.

I hear a door close behind me, but I wait about two minutes and then follow His orders.  Luckily the room was not too bright when I remove the blindfold.  It was the same room I initially entered hours earlier.  I feel like I have finally returned to planet Earth after visiting planet Pain.  My whole body hurts as I bend down to lay the folded blindfold on the floor and pick up the keys.  My nips and nuts ache from the abuse.  I unlock the CD and carefully take it off.  What a relief!  That thing is a torture all by itself.  I can see why He’d want to use it on other boys.  I remove its key from the chain and leave it on the floor beside the gleaming metal device.

I pack up the cuffs, collar, and hood in my black kit bag and open the front door.  The daylight outside blinds me for a few seconds.  Before I close the front door to His house, I yell back in:  “Sir, yes, Sir!  Sir, thank You, Sir!”

And then I get in my car and drive to the airport.  My ass hurts from the whipping and the needles, a very nice souvenir I will have to endure for the plane ride to Houston.

“Sir, yes, Sir!  Sir, thank You, Sir!” I say out loud several times on the interstate.  The pain of the session still reverbs in my body.  This Guy was good, really good.

The end

By Johnny Gear

One of the first football games of the season, he decided we should go out to a sports bar with a remote electro box with a butt plug while the game started. It was difficult to order, let alone eat my burger as he kept upping the intensity while we ate. And then of course while as we’re leaving he decides to make it even more difficult for me to walk out by boosting it even more. I’m sure I had a funny limp as the tingles shot down my leg trying to walk past all these football fans out of the bar.

Incidentally I’m not much of a football fan, so Sir tends to tie me up while he’s watching a game. The gear is yummy, but I’d rather be tied up in it than watch it on TV. Since one of his housemates and I were harassing him about rarely using hoods on us, he put me in my metal neck-to-wrist stocks with a leather isolation hood. Since the electro was still going at my ass, I didn’t have much else to concentrate on besides trying to discern from the announcers when the game was over.

So that was a really horny situation. Eventually the game ends, and Sir comes over to me on the couch and unlocks my (his) cock and starts playing with it. We both enjoy edging each other a lot. Since I’ve been in chastity for so long, I get worked up pretty quick. The restraints, hood and electro plug help too, of course. A few rounds of the plug building up to almost unbearable, combined with Sir stroking my cock to near orgasm a few times, I’m really ready to shoot.

A practical aside, when Sir and I edge each other we usually warn the dom when we’re close by yelling “Stop.” Sir had gotten me to the point where I was ready to shoot no matter what, though, and I sure as hell wasn’t going to warn him I was close. Unfortunately for me, he seemed to have figured out when I was close anyway. There was this agonizing half hour where I’d get really amazingly desperately close, I could almost feel the waterworks starting up. And then Sir’s hand disappears. And he starts all over again. Sometimes he’ll hardly wait to start up again. I might’ve gotten to that amazingly desperate close place five times in a row before he’d let off for more than a few seconds.

It was probably close to a half hour that he kept me in that state. Your sense of time sort of turns off at that point. That climax over and over again, hoping the next one will be it. Sir getting me closer and closer. Maybe this time I’ll get to shoot? DAMN!

It’s pretty rare for me to have an orgasm without screaming at the top of my lungs. So when Sir finally did let me shoot, holy cow. I was probably screaming for a good minute after I had shot, the resulting fireworks were that great. Sir was confused ’cause he wasn’t touching me at all and had shut off the electro right away. He couldn’t figure out why I was still screaming. His housemates who were in other rooms at the time were all pretty impressed too.

I blog a bit about my chastity stuff too at johnnygear.net, if you’re interested. Enjoy!

Best,

Johnny Gear

Metal would like to thank Johnny Gear for sharing the awesome true-life adventure!

By Rob

Everyone, especially those of us who are into kink like leather, rubber, bondage, SM or any of its derivatives, has a particular set of fantasies that usually evolve from experience to the nest. There are those fantasies that persist even after experience or multiple similar experiences.

Sometimes I feel like I lose interest in everything.  Surfing through porn sites and watching videos seems perfunctory at best. Then, without looking an image or thought arrives that touches the id, stirring desire and causing a swell of adrenalin.

There was a Leo Ravenswood drawing that I wish I could find again.  The drawing was of a guy bound to a stool.  He wore a head harness that was tied to the closet rod above his head.  His arms were tied behind his back.  Another man reached into the closet to deposit his cap on the shelf above his captives head.  My partner (Master at the time) didn’t understand the psychology behind long term bondage at the time but we cleared out a closet on the third floor of our house and played out the fantasy many times.  He eventually perfected the situation so that I could barely move and an accident would be nearly impossible.  I could put myself into this bondage predicament if I felt the need.  I relied on Master to free me.  A friend named Chris lived with us. Although he said he wasn’t into kink, we could rely on him take care of the house and occasionally me when I was in trouble.

What I liked about this particular scenario was the idea of being stored like an object.  There was one day when the predicament turned from play into a sort of reality.  Master’s cousin came to visit that day and Master wanted me out of site while he was there.  Master took me up to the closet that morning and locked me away until almost midnight when his cousin left to catch his red-eye flight. It was the longest time that he put me into storage.  I actually felt like an object late in the day as I became tired and bored.

To get to this level in our relationship took time and trust.  We also had to reach the level where one of us really submitted to the other.  We also reached the level when infatuation was less of a driving force in the relationship than love and respect for each other.

So the reason that I am writing this is the picture that appeared on the Metal’s blog.  It is almost an exact situation that I lived out for several years.  Sometimes I was bound and told to stand quietly in a corner of a room.  Sometimes I was bound that way and left in the horse barn with a wood dowel under my arms to hold me up if I became too fatigued to stand or fell asleep.  It kept me from accidently hanging.

I was easily accessed while in the house.  Master loved spanking more than any other kink. The ottoman in front of his chair stored his favorite spanking toys.  He had me lay over his ottoman while he watched Television and took out his hatred of commercials on my ass.  He also removed the gag from the head harness and “fucked my head” as he called it.  I was also helpless when he wanted to fuck me.

I got tired of being bound almost every night but his was his idea.  To get what I enjoyed I submitted to his enjoyment.

So this picture stimulated me in such a way that I could feel my body chemistry react in the same way that it did in our early days together.  It was fear, adrenalin, a drop in blood pressure, hopelessness, excitement, dick stiffening, boredom but most of all it was the feeling of actually fully committing myself to Master enough to completely submit to him.

The picture above is from Bound Jocks

The shoulder-to-wrist restraint available from Mr S.

By Houdini1961

Well, I finally had my overnight bondage scene. I was edgy and excited about it all day long. I kept looking at the clock, thinking to myself … “in 7 hours I will be bound up with no way out,” “in 5 hours I will be bound up,” etc.

I tested the timer that would turn the light on at 9 a.m. over and over again.

What if the power went out? Or the timer didn’t go off for some reason? I guess that was part of my nervous excitement about it. Pretty much foolproof but “What if?”

I got all my items ready, Hiatt Handcuffs, chains, padlocks, 2 combination locks, timer, remote control, piss bottle and then nervously called the Master on my cell phone at 1 a.m. He instructed me to lock one of the combination locks on my balls. I did. He instructed me to wrap the chain around my ankle and lock it on with the other combination lock. I did. He instructed me to lock the Hiatt handcuffs on myself. I most eagerly did.

There I was, locked down for the night.

Then he instructed me to throw the keys to the Hiatts across the room. Oh fuck! This was getting to be very real! I chucked them far away from the bed and they clanged against the closet door. He then told me to use the remote control to turn off the lamp, which was across the room. I did. Now in total darkness, my only lifeline now, my only way out of this, was the lamp remote control i was holding in my hands.

He ordered me to toss it across the room. I DID!

Wow, what a feeling of being controlled i experienced right then. Then something hit me. Oh shit! One thing I or the Master did not think about it.

Any guesses?

My cell phone I had in my hand, which Master wanted kept by my bed overnight in case of an emergency, had a light bright enough on it that I would be able to see the letters on my ankle chain combination lock. And therefore I could escape. I begged Master to order me to toss the phone on the floor away from the bed. I needed this no-way-out bondage really bad!

He said it was against his better judgment but then said, “Throw the phone on the floor faggot slave!”

I tossed it away along with any chance of escaping before 9 a.m.

And you know, after all the hard-ons I had over the last few days thinking about this and even having a bit of precum oozing out of my cock right then, a feeling of peace and comfort overtook me. This is what I wanted and needed for a long time — inescapable, no-way-out bondage from a caring Master.

Course, don’t get me wrong, I humped the bed many times overnight, thinking about my predicament. I slept crappy, waking up over and over again from my own rattling of the chain around my ankle.

I lied there thinking, “this is fucking it, I need to be controlled and bound up as much as possible, I need to be a bondage slave, something locked on me at all times to make me feel I am owned.” I yelled out to my faraway Master: “Please Master, own it, lock it up, cage it, cuff it, whatever you want.”

“Strap it up and suspend it upside down like a piece of meat.”

“Keep it prisoner, you decide when and if it leaves the house.”

“Lock it up in your car trunk when travelling.”

“Lock up its cell phone, wallet and credit cards. Control its online profiles, change them, change its passwords on it, control its online life!”

“Make it eat your cum and drink your piss.”

“Shave it, tattoo it, ring it.”

“Make it so it can never get away … slave contract, power of attorney, it doesn’t care, whatever it takes to ensure total permanent bondage slavery!!!!!”

And the best part of all … it believes this MASTER will do just that!!!