Afternoon Castration

Placing Castration Bands with Elastrator

Castrated. Damn…hard to believe, but it happened, sure as shit it did, and I’ll never forget that slice of the knife as long as I live. Nope, that is imbedded in my brain like it was yesterday.

It all started over a girl, like a lot of things I suppose. My girl. The boy’s name was Dakota Jennings, and he went after my girl and she fell for the bastard and I don’t know why. But after she dumped me, I was mad as hell, and when you are mad and a horny teenager and missing the senor prom because some jerkwad has stolen your girl then sometimes you do what has to be done.

Now, I wasn’t stupid. I knew enough for example not to try to capture the bastard by myself, because he was one hell of a strong kid and I sure as hell knew enough to know that. He was a swimmer, with that perfect body of a developing adolescent and the real truth was that I envied him. He was a jock, plain and simple, while I was a lanky 130 pound 18 year old with a pencil dick. I had acne too; not too extreme I suppose but still there non-the-less, and I grew my hair long and it covered my ears. Dakota on the other hand had that clean cut short hair all American look that pissed me off, and which the girls seemed to craze. He had perfect blue eyes and a perfect orthodontic smile and a set of six-pac abs, and along with all that he had perfect grades, and I hated him.

He and I had shared a senior gym class, where the jock ruled and I was the laughing stock, and while I hated every minute he seemed to relish it. One thing I knew from that class was that he was hung too, at least in the balls department, and I had seen him in gym enough times to know the kid had a big set of bullocks. Huge would be a better description! God, when he pulled off his jock after sweating through class they literally swung between his legs, like two big plumbs ripe for the picking! I think it was the fact he was so proud of them, and also because of the way they seemed to emphasize his manliness, that I decided to take them. I knew enough to know that once he’d lost is balls his interest in Linda would dry up in a hurry, and from my way of thinking, she’d come back to me once I turned her new boyfriend into a eunuch.

I knew why she had taken a liking to him. Hell, all the girls liked him. And next to Dakota I looked like a boy. For one thing, I was rail thin, and I didn’t have much in the way of the muscle department. I tried to compensate by going over to the EMO look, with my jet black hair and deep brown eyes. I had a tongue piercing, and two earrings in one ear, and I was looking at tats and hoping to get one in the near future. I had been in trouble a few times with the law, did some drugs and got caught at it, and also had ripped off a few homes that only Linda knew about. So, I guess I was a kid going nowhere, while he on the other hand was heading for college and an oh-so-perfect future upper-class life.

It was all so unfair! And, it even went so far as sexual development. At 18 I had two little patches of black hair under each armpit, and another small little patch above my five inch dick, but other than that I was as smooth as a ten year old. My legs were for the most part devoid of hair as well, and there wasn’t even a thin line between my navel and my dick. My chest was totally smooth, and my flat stomach didn’t have a sign of muscle. Shit—to be a senior in high school with a little boy look was embarrassing as hell, and I was certainly humiliated by the way my body was turning out. It didn’t help my balls were small, at least they were next to most of the guys in gym class, and of course I got laughed at regularly. Dakota was a jock, a man in every since of the word, with a big cock and a massive set of nuts and that oh-so-perfect body all guys wish they had. Then, he took my girl, and after that at night I would jerk off my thin cock to the thought of castrating Dakota, and I’d shoot my watery load onto my chest to the fantasy of stealing his nuts. It slowly became an obsession, and I worked out the details, and I was living for the day when I would cut off his nuts and make him envy my balls, as unimpressive as they were.

My plan wasn’t very sophisticated, but from my perspective it didn’t have to be, and I put it in place shortly after the school year had ended. I knew Dakota worked at a burger joint after school, trying to earn money for college, and it didn’t take much to figure out when he worked and more importantly when he got off. I set it up for a Saturday afternoon, as his shift ended, and paid off three guys to get him tied down for me. I didn’t tell them I was gonna castrate the fuckwad, no, I didn’t tell them that. I just told them I wanted to teach him a lesson, to whip his ass with a belt, and I needed him tied down and helpless so I could do it to him. I knew the kids from a YMCA camp my parents had made me go to the previous summer, which had been attended by a few inner city kids that I had gotten to know. They thought it was funny as hell, and for $20 each they grabbed him after he left work and dragged his ass out to the edge of town, at a place we all just called “the pit.” It was next to a catfish pond, and there was a junkyard of sorts there, which included a number of worn out washers, dryers, and even a couple of old refrigerators. The place was abandoned, except on occasion a guy would take his girl there to park, or to smoke some weed. But for the most part nobody went there, and I knew on a Saturday afternoon it would almost certainly be unattended.

After they had kidnapped him, they drove back into town and gave me a call, and I left immediately and drove right out to the spot where they had left him planning to do the deed. When I arrived they had tied the nineteen year old jock over an oven that somebody had tossed in the dump, so his two ankles were tied to the front legs and he was bent over it, his arms tied to the oven door handle on the other side. He was already naked when I got there, his big bullocks, heated by the sun, hanging down towards his knees and swinging as he struggled. To me, they were just hanging there waiting, waiting for me and the knife. I had brought my Gerber just for the purpose, and it was razor sharp and I knew his balls would be no match for the steel. I wore a stocking cap I had, with holes for the eyes, nose, and mouth, and I knew that with it on he would not be able to identify me. As I walked up to him, and he tuned and saw me, initially he started to beg me to untie him. But then he took in the mask I was wearing, and at that point he was smart enough to know that letting him go wasn’t in the plan. I saw his eyes go really wide then and that’s when he went crazy and jerked against every rope that held him.

I looked at his pile of clothes, and decided to go through his pockets. For one thing, taking his cash I figured would perhaps make the authorities think a robbery had been the main intention, but as luck would have it there was less than twenty bucks in his billfold. There was a nice picture of Linda thought, and in his right side pocket of his jeans was a lubricated rubber, and on the package it said: “Ribbed for Her Pleasure.” Right then that’s when I got the idea to fuck him. I had never fucked a guy in my entire life, never wanted to for that matter, but as I saw him bent over and his legs spread, his hole seemed to wink at me. I hadn’t fucked anything but my five-fingered friend for more than two months, ever since my girlfriend had dumped me for the jock now tied before me, and suddenly his hole looked inviting in a way I can’t really describe. I know for certain my dick went rock hard, and I figured it wouldn’t take that long and I’d enjoy nutting him a lot more after I had fucked his hole and shot my wad as I emptied my balls.

I took out the rubber, and when he saw it in my hand he went crazy then, and was jerking and straining so hard every muscle in his perfect body was pulling against the ropes that were spreading him wide and forcing him to open his hole as if he was begging for it. He started screaming for help, and I knew right then it was well past time to shut him up.

I picked up one of his socks, which was in the pile next to his jeans, and stuffed it into his mouth, and then took some duck tape I had brought and finished the gag. While I didn’t mind him grunting, and I actually enjoyed listening to him, I just didn’t’ seem to think that letting him yell out was all that good of an idea, even though I knew that nobody was around that could hear him. Still, once he was gagged, I was a lot happier. After I had him so he couldn’t yell, that’s when I pulled down my own pants to my knees, and then rolled the ribbed condom over my rock hard dick that was jutting up at the sky. I didn’t really need the condom, but I didn’t think it was too wise to leave a load of sperm in his ass that some enterprising police office might trace to me. Anyway, as soon as I had rolled the rubber on my dick, I moved up against him and prepared to mount him like a whore.

He went even more ballistic, and started thrashing back and forth, and I could see his powerful thighs tense up as he struggled to pinch close his hole and to protect the entrance to his bowels. The condom was lubed, but even so I spit on my latex covered dick to add some more, and then I pushed my dick up against his hole, and then, as I felt the lips of his ass accommodate the head of my teenage dick, I pushed forward and leaned into him. With a slight bit of pressure, I went all the way in then, with a single thrust, until my erection was buried to the hilt and my small bag of nuts were up against his ass.

He tossed his head back and grunted in shame, and that’s when I smiled and started to fuck him. Each thrust slammed into his prostate, and that made him grunt, and the ribbed condom really stimulated his hole and I could tell he didn’t like it. I hadn’t said anything to him, nothing at all, and he had no idea who was fucking him, or even why. Still, I fucked him, and I savored every single second I was pounding his hole. He grunted and struggled and jerked and tried to twist, but no matter what he did it made no difference. I loved feeling his struggles, and that only made me increase my thrusting, and soon I was slamming my cock in and out of his ass, and I wanted to laugh as he took it like a woman. His hole was tight, very tight, and his body temperature warmed my pole almost exactly like a woman’s pussy. He was a hot fuck, yes he was, and I fucked him like he was my girlfriend, fast and deep, and soon my balls were churning and I knew I was going to shoot my wad.

I would have loved to fuck him for a long time, but I didn’t want to put off his castration any longer than necessary, and I wasn’t trying to make him feel good either. That said, I did slow down though, just before I shot, long enough to take out my Gerber so he could see what I was gonna use to nut him. I laid the open knife right on top of the oven he was tied over, so he could see it there. As he took in the knife, and the razor sharp blade, I started to thrust my cock deep into him again, slamming into him hard enough to rock the oven he was tied to. He was grunting again, right away, and so was I, and then as my balls started to churn again and I prepared to shoot my wad, I whispered into his ear, working hard to disguise my voice as I did so.

As he stared at my knife I said: “You feel my cock? I’m gonna fill you with my sperm, and then I’m gonna use the knife and castrate you. Get ready, cause you can kiss your big balls goodbye. Here comes my wad, right NOW!”

As I said those words I was probably less than a second from ejaculating, and that’s when the oven door came off.

I never saw it coming. One second I was fucking him and about to cum, and he was struggling and grunting as my cock slammed in and out of his hole, and the next he had literally jerked the old oven door completely off of its frame, tearing out the rusted hinges with the power of his desperation. I suppose that the combination of fear of being castrated, along with the humiliation of being fucked, just joined together to give him the strength necessary to tear that oven door off of those hinges.

What I know for certain was that he jerked that oven door straight up, over his head, and since his wrists were still tied to its handle it was almost like it was an extension of his arms. He tossed the big thing right over his head, and it came down and slammed right into the back of my head, hitting me so hard I almost passed out. I staggered, and fell back and as I did my cock popped out of him, and I landed on my ass on the ground. I had no idea what really had happened. I started to get up, and was up on one knee and about to stand when he swung his torso, slamming the entire oven door sideways this time, so that the big steel door struck me right across the left cheek. There was this blinding pain that shot through my jaw, and I hit the ground, hard, the entire sky spinning as I crumpled from the intensity of the blow.

I do not know exactly what happened next, not precisely anyway, but I remember everything was blurred. He managed to get to the knife that was still laying where I had laid it out, right in front of him, and soon he had cut himself free from the ropes that had tied him. I know I saw him doing that, from a somewhat dazed point of view, and I know that I rolled over on my stomach and tried to crawl away from him. I was bleeding out of my mouth, and I noticed when I spit that a couple of teeth had been knocked out of me. The left side of my face was numb, and it was pretty clear that the oven door had done a number on my face. I was desperate to get away, but he picked up that oven door one more time then and slammed it into me, hitting me with it flat on my back right about where my shoulders were. I crumpled like a rag doll then. Still, I never passed out, but I sure as hell was stunned, and as far as being able to fight him that was never in the cards. From the first hit of the oven door, I was at his mercy.

He jumped on my back then, and pulled my two wrists back, behind me, and then he tied them together, so damn tight I thought he was gonna cut the circulation off. Then, after he had done that, he rolled me over, so I was on my back and looking right up at the sky. My jeans and underpants were still at my knees, where I had pulled them down to fuck him, and my cock was still covered with his condom, although my erection had for the most part disappeared at that point. He sat right on top of me, on my thighs, straddling me, and that’s when he ripped off his gag and spit out the socks I had forced in his mouth. Then, he reached down and pulled my hooded stocking cap off of my face.

As he took in who I was he said “FUCK! FUCK ME! YOU! OH FUCK MAN, YOU ARE DEAD MEAT! DEAD! YOU HERE ME! YOU ARE A FUCKING DEAD MAN TANNER! YOU FUCKED ME! YOU FUCKED ME! GOD DAMN! YOU WERE GONNA CASTRATE ME TOO!!! OH MAN…TANNER, FUCK. FUCK YOU! WELL TANNER—ILL TELL YOU ONE THING. YOUR FUCKING BALLS ARE HISTORY! HISTORY!”

I tried to beg him, to tell him I was sorry, but my mouth wasn’t working and as it turned out later my jaw had been broken. I could taste the blood in my mouth, and as I stared at him and he looked at me he suddenly jerked my pants down, and off, and then he pulled my legs apart and lifted me up, by my thighs, so that he was under me, he on his knees and my legs straddling him. I looked down and saw his cock then, and it was up and eager and juttig. A few seconds later I felt it, as he pulled me down onto it. I tried to beg, and tired to move, but the reality was there wasn’t much I could do and I was still in so much shock from getting hit with that oven door that I was definitely not at my best form. The next thing I knew his dick was in me. I had never seen him with a boner before, and his cock was big, really big, and I did not think it was possible to slide his massive erection it into me. But I was wrong. But when he shoved his fat cock into my hole it literally brought tears to my eyes and I felt like it was splitting open my hole. Fuck it hurt! No! Suddenly, the roles had been reversed, and the fuckee was now the fucker, and I was the whore! NO!

There was nothing I could do at that point, nothing at all, but grunt and stare into his eyes as he fucked me. We faced each other, and I felt him impaling me, ramming his huge cock in and out of my ultra tight virgin hole with a vengeance. He used no lube at all, and it hurt like hell, but even so after a while I felt this strange feeling, the way his cock was ramming into my prostate, and my dick went rock hard and was soon jutting, even as he slammed his own cock in and out of my hole. When I got hard he reached down to my dick and pulled off the rubber, so my cock was jutting up at the sky, the big purple end of it round and full, the single eye dripping with precum. My hands were tied tight beneath me, and all I could do was stare at him and my stiff cock as he fucked me like a girl. At some point as hard as it is to believe my nuts started to churn, and I don’t know why, and then a few minutes later I started to shoot my cream and it all came out in white ropes of sperm, squirting in lines up my stomach and onto my flat chest. The first shot of my sperm hit my chin. I came and came and came, and in hindsight it was probably the biggest load of my life. All total, I think I shot about 5 lines of cream, emptying my balls as his cock forced it from me. At some point while I was cumming he too ejaculated, his entire wad of hot seed jetting into my hole, splashing up against my prostate and filling me with his load of seed. I could feel his hot load shooting into me, and it was my worst nightmare, and as I lived through the feeling it was so humiliating it cannot be described.

It was then, after he had cum, and my own wad was splashed on my stomach, that he reached up with my knife in his right hand, and grabbed my balls with his left. He was still rock hard, still imbedded in my hole, and he had a grin on his face then like a schoolboy. I managed to get out a “NO!” as he laid the steel blade up against my own small scrotum, and then for a second he hesitated, and time seemed to stand still. Then, he laughed, and I tried to beg him, but I couldn’t really talk and it didn’t matter anyway. He jerked outward with his left hand, pulling my nuts out from my body and stretching them. At the same time he started to move his right wrist then, moving my knife back and forth, and as he did this tremendous pain shot through my groin and after that for the next few seconds I just lived through my own castration. He sawed my balls off with my own knife, and as it was being done I felt so weak, so humiliated, so ‘bested’ and so beaten it cannot be described. He unmanned me, literally, and it was clear when I had been done and it was over that I was nothing compared to him. The truth at that point was that he owned my girl, and my balls.

As soon as he had nutted me, he laughed, and then he started to thrust his cock in and out of my hole all over again, fucking me with a renewed intensity, almost as if the act of castrating me had reinvigorated him. He was rock hard, and his big rod impaled me, and I cold feel the head of his cock sliding in and out of my hole, each thrust deep and made with a vengeance. He was into it, really enjoying fucking me, and I could see the way he looked at me that he owned me. What was even more surprising I think was that he ejaculated all over again in less that a couple of minutes. The message was clear. He was a real man, a stud, and I was a nothing. Almost to emphasize that point, my own cock shriveled to a worm as he fucked me, and by the time he shot his wad and squirted his seed into me my own pole was small and unimpressive. Limp and nut-less, I felt his DNA shooting into me one more time, and at that point I was beaten and there was nothing left to fight for. As soon as he had squirted his second load of cream and deposited it deep within my ass, he picked up my severed balls and held them right up to my face, making sure I could see what I no longer owned.

That’s when he said: “Pretty small set of balls if you asked me. Well, too bad for you Tanner. You don’t deserve them. I know it. Linda knows it. And so do you.“

Then, with a toss, he threw them over the bank, so that they landed in the catfish pond. I heard them splash, and there was no doubt that my nuts were fish food at that point. That’s when he leaned down to me, his big cock still buried inside of me, and then he said: “You kidnapped me, tied me up, fucked me, and tried to castrate me. Just remember, the police can’t give you your balls back, no matter what. But if you tell the police who did this to you, everyone’s gonna know everything. I swear. Including what Linda has told me about your antics, and those houses you broke into earlier in the summer. So, I suggest you just live with it. You know what you did, and unfortunately for you, it didn’t quite go the way you had planned. Now, you better deal with it—you only have yourself to blame for getting yourself castrated.”

Then he pulled his still hard cock out with a slurping sound, and laughed. He slid on his underpants, and stuffed his big rod inside, and then pulled on his jeans after that. After he put on his shirt he rolled me over and cut the ropes off of my wrists, and then he slid his middle finger up my hole one last time. As he did he said: “Your hole was tight. Almost as tight as a virgin pussy. And one more thing. If you get horny and need a fuck, bring your hole over anytime and I’ll fuck it raw. You’re nothing but a bitch now, so get used to it.”

I wanted to cry. He pulled his finger out with a pop, and then he pocketed my Gerber, as a souvenir I suppose, and then he left me. A few minutes later I heard my truck start up, and after that he was gone. I was in pretty bad shape, but got to the highway and eventually a guy stopped and picked me up and I caught a ride home, and then from there I went to the hospital. My truck was already there, almost as if he knew I’d be going there. Still, for some reason, I didn’t feel like driving it for a while anyway.

Of the things he had said, he was right of course, and so I had to stick to the story that I had no idea who had nutted me. The doctors fixed my jaw, but they couldn’t do much to fix my missing scrotum, and while they could stitch up the cut they didn’t have a magic set of nuts to replace what I had lost. I thought about my options, and in the end I didn’t tell them I had been raped, or what had happened, or what I knew. Consequently, they never took any DNA swaps from my ass, and since I didn’t tell them all that much they didn’t look very hard for who had attacked me. They knew I knew more than I was telling them, but with my prior record and EMO look, I don’t think they really cared.

A Cute Boy Learns Total Surrender

Slave Being Teased By Master

The room is about 12 feet on a side and 10 feet high, the walls faced with roughly dressed light-gray stone. The floor is covered with thick black rubber and slopes gently toward a drain in one corner. On the ceiling there’s gray acoustical tile.

Light is provided by glowing tubes all around the top of the walls, just below the ceiling, that are controlled from outside the room. They dim for part of each day to allow sleep and are on full the rest of the time. There are ventilation grilles low on two walls and in the ceiling, and the temperature is kept at a constant mid-70s. At least, it never seems too cold or too warm despite my always being naked.

There are no windows. The door is a steel slab with a small spy hole set into it. It has no handle on the inside; this, too, is controlled from without. There’s a video camera in each corner, up near the ceiling, as well as several microphones. I never know if anyone is watching or listening, or which camera is live, but I have to assume that anything I do or say can be seen or heard.

Toward one side but still away from the wall is a slab of dense foam as wide as a twin-size bed. It’s covered in black canvas, with a zipper at the end to remove the cover for cleaning. The only furniture besides my exercise equipment is an antique-style wooden armchair, intricately carved, against the wall next to the door. Its seat cushion is covered in a rich, red velvet, the only spot of color in the whole chamber, and the wood is stained dark brown. It looks like it came from the Doge’s palace in 15th-century Venice.

The chair is not for me, of course. The chain padlocked to my leg irons and bolted into the opposite wall isn’t long enough for me to sit there if I wanted to, reaching only far enough for me to kneel in front of the chair and service the Master when he sits there, licking his boots or sucking his cock.

Thick, 2-inch-wide metal cuffs are fastened onto my ankles and wrists, and a collar in the same style is around my neck. The edges of the steel bands are smoothly rounded, and the welded connecting chains are long enough for me to wash myself or exercise, but they can be shortened with clips or locks whenever the Master wishes. Every move I make is accompanied by the loud jangle of chains, almost the only sound in this place. At first it was exciting, and then I thought it would drive me mad, but by now I hardly notice it.

Near the floor drain is a seatless metal toilet, and a pipe set into the wall next to it has a long hose connected. The hose is usually terminated in a nonadjustable shower head, but that can be replaced by a douche tube if required. There are no faucets inside the cell to control the water temperature or flow, nor is there a flush handle for the toilet. All that is regulated outside. But the Master is not cruel, or thoughtless, and he has the toilet flushed several times a day so that there is sufficient clean water for me to drink.

All of the hair on my head and everywhere else is clipped as short as possible once a week, and then my head, pubes, and ass crack are shaved smooth. The Master seems to enjoy doing it himself rather than having me do it. I enjoy his doing it, too. He also seems to enjoy seeing the growing fuzz on my face and body between clippings, knowing that it always makes me itch. There is no mirror in the cell, so I can’t see how I look, only feel the smoothness or fuzz.

A padlock joins the thick PA in my circumcised dick with a guiche ring further back. I can manipulate my cock to some extent, but I learned early on that it wasn’t worth it. I can’t come without being erect, and if I start to get erect the pain soon deflates me. I can’t even have a wet dream, because the pain wakes me up. The Master has hinted that he will allow me to come eventually, but I have no idea when, nor if there is anything I can do to hasten the release. The horniness tormented me at first, but after nearly two months, I don’t think about it much one way or another — not more than 20 or 30 times a day.

Of course, I also don’t know exactly how long I’ve been here. At first the Master deliberately manipulated the light and his own comings and goings to confuse me and destroy my grasp on mundane time. Even now that he has settled me into a routine, I have no way of being certain if it’s daytime outside when it’s light in the cell, or nighttime when it’s dim in here. As the Master works out of his home and thus can visit me whenever he pleases and spend as much time with me as he wants, I also have no way of telling weekdays from weekends. But I do keep track of my sleeps, and as near as I can tell it’s been between 50 and 60 days. Otherwise, the only way I can gauge the passage of time is by my own pulse, which is slow and steady except when I’m exercising.

i don’t know how long I’ll be here, either. The Master certainly has the resources to keep me here for the rest of his life, if not mine, but somehow I don’t think the experiment will last quite that long. Probably less than a year, though that’s just a feeling. The arrangement is open-ended.

The routine I currently follow is quite simple in its outlines. In the “morning,” or what I assume is morning, the light tubes brighten, and I rise from my pallet. I take a drink from the toilet, release my piss, and go through an extensive exercise routine, first stretching, then calisthenics, free weights, and finally a half hour on the treadmill. The black-finished steel and rubber treadmill is the largest object in the cell. It’s programmed by the Master to tell me when to speed up, slow down, and stop. The time readout has no hour indicator, just elapsed minutes and seconds, and it goes back to zero whenever I step off.

After exercise I kneel by the shower pipe. Eventually the water will start pouring through, and I will cleanse myself. There is no towel or washcloth, just a squeeze bottle of liquid soap. I wash quickly so as not to be soapy when the water stops. The moisture level of the air is low enough that I tend to dry quickly.

When I’m clean I kneel in front of the Master’s chair and wait for him to come in. During this time I am required to repeat aloud, again and again, a short “slave’s creed”:

 

I am a slave. I live to serve and obey the Master. I own nothing. I have a right to nothing. I control nothing. Everything comes from the Master and by his will. What makes me happy is to obey. What fulfills me is to be used for his and other men’s pleasure.

 

These are the only words I am permitted to speak when I am alone in the cell. I do not rebel against this or the other rules, nor provoke punishment to enforce them. This is the life I asked for, and I do my best to follow the program.

Generally the Master makes me wait a while, but eventually he will enter and set a dog bowl with my food down beside the chair. It is always the same, a dry formulation that he will moisten with his piss so I don’t chip my teeth on the hard pellets, which also serve in lieu of a toothbrush. He has assured me it contains all the nutrients I need.

In the “mornings” I am not allowed to eat immediately, however, even though by then I am always very hungry. First I must recite my creed once more, this time addressed directly to the Master, and when that is done I am allowed to lick his boots. If he is in the mood, he may also allow me to service his cock and balls, or to lick his ass. This is no hardship: the Master keeps himself fit, and he is still an attractive man. Besides, he’s well hung. I also have no worry about catching any disease from him — no one is more scrupulously careful, and I know that he would never put me at risk. But at 64 his libido isn’t what it was, and some days he doesn’t bother to use me.

He has another slave, Stephen, who’s been with him for five years or so, as well as several part-time slaves he trains off and on, so perhaps he saves himself for them. Stephen is certainly young and handsome enough to be worth focusing on. The intimacies the Master grants me are more a reward, or encouragement, than a service to him, I suspect.

The Master says little to me at these times, indicating by a nod or a gesture, or a single word, what he requires. And, of course, after my creed is repeated, I have no call to speak to him nor to look at him — my eyes stay fixed on the floor between his legs unless I am servicing some part of his body. His morning attire is usually casual, just slacks or jeans and a shirt, maybe a vest — plus boots, of course. He favors lace-up logger boots or cowboy boots for the daytime, motorcop or engineer’s boots at night. Even before my confinement, I’d never seen him without boots on. I suppose he takes them off for sleep, but the only times I ever slept in the same room with him, I was hooded or blindfolded.

 

After I worship his boots, and then render any sexual service he requires, the Master flogs me. A selection of flogging implements, a muzzle and gag, a hood, and other pieces of gear he likes to use on me are stored in a small, locked case set against the wall behind his chair. Usually he makes me stand against the wall and clips my wrist and ankle cuffs to rings set there for that purpose, my arms above my head and my feet stretched as far apart as the leg chain permits. Sometimes he has me lie down on my belly on the sleeping pallet and clips my arms and legs to the rings set in the floor at either end, or he’ll restrain me to the bench I use for weightlifting. It seems to make no difference in the severity of the flogging how I am restrained, just a whim of the Master, though I imagine the vertical position is easier for him than bending over me.

In either case, he always straps the muzzle over my face and inserts the thick leather plug gag inside my mouth. I am allowed to scream as much as I need to during the flogging, but it does not please him to have his ears assaulted by my noise, and it makes no difference anyway in how many strokes I must take. The number varies according to some formula known only to him. It’s always at least 50 and usually much more. I’m grateful to be gagged and not required to count them out. I can sink into the rhythm of the ever-changing now and stop thinking. My back is heavily calloused, of course, yet I still feel the impact of his blows. They’re about as painful as a deep-tissue massage, which can be very painful.

After my flogging, the Master will release me from the wall or floor, take off the muzzle and gag, and allow me once again to bathe his boots in my saliva and tears. I always thank him profusely for the discipline, which he has made very clear has nothing to do with punishment. It’s not even because he enjoys flogging me, though he clearly does most of the time. Even if I’ve sucked him off before the flogging, he’ll usually be erect again by the time he stops. Sometimes he even fucks my ass before releasing me from the wall or bench. No, these daily floggings are a matter of basic discipline.

“A slave needs to be flogged regularly,” he’ll say in his brusque, no-nonsense voice, “and that’s all there is to it. It’s like taking a dog out for a walk or rubbing down a horse after a run, something an owner simply has to do.” Before leaving, he wets down my breakfast, pats my head, and gives me my journal pages. I am free to eat once the door shuts behind him.

It is when the Master comes back late in the “evening” with my second and last meal of the day that he talks to me and listens to anything I wish to tell him. He usually wears either a police uniform or full leather, but once or twice a month he appears in a tailored suit or even tuxedo and black tie, with black dress boots, having come back from a formal dinner or cultural outing. He allows my eyes and tongue much freer reign at these times, seeming to enjoy my admiring glances, my nuzzling, and my compliments on his appearance. He lets me curl up between his legs and rub my face against the cloth or lick the leather covering his thighs. It’s not exactly passion between us, but comfort with each other and with our respective roles.

After I eat, we talk. The conversations we have as I sit at his feet are wide-ranging — we are both well-educated men with many interests. The Master will tell me what he wishes me to know about the state of the world outside, which is generally little, as he has gone to considerable expense and effort to allow me to focus inward, on my own body, mind, and spirit.

That is why I am here. It was my idea, actually, but it was his gift to enable me to realize my obsessive fantasy of nonstop bondage, solitary confinement, and total control. It’s designed as a test of whether such a narrowly circumscribed life, free of the usual distractions of earning a living or interacting with the non-Master/slave world, can move me further along my destined path. I know that I was born to serve and obey a Master, but all too often, out in the world, I lost sight of that clear goal and became caught up in other commitments or concerns.

We’ve been friends for a long time, the Master and I, much long–er than I’ve been a slave, let alone his slave. It often goes the other way: two men come together first as Master and slave, and over time their growing intimacy and affection make the roles too awkward to continue. The Master is too experienced for that trap. He won’t even allow a boy to call him “Sir” until they’ve known each other for a couple of months, sexually and otherwise, and he’s never taken a live-in slave after less than a year’s probation.

As for me . . . I’ve experienced enough to know what I want, what I need. After several Master/slave relationships that ended sooner than I wanted, I have few illusions left, about slavery or about myself. But I do have resistances, self-doubts, and, above all, habits of self-regard that make it hard for me to go deeper. Thus this experiment in deprivation and regimentation. For the Master to move me into his house as a servant would prove nothing — been there, done that (though not with him). Call this experience boot camp for the soul.

The truth is that I chose all of it, every detail. The Master and I discussed the arrangements exhaustively for more than a year. After all, orchestrating a long-term confinement as rigorous as mine is not a matter for negotiation over drinks in a bar or a few online chats. Everything had to be planned, all the contingencies allowed for, the appointed space constructed and equipped. I had to quit my job, vacate my apartment, dispose of or store my possessions, and notify my friends. One half of my savings went to the Master to defray the expenses of my upkeep, and the other half was safely invested. I had to be absolutely sure that once I entered this cell, I wouldn’t need to leave it again until the Master decided I was ready. And I had to be sure that he wouldn’t soften if I lost my nerve, or exceed his mandate, or allow the experiment to end prematurely because of the cost of keeping me here, submissive but idle.

The daily floggings, and any other torments I suffer, are intended to purify my submission and to wean me from my ego. For the same reason, though the Master permits me to use the first person in my journal and when I talk with him, he never uses my old name, or any name. I am just “slave” to him and anyone else I come in contact with, even his other slave. But he tempered my initial enthusiasm for a much harsher regimen, with far less space to move around in. i’d had in mind something like an oubliette, a small underground hole where he’d throw food down to me, piss on me, periodically hose me off, and otherwise leave me alone.

“And what would I get out of that?” he asked, laughing. “I wouldn’t even have your warm mouth to piss in, or your conversation to while away the evenings. What a supremely selfish idea! If you expect me to give you room, board, and bondage for an extended period, you’re going to have to be available for my use — and that of selected friends, too. You’ll spend plenty of time alone, don’t worry, but you’ll also earn your keep, sexually and otherwise.”

The logic was inescapable, of course, even more so than this cell I inhabit. The Master convinced me that the kind of confinement I’d fantasized about wouldn’t prove anything more or achieve any quicker results, just bore him and ruin my health and mental balance, reducing my value as a slave.

As time passes, it is obvious that he was right. A greater harshness would have activated my defenses, delaying my acceptance of his control, or else pushed me into that apathetic passivity many mistakenly equate with submission. The way I live now is certainly harsh enough, restrictive enough, and barren enough compared with my former professional-class lifestyle, and yet it clearly suits me. In terms of health and fitness, I’m in better shape than I’ve been in years, and my mood is farther from depression or despair than when I had the whole world to move around in.

Within these gray walls, I have no worries or fears. I am well taken care of. I fall asleep easily, sleep soundly, and wake without regret. Naturally, I miss music and art, and daylight and colors and trees and animals, but I have a well-stocked memory of these things. I miss books — oh, what I would give for a single box of those I put in storage! — but I don’t miss TV or newspapers or most people. An hour of the Master’s company is worth days of useless chatter with others.

All in all, I’m more content here than I ever was outside. Oh, that’s not to say I’m never bored or never chafe at my restrictions. Of course I do, who wouldn’t? But such feelings pass quickly, more quickly than when I had a whole city’s worth of amusements to choose from. If all else fails, I kneel in front of the Master’s chair, at the limit of my chain, and repeat my slave’s creed. The peace that descends as I repeat the familiar words assures me of their truth, and I gratefully embrace the strict conditions of my confinement once again.

The fact is, I would miss my daily flogging if I didn’t receive it, and I’d probably gag on a conventional meal if offered one. I never liked wearing clothes, and my collar and chains are as much a comfort to me as a constraint. They make me feel wanted, valued, secure. If I were suddenly placed in a crowd of people, I would run to the nearest small room and lock myself in.

Servicing the Master day after day, with no release for myself, I’ve come to displace my sexual response onto him, so that when he cries out in orgasmic joy, my own body spasms and relaxes. I still remember my name, I’m pretty sure I do, but would I even respond if someone called me by it? If he held open the door to this cell, and I weren’t chained, would I make a move toward it?

 

For most of each day I am usually left alone, to pass the time however I can. At first it seemed to stretch endlessly ahead of me, and I wondered how I could make it to the Master’s next visit without screaming and smashing my head against the wall. But I soon learned that my sense of duration is very flexible, and I can control it by my attitude. Once I stopped always looking forward to “what’s next,” anticipating, and learned to live in each moment, five hours came to seem much the same as five minutes. I have all the time I need, all the time there is, no more nor less. I suspect all long-term solitary prisoners learn this — at least those who survive.

Much of the day, of course, I spend in meditation — classic Zen sitting or walking (once I became able to tune out the rattle of chain), and I also think things through in more conventional fashion, patiently testing and rehearsing my ideas in my head before writing anything down. I receive five blank sheets of paper a day, no more, and each evening the Master takes with him whatever pages I’ve filled as well as any left blank. The next morning, along with my breakfast, he returns to me Xeroxes, on bright yellow paper, of the finished pages, keeping the originals. So I have my completed work for reference, if I need it, but there is no way I can alter my words retroactively.

The Master gave me a wooden lap desk to write on and a good ballpoint pen, a far cry from the elaborate computer setup I used to write with but sufficient to my needs. Because I cannot erase anything, and I am reluctant to disfigure my manuscripts with cross outs, I think much more than I write, and I write very slowly, pausing before almost every word to be sure it is the right one to express my meaning. While my physical world has been pared down close to a minimum, my mental world is unlimited. I find that my memory is much better than it used to be, strengthened by hard use and the absence of electronic crutches, and my powers of concentration are greater.

What do I write? Musings, recollections, how I am feeling, debates with myself or the Master, little essays about slavery and its discontents — or its joys. The writing has no goal, no overall structure. It’s a snapshot of my mind at a given time. And yet I always come back to one point: the persistence of choice in even the most inescapable captivity. No matter how much is taken away from me, I always have choices to make, if only where to direct my eyes or focus my hearing. Even naked and chained in a solitary cell, I am learning just how much I still have left to surrender.

The Master jokes that in its disconnected way my journal amounts to a “critique of pure submission,” like Kant’s Critique of Pure Reason. He says that when it is done — when I am done with this confinement, when he decides that I have no more to learn from it — I should edit it down and publish it. “Tell them all the truth for once,” he says. “There’s too much nonsense about slavery going around, with folks trying to re-enact the Old South or Ancient Rome or some such silliness. They miss the point and waste everyone’s time.”

 

For the first month or so of my captivity, I never saw anyone but the Master, and then usually just twice a day. From time to time, though, he’d look in on me unexpectedly, and he might demand my service, if only as a urinal, or amuse himself by putting me into some more stringent bondage, installing a butt plug or catheter, or placing clamps and clips on my body. Anything to reinforce that I am not in control of my bodily functions or sensations, only how I react to them. Now that my routine is well established, he sometimes sends his house slave instead to check on me and carry out whatever he’s planned but doesn’t care to do himself — I assume he watches on the video to be sure all is done to his standards.

Sometimes he sends in visiting friends of his, other Masters or Topmen, to amuse themselves with my body or to make use of my holes. He insists they use condoms with me, even for oral sex, and a latex barrier for rimming. There’s a container of rubbers and oral shields next to the cell door, kept full by the house slave. There are probably also some other limits he’s set to keep me safe, but it’s out of my hands — I have no safeword, no way to draw a line. The Master’s good will and good sense are my only protection.

It is absolutely forbidden me to speak to these visiting Tops, or to the house slave, not one word, and this is enforced if necessary by gagging me. The only choice I have is to cooperate and endure whatever they wish to do with me, or to resist and have to endure it anyway in the end. Because of my love and respect for the Master, I would never resist his use of me, however painful, but I’ll still balk at times if someone else interrupts my meditation or writing for a fuck or a piss stop. It never does any good, of course. The chains put me at their mercy.

The rule of silence was very hard on me at first. Some are men I would have been drawn to in any case (others, alas, not), and I yearned to communicate with them, to convey my respect and my appreciation for their blows, their piss, their hard cocks filling my holes. But at the first word, even “Sir, thank you, Sir,” they stick in the big plug gag, filling my mouth, and tightly strap it around my head, or else the ring gag that stretches my jaws wide to receive their offerings. Only my eyes remain able to express my feelings, except when these, too, are covered.

Some men — a surprising number — find it unnerving to look into the eyes of a bound slave they are using and need the depersonalization afforded by a mask or hood, or at least a blindfold, while others look back at me with a fierce joy and a clear conscience, sure of their right to dominate. For me, the feelings are ambivalent. While it is good to be hooded and used as a nameless slave, just a body with convenient holes and parts available for torture, it is also thrilling to be in the hands of a man who really seems to want me — me in particular — and to take pleasure in my helplessness to resist him.

 

Although I had become used to occasional visits from Stephen, the Master’s trusted house slave, either to check on me while I was in stringent bondage or to release me from it, I almost balked the first time he came in to initiate a session of immobility. Oh, shit, not now, I said silently to myself as he entered the cell carrying several large hanks of rope. I was in the middle of writing a very closely argued paragraph and didn’t want to stop.

But as he came toward me — the thick, man-size cock bouncing between his lean, muscled legs, an eager grin on his boyish face — I lost all desire to resist. It would be, I think, like smacking a puppy for being friendly. So I smiled back at him, put my writing materials aside, and got onto my knees, resting my manacled hands on my thighs.

Although I had been introduced to Stephen before my confinement, and he knew my name, once I was locked up here his demeanor changed. Instead of a fellow slave’s sympathy, what I sense from him now is a Topman’s relish for my vulnerability. Despite his nudity and the padlocked chain around his neck, he carries himself less like a slave than like a young Master. Maybe it seems that way because the Master leaves his chest, pubes, arms, and legs unshaved.

In his late 20s, more years younger than me than I like to admit, and a few inches taller, Stephen has a dark complexion, short black hair, a small goatee, and bright black eyes. At the front his hair is longer and trained in a stylish upward flare. Like me, he has thick silver rings in both his nipples and the head of his cock, which is uncut, but on him they seem decorative, not marks of possession. Since his earliest visits he hasn’t been completely nude but now wears heavy black lineman’s boots laced to his knees. And on this occasion he’d added studded leather armbands and tight black leather gloves.

While my chains prevent some rope-bondage positions, such as a classic hogtie, Stephen worked with them and methodically immobilized me. He roped my upper arms and elbows tightly behind my back, pulling my manacled wrists to my sides and pushing out my chest, which he crisscrossed with more rope until my whole torso was rigid. My cock tried in vain to become erect as his gloved hands moved over me with rough efficiency. I said nothing, of course, just looked at him as he bound my legs at the thighs, knees, and ankles, and then roped my feet back up to my arms. His usual eager expression had changed into a fierce concentration. I felt like a wild hare transfixed by a snake or bird of prey.

When he set me back upright on my knees, tightly bound from shoulders to feet, I could barely hold my balance without his hands on my shoulders. I stared into his sparkling eyes.

“Fuckface” he whispered to me, as soft as a lover’s sigh. “Such a good fuckface.” And then he clamped my head between his hands and did just that, fuck my face with his dick.

I was shocked — what would the Master think? — but Stephen seemed to have no compunctions about using me for his pleasure. “Trust me” was all he said when my eyes widened in alarm at his failure to put on a condom, and, confident that the Master would not own an untrustworthy slave, I did.

He came quickly, gushing out his cum after only a few strokes once his fat, uncut cock was lodged in my throat. Then he pulled back a little and smiled as he filled my mouth with his piss. After I’d swallowed his whole bladder load, he astonished me again by kneeling and kissing me deeply, passionately, and for a long time. He could probably still taste his urine on my tongue — I certainly could! Finally, he stroked my eyes closed and wound more rope around my head to form a blindfold and gag. He laid me down on my side, rubbed my shaved head between the ropes, and left the cell.

At least, I think he left — for all I knew, he could have stayed and watched me for the hour or two I lay in bondage. But there wasn’t the slightest indication I wasn’t alone. The only sound was my own breathing, an occasional slight clink from my chains as I shifted position, or tried to, and a periodic whoosh from the ventilation ducts. I think I’d have lain there for a long time even if I hadn’t been bound so tightly, overcome by what had just happened to me. More than merely being used by this young man, I’d been possessed by him.

The bondage eventually became painful, of course, and then I went mostly numb and stopped feeling it. All I could think about was Stephen’s taste in my mouth. His cum, piss, and spit, I’d had them all in one go. The only things left to taste were his sweat, tears, blood, and shit. I felt that I’d as soon pass on the last two, but I fantasized giving him a tonguebath after he’d worked up a good sweat flogging me. As for tears, I couldn’t imagine what might cause him to cry in my presence, and I didn’t want to find out, either.

When he returned (assuming he’d left) and released me from the ropes, rubbing my arms and legs with his gloved hands to restore full circulation, I just kept looking at him, marveling at his youth, his confidence, his deftness in handling me. The deference I accorded the Master did not seem to apply to him, a fellow slave, and yet his use of me had placed him far above me. Even without my rule of silence, what could I say to him? My feelings were still too new, too confused to articulate.

Stephen was in no such confusion. He held my head and kissed me again, then smiled and pressed my face down onto his boots.

“All right, slave. Show me how you lick boot leather.”

It was as if he’d thrown a switch, releasing me to show the feelings I couldn’t speak. I slobbered all over his tall boots, covering them with my spit and happy tears, rattling my chains until he finally put a stop to it, saying, “That’s enough, bootdog, enough for now. You’ll have plenty more chances to worship my boots. I’m nowhere near through with you.”

That was a turning point between us, especially after I reported the incident to the Master in my journal and he made no comment. Stephen was clearly acting within his limits, so in serving Stephen I was also serving the Master. That’s all I needed to quiet any misgivings about being a slave’s slave.

Stephen visits me now almost every day, and he always uses me before he leaves. It isn’t always oral service, either. A few weeks ago, after gleefully tormenting my nipples for an hour or more, he turned me over and fucked my ass for even longer, again with no condom, just like the Master.

He’s also training me to take larger and larger toys up my chute, and now when he leaves he usually installs a butt plug, which I wear until after my evening session with the Master. I am allowed to remove it when the light dims for me to sleep. After I take a last drink from the toilet, I wash the plug there, along with my hands. Stephen (at least I assume it is him) always flushes the toilet again before my morning drink.

He isn’t always affectionate, though; sometimes he seems cold and almost brutal. I hate those times, and when he leaves I vow to stop responding so eagerly to him, to make him work harder for my submission. But then the next day he’ll saunter in, smiling devilishly, and kiss or stroke me before he starts, and I’ll melt all over again.

 

I think Stephen is following his own inspirations in binding or torturing me, not just carrying out the Master’s orders. He brings whatever he needs with him, sometimes more than he needs. He’ll lay out a whole repertoire of implements on the floor before choosing what to use. But there is none of the tentativeness in his handling of me that novice Tops often show, because they can’t quite believe they can actually do such things to another person.

Stephen knows he can do whatever he wants with me, though of course he’d be answerable to the Master if he injured his charge. Perhaps the Master is training him as a Top — he already has an amazing degree of skill for someone his age, as well as the inner fire. I like to think that Stephen is inspired by my increasingly deep submission, my total vulnerability. Unlike that first time, I go to my knees immediately when he enters now, bowing my head in respect as I do for the Master. He seems to expect no less.

More and more often Stephen comes in with the Master in the morning, and it is his piss that moistens my breakfast and his hand that gives me my regular flogging while the Master watches — or even leaves to go about his business. Also, it’s usually Stephen who clips and shaves me once a week now, rather than the Master. He never sits in the Master’s chair, however, always remaining standing or crouching, unless he lies down with me. He is obedient and deferential to the Master but does not kneel to him in my presence.

Stephen does make mistakes at times and has to back up a move or two, particularly when he’s trying out a new technique, but he usually works on me with a sureness almost equal to the Master’s, as if everything he does had been practiced to perfection in advance. But on whom? Himself?

The only hesitation I’ve noted, on occasions when he’s left my eyes uncovered, is that when he has me stretched out, tied into a bundle, or strung up to the wall, he’ll step back and just look at me for a while. His eyes sparkle and a half grin plays on his lips, as if he’s wondering which torment would be the most fun to inflict. Will it be needles this time? Or electricity? Things that pinch, or things that sting?

Why do I stand for this? Why don’t I complain to the Master? I’m no pain pig, and our experiment never envisioned regular torture, just a simple daily flogging. Is it his eyes? His smile? Surely it’s not simply lust for his cock! I’m not really a dick pig either, just a man who needs to obey and serve.

That must be the key: I am serving Stephen in his coming out as a Top. Thanks to me, and to the situation created by my need that makes me so available to him, he’ll gain as much experience in a few weeks or months as most new Tops acquire in years of cruising and tricking. Are his kisses and gentle strokes anything more than gestures of appreciation for my service to him? Why is that important to me? Does it still matter so much whom I serve, as long as I serve well?

Except for screams and involuntary cries, I honor the Master’s rule not to speak to Stephen, but he talks freely, vocalizing a running commentary on his use of me. Early on, I almost laughed, because his name-calling was so reminiscent of bad porn. Since then I’ve grown accustomed to his growling, muttering, boyish sex talk.

He calls me “dickhead,” “fuckwad,” and “pissdump,” or worse, but there’s no edge of malice in it, no contempt, more a kind of roughhewn affection. It’s as if I’m his pet and he’s encouraging me with words I can’t really understand. Perhaps he just needs to underscore the difference in our status, since he, too, wears a slave collar. For how much longer, though?

Much of the tenderness he shows me could be chalked up to a Top’s empathy, not the deeper affection of a lover or owner. He may gently stroke my face before he starts slapping me, or lightly kiss my ass cheeks before laying into them with a belt or paddle. But there are hints of something more.

Recently, for instance, after he kissed me on the mouth — hungrily, demandingly — he allowed me to lick his face before pushing my mouth into his armpits, and thence to his crotch. And though my tongue has been inside his ass crack and hole more often than in the Master’s (he especially likes to have me lick along the taint between his balls and asshole), his has been in mine almost as often, gently opening me up to be fucked. I often daydream about his taste and smell, so sweet and rank at the same time, and wonder if he thinks about mine.

I find it increasingly difficult to concentrate on anything else but his visits. One day my journal pages contained nothing but the words “Stephen’s slave” repeated over and over again. Five pages of it. The Master couldn’t help noticing what I’d done when I wordlessly handed the papers to him as he was leaving that night, though he usually leaves reading my journal for morning. He scanned the pages, his eyebrows dancing, and then sat down again.

“Is there something you need to tell me, slave? Or ask me?”

“Master,” I said, on my knees before him, “are you planning to give me to Stephen?”

“Maybe. How would you feel about it if I did?”

“Master, I’m not sure. He can wrap me around his finger, Sir . . . ,” I said and stopped, confused.

“And? What’s troubling you, slave?”

“Master, is it any more than sex? Would I trust him, Sir, if he weren’t your slave, Sir?”

“I’d say that’s a pretty good reason to trust him.”

“Yes, Sir, of course, but I don’t really know him, Sir, not the way a slave should know the Master he gives himself to — not the way I know you, for instance, Sir. But if you think it would be good for me, Sir, to serve him, I will follow your lead, Sir.”

“That’s a hopeful sign, slave, your trusting me in that. Maybe this experiment you cooked up is working!”

“Sir, thank you, Sir.”

“Nevertheless, I won’t make that decision for you. When the time comes, it must be your own free choice.” He sighed heavily before continuing.

“I never planned what’s been happening between you and Stephen, slave, and it’s damned inconvenient for me! It’s an accident that our experiment coincided with his blossoming as a Top. Or maybe not — maybe you’re bringing it out in him.”

“Sir, it’s nothing I’ve done intentionally, Sir.”

“I know that, slave. I’ve known for more than two years that Stephen would turn Top eventually — before he knew it himself. It’s just that I thought the process would be slower, giving me plenty of time to replace him as my house slave and business assistant.”

He stopped and sighed again, shifting in his seat.

“Stephen certainly didn’t show any eagerness to switch before. I let him watch me train other slaves, or do scenes with experienced bottoms, and I explained a lot of the techniques I used. He would assist me in the dungeon whenever I needed him, but he hung back from doing anything solo, even when I offered him opportunities.

“Then you came, and he begged me to let him help take care of you. Now he’s spending most of his free time in here with you, or planning what he’ll do to you next. He’s driving me crazy with his questions!”

He paused in thought, then continued.

“By now he’s gone through every piece of gear I own, asking how to use it, what dangers he should be aware of, how heavy it’s safe to get with it. I’ve looked at the tapes from his sessions with you, and it’s remarkable how good he is already. But you should be able to tell if he has real feelings for you or is just using you like a practice dummy.”

“Master, most of the time he acts like he cares for me, but then occasionally he’ll be cold and distant. So I don’t know what he really feels, Sir.”

“Well, you’re a captive slave, not really anyone’s property, and he’s a Top in training feeling his oats. I’m not surprised if he enjoys keeping you guessing. But I think he does care for you. He’s never seemed happier than since he started having regular sessions with you. He glows with the energy you feed him.”

“Master, thank you for telling me that. Sir, Stephen makes me happy, too, even when he gives me terrible pain. Sir, I endure it for his sake, because he wants it so much.”

“That’s good, because he was a heavy masochist as a bottom, and he’s turning into an extremely sadistic Top. But also a good one, a careful one — one you can trust, slave.

“And more than just a Top: he’s aiming at Mastery. I can tell by the questions he’s asked about you. He wanted to be sure your food was really adequate and healthy, for instance, and he’s the one who makes sure your toilet gets flushed without fail half a dozen times a day. He’s made suggestions to me about your exercise regimen, and he wanted to know all about the terms of our agreement.

“No, he’s not just a Top interested in unconnected scenes. He’s learned that owning is better than renting — if you can handle the upkeep.”

“Master, do you think he can? Sir, how much could he know of life from being your slave?”

“Don’t sell him short, slave!” he said almost angrily. “Somehow you talked me into setting up this experiment in long-term confinement, but my other slaves do real work — they’re not just toys to play with. Stephen has had as much experience dealing with the real world as most men his age, if not more.”

“Yes, Master. Begging your pardon, Sir.”

“That’s okay,” he said, looking kindly at me again. “Why do you think I can afford to stay home so much of the time? It’s because I send him out to represent me, sparing me the trouble. And his experience being a slave can only be an asset for a Master. It’s more than I had, more than most Masters have. He’ll make mistakes, sure, but he won’t have to guess what it feels like on the other end of the leash, or the whip. He’ll know, and you won’t be able to put anything over on him. He’s bright and he’s sensible, and with the right slave he’ll learn from his mistakes rather than becoming spoiled or giving up in despair. Can you handle being his slave?”

“Master, I don’t know. But if he wants me, and if we have your blessing and counsel, I’ll do my best, Sir.”

“We’ll see, slave.”

 

Part 6

 

If I expected anything dramatic to come of my talk with the Master, I was disappointed. Weeks have turned into months, and things are still much the same as before. Little changes happen, though, such as when Stephen — it’s always him in the morning now, not the Master — shows me a new exercise or resets the treadmill program to push me harder. One day he brought a tape measure and took a complete set of measurements of my body, with no explanation. He’s also taken urine and blood samples and sent them off for analysis.

“You’re healthy as a horse,” he told me after the results came back. “A strong draft horse. It’ll be a lot of years before you’re ready for a rest home.”

Within the framework of my relatively fixed, but slowly evolving, routine at the beginning and end of each day, the middle varies at Stephen’s whim, or perhaps according to changes in what the Master needs from him. Some days he might come in for no more than a quick blow job or piss break, followed by a kiss or a pat on the head. Other days he’ll spend hours with me, orchestrating elaborate bondage or torture scenes, culminating with a long fuck and then cuddling until I come down from whatever cloud he’s put me on.

More often now he’ll simply lie on my pallet and talk while I massage him or tonguebathe him, or sit on the bench while I lick his boots or nurse at his cock. He pours out his dreams and hopes — the kind of house he wants, the kind of work he wants to do, the additional education he needs for it, what he wants to accomplish in five years or ten. He says little about becoming a Master, just occasional references to “my slave and I” and the life he expects they’ll build together. His self-confidence is breathtaking, and very seductive.

Under my vow of silence, I make a good listener, and he usually keeps my mouth busy anyway. Even lying down, his hands are always in motion as he talks, and they’re never out of contact with me for long, always stroking or teasing or pinching some piece of my flesh. He doesn’t say, “I love you” or “I want you,” but he makes me feel it many times a day.

It’s been a long time since I gave up the idea of coming, and my body has found a way to give me wet dreams without erections. The dreams are always about Stephen. In real life, he has the oddest look on his face when he fondles my locked-down genitals, and I shiver, wondering what he plans for them. He has no guiche piercing, so apparently the Master never harnessed his sex the way he did mine.

 

Part 7

 

Today Stephen arrives full of even more energy than usual.

“Hello, slaveshit,” he says. “I call you that because today I’m going to beat the shit out of you, and since you’re a slave, you’re going to take it and thank me afterwards. Isn’t that right?”

Staring at him, open-mouthed, I automatically nod assent. I’m way past being able to deny him anything.

He uses no additional bondage for this session, just the chains I already wear and his gloved hands moving me into position and holding me there. He begins, in fact, by sitting on my pallet and laying me across his knees. Using his hands, a paddle, and a folded belt, he turns my flesh flaming red from my neck to the soles of my feet. When my backside is “done,” he turns me over and does the front the same way. I am whimpering long before he finishes, but he is unmoved.

Finally he dumps me onto the floor and stands up. I have a brief hope that he’s finished, but no: now that I’m “tenderized,” as he puts it, he starts in on me all over again using his boots. He kicks me, stomps on me, rolls me this way and that. The excruciating pain is eased only slightly by the knowledge that I am being pulverized by the same boots I’ve worshipped so often.

When he’s done all he can with his boots short of causing me internal injuries, he lowers the rarely used hoist from the ceiling, hooks my manacles onto it, and pulls me up to my feet. Then he starts using me as a punching bag!

Ungagged, I scream bloody murder, but Stephen never wavers, not even after I break my discipline and start sobbing out clear pleas to stop.

“Please, Sir, no more! Please stop, Sir! Please, Sir!”

Instead, he grabs my skull and starts slapping my face, hard.

“You don’t really mean that, fuckface! You don’t want me to stop before I’m damned well good and ready, do you, shithead slave? Do you? Answer me, asshole!”

“Sir, it hurts so much! Please, Sir!”

He slaps me some more before answering.

“It’s supposed to hurt, slaveboy. I enjoy hurting you. Haven’t you got that through your thick skull yet?”

“Sir, yes, Sir. As you please, Sir,” I force past my bruised lips.

“Damned right, dickhead. As I please, not you.”

At least he moves away from my face after that, and in my agony I realize that his heavier blows are all aimed at well-padded spots on my body. Although I hurt everywhere on the surface, and down into the large muscles, inside I’m okay, just shaken up and pumping out adrenaline and, finally, enough endorphins to turn the pain into ecstasy. I cross over into a masochist’s nirvana on a wave of natural opiates, my brain’s response to the stress of the beating.

Finally, when I’m too blissed out to care, he lets me down and half drags, half carries me over to my pallet, where he lays me out and fucks me royally. There is no more pain — I’m flying.

Before he comes inside my bruised ass, he bends over and says right into my ear, “I want you, slave. I never knew it could be this good. I want to own you and keep you for myself. I don’t want to share you anymore. And I want you to want me, too. I’d let you come now if I could, but the Master hasn’t allowed me the key to that lock. He will, though. He will.”

After he comes with a triumphant shout, he lies on top of me, his dick still inside my ass. We both doze for a while, but when I swim back to consciousness, he’s talking again.

“You want me, too, I know you do. I can see it in your eyes when you look at me. You know who you belong with. You know it’s time you started serving for real instead of in this zoo. I’ll take care of you all right, but you’ll cook for me, and clean my home, and wash my clothes and oil my leathers. You think I don’t have any of those things, and it’s true, I don’t have much — not yet, just the things I’m wearing now, the boots and armbands and gloves. I bought these for you, so you’d respect me even though I still wear a collar. “

He caresses me gently and kisses the back of my neck before continuing.

“It’s been years since I’ve had any clothes of my own, anything besides what the Master gives me so I can run errands and do business for him. And the only home I know is this one, the only space of my own the one room he lets me use. But I have plenty of money — he’s been saving it for me since I’ve been in his service, and he showed me the total — and I have marketable skills.

“All I need to make it worthwhile is a slave to come home to. I’ll be able to support you, dickhead, don’t worry about that, and maybe you can even earn a little on the side. The Master said he would free me if I mastered you, and when he sees you tonight, covered with bruises I gave you, and you kneel at my feet and kiss my boots in front of him, he’ll know that I have.”

He licks my ears and the back of my fuzzy head. I’m sure I look like road kill, yet in my heart I feel at ease. What needed to be said has finally been said. I don’t have to speculate anymore about Stephen’s intentions — or my future.

Relaxed and obviously feeling good about his conquest, Stephen lies half on me, half on the floor, and lightly strokes my shoulders and arms. It tickles and I shiver. He thinks something’s wrong and immediately reassures me.

“It’s okay, boy, you’ll be all right. It’s over now, and you did fine.”

Turning my head, I flash him a grin. He laughs.

“Guess you are okay, asshole!”

He lays his head on my shoulder again and rests for a while, but he can’t keep quiet for long — there’s so much he wants to say to me.

“I’ll bet you think he made it too easy for me, pissface, because here you are, all chained up and available, with no way to resist me. But I know you, slave. I’ve read your journals, too. You could have resisted me in your head if you’d wanted to. I could have been no more to you than some jerk who interrupted your precious meditation. But no, you bent your neck to me the first time I reached out my hand. You knew I would take you, and you wanted me to.”

He’s right, of course. He reads me perfectly.

“And you egged me on by the way you responded,” he continues. “I don’t think you even realized what you were doing. You could have laughed at my inexperience, or my presumption. But you loved it, dickwipe, you loved my using you, fucking you, beating you. You love it now, don’t you? You’re aching in every limb, and you wish I’d never take my cock out of your ass, don’t you?”

If he never took it out of my ass, he couldn’t put it in my mouth. I grunt ambiguously, and he laughs again.

“Yeah, I know you can’t talk to me, can’t tell me you agree — or that you don’t! That’s okay, cocksucker: you’ve talked too much in your life anyway. Now I’ll talk for both of us, and you can listen. Your body language is telling me all I need to know.

“I own you already, asswipe. I just have to make sure that the Master accepts it and lets us both go. I know you’re older than me, and better educated. That’s good; you can help me avoid mistakes. But I don’t think you’re smarter than me, not about anything real, and I’ll always have the balls to keep you in line when I have to. I don’t think I’ll have to punish you much, though. You’re well trained, give the Master credit for that, and you’ll obey me because you know it’s what makes you happy.

“Get your head around it, slave. I’m going to leave here soon, and you’re coming with me.”

The pain in my cock as it tries, and fails, to become erect is all the testimony I need from that quarter. Despite all the pain Stephen gives me, he wants me, he wants me badly, and that’s always been my chief aphrodisiac. The Master clearly doesn’t want me the way Stephen does, or need me. Confining me was a gift from him, because the experiment intrigued him and he enjoys our talks. But it was my obsession, not his, and he’ll probably be relieved to end it. This cell will get plenty of use from his tricks and other trainees.

Stephen pulls out finally, his cock still half hard, and goes to his gear bag for the ointment he applies to my welts. Lying there as he gently rubs the cooling salve into every inch of my bruised skin, I find my mind drifting. It feels so good just to let him take care of me. His spate of talk seems to have run out, and he is as silent as me. We communicate only by looks and touch, the eternal languages of love.

Nonetheless, sometimes I shiver when Stephen strokes me gently, almost preferring his slaps and kicks to the confused emotions his tenderness arouses. His rough but confident handling feels so right. Why should I have any doubts? I do want to please him. I can easily see myself cooking and cleaning for him, helping him off with his boots, polishing them, running his bath, turning down his bed, sleeping on the floor at his feet. I’m a slave, after all — more of a slave now than ever before — and serving a dominant man is what I need to do.

And he’s right that I need to serve him in real life, not in this arti-ficial environment the Master created for me. This isn’t the essence of slavery at all, but a parody of it! I can see it clearly now: my fantasy of open-ended confinement, of being nothing but a sextoy and urinal, is actually extremely selfish. Here I am, serving both my Masters sexually, taking their piss, absorbing their blows, but unable to work for them. I’m not carrying any of their burdens. Time to be real again!

Stephen fucks me once more, very gently, before he leaves, and then lets me clean him with my mouth until he empties his bladder down my throat. He says not another word, just kisses me deeply and rubs my scalp fuzz. After the door closes behind him, I lie back on my pallet and — exhausted, happy, hurting, confused, hopeful — soon fall asleep.

 

Part 8

 

When the Master comes to me that evening, I’m not surprised to see Stephen with him. It’s Stephen who carries my food bowl and crouches over it to moisten the gritty meal with his piss so I can eat it. The Master sighs and watches, saying nothing until I finish. When I thank him, still on my knees, he tells me to stand up and slowly turn around. I do so, barely suppressing a groan — I ache everywhere! The Master checks the bruises left by Stephen’s beating.

“Down, slave,” he says at last. “You may speak freely. Stephen did this to you?”

“Yes, Master.”

“Did you want him to?”

“No, Master. It was all his idea, Sir.”

“But you enjoyed it?”

“No, Master, not exactly. But he enjoyed it, and that made it okay.”

“I see. Do you feel that he went too far, exceeded your limits?”

“No, Master . . . .”

“Go on, slave.”

“Thank you, Master. It was the worst beating anyone’s ever given me, Sir. But as you can see, Sir, I survived in one piece.”

“I see. What did Stephen say to you, exactly, about why he did this?”

“Master, he said that you told him that he’d be freed if he mastered me.”

“And do you feel that he has? A beating alone is not Mastery.”

Now my eyes move over to Stephen standing beside the Master’s chair. His bare arms are crossed behind his back, his booted legs spread, his cock half erect, to all appearances a perfect slave. He raises his bowed head just enough to hold my eyes and pull them down to his boots. I know exactly what he wants from me, needs from me. His fate is now in my hands. I could say one word, “No,” and he’d remain a slave, and probably be barred from my cell so I would have nothing to fear from him. He’d be just another slaveboy who got above himself and was slapped down again.

No way can I do that to him. I might not be totally sure yet that he’s the right Master for me, but what do I have to lose by trying? A few more months of solitude in my cell? I’m suddenly eager to move on and try real slavery again.

A second or two was enough for these thoughts. The Master sees only the barest hesitation as I shuffle on my knees toward his slaveboy and bend my head to kiss his boots. As soon as I do so, Stephen reaches down and hooks a finger through one of the rings on my collar, pulling me upright between his legs. I kiss his cock, too, now proudly erect.

“Let it be so,” the Master says, and I swear he sounds pleased. “Stephen, come here.”

Quickly, my new Master releases my collar and steps around me to stand in front of his Master.

“Kneel, boy, for the last time.” The Master pulls out his key ring and unlocks Stephen’s collar chain, then rises from his chair and they embrace, hugging each other with every evidence of considerable affection. I see all this over my shoulder, as I don’t dare move without permission.

The Master kisses Stephen and holds him at arm’s length, looking him up and down as if for the first time before speaking again.

“You’ve grown so much in the past year. I never intended this outcome when I agreed to this slave’s proposal. I’m going to miss your smooth running of this house and all your help in my business. But it feels right. I think it’s what you both need.

“This slave’s greater age and experience will help you mature and develop into a fine Master, as long as you never lose his respect. You may not stay together long, or you might be a match for the ages — there’s no telling yet. But right now I think you’ll do very well together.”

“Sir,” Stephen replies, still giving the Master the respect he deserves, “unless you wish us to leave immediately, I’d be happy to continue here for another month or so, while I make other arrangements. My slave can do my chores, under my direction, and I can help you find and train a new assistant for the business.”

“Stay as long as you like,” the Master says. “But won’t you find your room too cramped now?”

“It’ll be good for the slave to get used to it, Sir,” my new Master says, grinning as he steps over to me and turns me around with a touch on my shoulder. “You’ve been too easy on him, Sir, letting him have all this space to himself. At least he won’t need any of my closet — I’m going to be filling it with my new clothes.”

“Very good. Take this key and unlock his leg chain from the wall. Do you want to take off his collar and cuffs, too?”

“Thank you, Sir, but I’d like to keep them on, with your leave, for as long as we stay in your house. I’ll give him a new collar when we move to my own home. Meanwhile, your chains suit him well, I think. Don’t they, fuckface?”

So ingrained was the rule against speaking to anyone but the Master that I hesitate to reply.

“You can answer me, slave,” Stephen says. “I am your Master now.”

“Sir, yes, Sir, thank you, Sir!” I say in a rush, and bend to kiss his boots again.

“Silly slaveboy!” he says, grinning down at me. “It’s going to be fun training you all over again.”

He squats down to disconnect me from the wall chain, then pulls me to my feet and into his arms. I wince as he hugs me, because of my bruises, but there’s nowhere else I want to be.

“Looks like our experiment is finished,” the Master says, “but given such a wild card as Stephen here proved to be, I’d have to call the results inconclusive. What do you think, slave?”

Glancing at my new Master for permission, I answer firmly,

“Sir, it was a wonderful experience, and I am deeply grateful to you for it, but it’s time I faced my responsibilities. Sir, I’m ready to be a slave in the real world again, Sir.”

“Good boy!” the Master says.

“Woof!” Stephen says, and kisses me hard. “C’mon, dickface,” he says at last, grinning widely, “and I’ll show you where the real slaves around here live.”

“Yes, Master.”

 

THE

Cage – Part 1

I had been chatting to a top guy online for a while, I had come across him on recon, and after we had chatted for a while he admitted to being the owner of the cam site Prison-X. It was an awesome website that had live web feeds of guys in a cell, one of those room sized cube cages, you know the ones you see in the movie with the lone prisoner, visible from every side, no privacy at all?

He told me he ran a leather club and the cage had been like a storage area for drinks and stuff in the basement and he had decided to set up the cam site as a bit of a on the side income.  He admitted though that while it was pretty easy to get new members, getting guys to renew membership was a hassle. I had checked out the site, there was a free half minute clip and just that had me boned to the max, showed a dude in prison orange jumpsuit, thick leather hood and full prison shackles, walking around his cell, all that was in there was a pallet and a toilet seat over a can, he reckoned all the models were volunteers but he had to rely on a few regulars for through-the-week stuff, since most people were working, and while he could get a few more interesting lads on the weekends and stuff, staging mock prisoner rapes and stuff, through the week was pretty basic guy locked in cage wandering around, fun to watch for a while, but for what the site charged I could see how he was not encouraging guys to re-sign for 5 days of ambling prisoner.

I really wanted a site membership but I was saving up for a new bike at the moment and porn site membership would not fit in my budget. Since I worked weekends and had Monday and Tuesday off I figured I could offer some prison time and score a membership, we discussed this, I said I wanted to wear a rubber catsuit that should at least provide something a little more interesting to look at, I was pretty adamant tho that I didn’t want no mock rape scene tho! He asked if I would be willing to be put in some more extreme bondage positions. This sounded agreeable to me. I had some days off I had to take at the end of the month, I had planned to drive down to see some friends but figured I would end up spending less if I was in the cage for two night and then just went down for 4 nights to my friends.

I pulled into the delivery area of the club, it was lunchtime so understandably the area was dead, I hopped off and pushed my bike inside, it was a warm day but I didn’t unzip my biker jacket since I was wearing my rubber catsuit underneath, I figured this was easier then bringing a bag and stuff, plus I love cruising around wearing my rubber gear under my leathers. I pushed my bike into the main receiving bay and my online buddy was there to greet me, he looked damn fine, blue jeans and a tight white T with the club’s logo on it. He had heard my bike and come out to greet me. He grinned as he shook my hand, ‘hey Fred, good to finally meet you, thanks for this, l added a banner on the site after our last convo so I am glad you turned up!’ I grinned back telling him I was happy to spend some time in a cell in rubber and bondage, he smiled and winked and showed me where to stash my bike and helmet, I left my leathers on but opened the front of my jacket to reveal my catsuit, the hood hanging down the front of it. He grinned at the sight of this and I smiled back.

We made our way down some stairs and there was the cage, my cock bumped against the inside of the cup under my catsuit at the site of this.  This had been one of his requests, so that I would be unable to stimulate myself over the two days I was going to be locked up, the cup had ventilation holes near the base so my piss would run out and probably down my leg, it would not be all that comfortable but it was only for 2 days. When I had told him about this he had told me there was a drain in the middle of the cell floor so I would just have to stand over that to piss, the floor of the cage was white tile, to better reflect the hash bright lights in the room, and make the cell look sterile and forbidding. I looked at it and the effect was fantastic, it was probably a 4 meters square cell, right in the middle of the room, the base had been cemented into the floor during construction and the frame was thick metal poles, it was a serious cage that I was not going to get out of. He led me over to a corner, there was a line painted on the floor to show where the cams could view, we stopped near it, and he gestured to a table nearby, “Ok Fred my boy, just put your leathers on there, I will get the ‘wardens’ they are upstairs having a drink, it’s a good thing you’re on time Fred my lad, they do not like to be kept waiting.’ He gave me another wink and left, I unzipped my bike boots and stepped out of them, placing them neatly under the table and then unzipped the fly on my leather jeans and stepped out of them, feeling cooler but still warm in the rubber suit which had warmed up nicely on the ride over.

Once they were folded on the table I fully unzipped my jacket and shrugged it off and put it on the table. My keys were in one of the zippered pockets in my jeans and I hadn’t brought wallet or phone, not like there was a vending machine in the cell anyway. I pulled my hood on and then zipped it up at the back. The zip on the back of my suit is about a inch wide and molded in really well, There is 4 zips on the suit, I ran two of them all the way up to the top of the hood, that way a collar could be put around my neck and as long as it was on I would not be able to take the suit off, the two remaining zips we had agreed would be joined together with a short length of chain. Allowing me to open them wide enough over the ass area so I could attend to natures demands, but not wide enough for me to pull the cup out through the gap.

I stood there with my cock fully pressing against the inside of the cup, staring at the cage, the hood is pretty thick and I was so mesmerized by the cage that when someone laid a hand on my shoulder, I jumped a little, when I turned the sight before me made my cock press even harder against the inside of my cup. Three muscled leather dudes stood grinning at me. Each wore tight leather jeans tucked into high boots, that shone in a way that made my mouth water, tucked into the jeans were short sleeved leather shirts, black sam brown belts and leather caps made the whole thing hot as hell, each had cuffs and batons hanging off their belts. One reached behind his back and when his gloved hand returned he was holding a pair of hinged cuffs in them. My mate had explained that the ‘prisoner’ was shackled inside the cage by the ‘guards’ I am sure it was very well-watched footage!! The guard holding the cuffs pulled my arms behind me, I didn’t resist him, he ratcheted them on tight but not uncomfortably so, and then one of them muttered ‘show time kiddo’ and gave me a push towards the open cell door.

My heart was in my throat as I was marched towards the door, a guard on either side and one behind me, I thought of all the guys who would be watching me being led into the cage. Once we were inside the cell one of the guads locked the door behind us, as if to stop me bolting. I shivered a little at the sound of the lock clicking shut. I glanced at my meagre furnishings the pallet and the poor excuse for a toilet, glad to see that the can under the seat of the toilet was nice and clean, I would have to try and use it as little as possible. On the pallet I noted a whole heap of metal, that was interesting, I had expected shackles, but apparently my mate had other plans for me. One of the guards unlocked my wrists and barked at me to put my hands on the bars and spread my feet, I complied quickly, I had no doubt that while they wouldn’t really hurt me, they would certainly rough me up for the cams if I gave them a excuse to, two stood either side of me, holding batons as if daring me to move while the third gathered some of the metal off the bed. The first thing that went on was a collar, it was in two halves, and it was massive, it looked more like some sort of pipe fitting then a kink collar, it sat snugly around my neck, probably two inches wide, and about a inch thick. Two bolts on either side held it on and the guard screwed the bolts on tight, I heard him grunt in effort to tighten them, this guys arms were probably a little thicker then my thighs, so if he was putting this much effort in, there was no way I was getting these off with just my fingers. The collar sat around my neck, it was a snug fit, there was no way I would be able to slip the zip down past it. To secure my suit on further the guard pulled a small but solid looking padlock out of his pocket and I heard a click near the top of my head, my guess was that he had padlocked the two zips together, this would stop me from unzipping the hood and pulling it off, and even if I managed to get the zip past the collar I would still not be able to get out of my suit.

While the guard gathered some more steel of the bed one of the two guards beside me started to run his baton up and down the inside of my leg, he tapped it lightly on the cup, causing my cock to twitch from the vibration and me to shiver slightly. The third guard returned and grabbed one of my arms and pulled it down to his waist height again using a two halves wide steel circle he fasted them together around my wrist. They fit snugly around my wrist just behind my hand, he tightened the bolts more carefully this time, being careful not to tighten them so much that they crushed my wrist, they were firmly in place behind my hand I doubted I would be able to slide it up my arm. These were wider about 4 inches wide but just as thick as the collar, looking at them I was convinced they were from a hardware shop and not a kink store.  He released my wrist and the weight of the bracelet nearly dragged my arm down to my side but I lifted it up above my head and he pulled my other arm down and repeated the procedure. He fetched more metal bracelets and one went around each of my ankles, I was really hard by now and would be surprised if I was not dribbling pre-cum I was in a cage with three hot leather guys, having heavy metal attached to me while in rubber, it doesn’t get any hotter than that!

Once my ankles had metal bracelets bolted onto them one of the guards pulled a massive gag off his belt and strapped it on, my mask had eyes nose and mouth holes in it, my mouth was now firmly filled, I thought of all the other prisoners who had no doubt been gagged like this and groaned in lust, already wishing I could jerk off, and I still had two days to go. I head the click of a lock and knew the gag wasn’t coming off anytime soon. They firmly told me to stay in position while they backed out of the cell, walking backwards holding batons like I was a real dangerous prisoner, considering the weight of the steel it was not such a bad idea, I basically had two hammers on the ends of my arms if I decided to take a swing at them. They stepped out of the cell and locked the door behind them, 48 hours to go.

 

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Turning Fantasy Into Reality

Turning Fantasy Into Reality

Note: At this stage, this post is purely fantasy, based on an arrangement that almost was… After actively searching for over 5 years, I believe that I may have found the right person, and if all goes as planned, I will become his full time slave within a few weeks....

The Dice Game

The Dice Game

I was attempting to figure out how long a bondage session should last, and I just couldn’t decide on a time.   No matter what number I thought of, it seemed either too short or too long. It was then I got the idea to let FATE decide.     While this...

Becoming Real – Part 8

For the first month or so of my captivity, I never saw anyone but the Master, and then usually just twice a day. From time to time, though, he’d look in on me unexpectedly, and he might demand my service, if only as a urinal, or amuse himself by putting me into some more stringent bondage, installing a butt plug or catheter, or placing clamps and clips on my body. Anything to reinforce that I am not in control of my bodily functions or sensations, only how I react to them. Now that my routine is well established, he sometimes sends his house slave instead to check on me and carry out whatever he’s planned but doesn’t care to do himself — I assume he watches on the video to be sure all is done to his standards.

Sometimes he sends in visiting friends of his, other Masters or Topmen, to amuse themselves with my body or to make use of my holes. He insists they use condoms with me, even for oral sex, and a latex barrier for rimming. There’s a container of rubbers and oral shields next to the cell door, kept full by the house slave. There are probably also some other limits he’s set to keep me safe, but it’s out of my hands — I have no safeword, no way to draw a line. The Master’s good will and good sense are my only protection.

It is absolutely forbidden me to speak to these visiting Tops, or to the house slave, not one word, and this is enforced if necessary by gagging me. The only choice I have is to cooperate and endure whatever they wish to do with me, or to resist and have to endure it anyway in the end. Because of my love and respect for the Master, I would never resist his use of me, however painful, but I’ll still balk at times if someone else interrupts my meditation or writing for a fuck or a piss stop. It never does any good, of course. The chains put me at their mercy.

The rule of silence was very hard on me at first. Some are men I would have been drawn to in any case (others, alas, not), and I yearned to communicate with them, to convey my respect and my appreciation for their blows, their piss, their hard cocks filling my holes. But at the first word, even “Sir, thank you, Sir,” they stick in the big plug gag, filling my mouth, and tightly strap it around my head, or else the ring gag that stretches my jaws wide to receive their offerings. Only my eyes remain able to express my feelings, except when these, too, are covered.

Some men — a surprising number — find it unnerving to look into the eyes of a bound slave they are using and need the depersonalization afforded by a mask or hood, or at least a blindfold, while others look back at me with a fierce joy and a clear conscience, sure of their right to dominate. For me, the feelings are ambivalent. While it is good to be hooded and used as a nameless slave, just a body with convenient holes and parts available for torture, it is also thrilling to be in the hands of a man who really seems to want me — me in particular — and to take pleasure in my helplessness to resist him.

 

 

 

Be Careful What You Dream For

Be Careful What You Dream For

  I never thought I would write story for Eunuch Archive, let alone a mostly true story (characters and events have been condensed). It all happened so fast. I was a middle aged divorced male, white, 5’8’, 165 lbs. I have two wonderful children. I raised them...

Banded by Choice

Banded by Choice

  I’m a 35 year old bodybuilder who abused steroids in my weight training for many years. I achieved the body I wanted, but eventually developed serious problems which required my stopping the injections cold. Deprived of the drug my body had come to count on, my...

Balls Wanted For Torture and Removal

Balls Wanted For Torture and Removal

My ad read:  Balls wanted for torture and removal. At first no replies and then they started to roll in.  My first respondant was waiting for me in his motel room, blindfolded as ordered.  I entered his room and took him by the hand and led him into his bathtub.  I...

Forever

Forever

A permanent commitment is a very serious one. I need to trust that if you are making such a commitment, that you will be doing everything in your power to ensure that I will never again be a free man. I would hope that, should you become unwilling or unable to keep me...

Master and Slave 2

Master and Slave 2

The night after castrating and sending my former slave off to his fate, I slept well, knowing that I had done the right thing. Now, however, I was without a slave. Good slaves, the kind one keeps, are difficult to find. I resolved to select very carefully this time....

A Story of a Rubber Slave’s Forced Training

A Story of a Rubber Slave’s Forced Training

I followed Alan down the steps into the dungeon. We both wore jeans and t-shirts and I began to feel nervous as I saw the various rubber suits and restraints hanging from the walls, and the cage and sling and rubber bed in the semi-darkness of the room. “This is where...

Tricked

Tricked

The door to my room is closed as I lay on my bed, touching my naked body. My chest is hairless, except for a few wisps around my nipples, which are pinker and larger than they used to be. I trail my hand down to my stomach, which has lost most of its definition. My...

Turning Fantasy Into Reality

Turning Fantasy Into Reality

Note: At this stage, this post is purely fantasy, based on an arrangement that almost was… After actively searching for over 5 years, I believe that I may have found the right person, and if all goes as planned, I will become his full time slave within a few weeks....

The Dice Game

The Dice Game

I was attempting to figure out how long a bondage session should last, and I just couldn’t decide on a time.   No matter what number I thought of, it seemed either too short or too long. It was then I got the idea to let FATE decide.     While this...

Cage

I had been chatting to a top guy online for a while, I had come across him on recon, and after we had chatted for a while he admitted to being the owner of the cam site Prison-X. It was an awesome website that had live web feeds of guys in a cell, one of those room sized cube cages, you know the ones you see in the movie with the lone prisoner, visible from every side, no privacy at all?

He told me he ran a leather club and the cage had been like a storage area for drinks and stuff in the basement and he had decided to set up the cam site as a bit of a on the side income.  He admitted though that while it was pretty easy to get new members, getting guys to renew membership was a hassle. I had checked out the site, there was a free half minute clip and just that had me boned to the max, showed a dude in prison orange jumpsuit, thick leather hood and full prison shackles, walking around his cell, all that was in there was a pallet and a toilet seat over a can, he reckoned all the models were volunteers but he had to rely on a few regulars for through-the-week stuff, since most people were working, and while he could get a few more interesting lads on the weekends and stuff, staging mock prisoner rapes and stuff, through the week was pretty basic guy locked in cage wandering around, fun to watch for a while, but for what the site charged I could see how he was not encouraging guys to re-sign for 5 days of ambling prisoner.

I really wanted a site membership but I was saving up for a new bike at the moment and porn site membership would not fit in my budget. Since I worked weekends and had Monday and Tuesday off I figured I could offer some prison time and score a membership, we discussed this, I said I wanted to wear a rubber catsuit that should at least provide something a little more interesting to look at, I was pretty adamant though that I didn’t want no mock rape scene though! He asked if I would be willing to be put in some more extreme bondage positions. This sounded agreeable to me. I had some days off I had to take at the end of the month, I had planned to drive down to see some friends but figured I would end up spending less if I was in the cage for two night and then just went down for 4 nights to my friends.

I pulled into the delivery area of the club, it was lunchtime so understandably the area was dead, I hopped off and pushed my bike inside, it was a warm day but I didn’t unzip my biker jacket since I was wearing my rubber catsuit underneath, I figured this was easier then bringing a bag and stuff, plus I love cruising around wearing my rubber gear under my leathers. I pushed my bike into the main receiving bay and my online buddy was there to greet me, he looked damn fine, blue jeans and a tight white T with the club’s logo on it. He had heard my bike and come out to greet me. He grinned as he shook my hand, ‘hey Fred, good to finally meet you, thanks for this, l added a banner on the site after our last conversation so I am glad you turned up!’ I grinned back telling him I was happy to spend some time in a cell in rubber and bondage, he smiled and winked and showed me where to stash my bike and helmet, I left my leathers on but opened the front of my jacket to reveal my catsuit, the hood hanging down the front of it. He grinned at the sight of this and I smiled back.

We made our way down some stairs and there was the cage, my cock bumped against the inside of the cup under my catsuit at the site of this.  This had been one of his requests, so that I would be unable to stimulate myself over the two days I was going to be locked up, the cup had ventilation holes near the base so my piss would run out and probably down my leg, it would not be all that comfortable but it was only for 2 days. When I had told him about this he had told me there was a drain in the middle of the cell floor so I would just have to stand over that to piss, the floor of the cage was white tile, to better reflect the hash bright lights in the room, and make the cell look sterile and forbidding. I looked at it and the effect was fantastic, it was probably a 4 meters square cell, right in the middle of the room, the base had been cemented into the floor during construction and the frame was thick metal poles, it was a serious cage that I was not going to get out of. He led me over to a corner, there was a line painted on the floor to show where the cams could view, we stopped near it, and he gestured to a table nearby, “Ok Fred my boy, just put your leathers on there, I will get the ‘wardens’ they are upstairs having a drink, it’s a good thing you’re on time Fred my lad, they do not like to be kept waiting.’ He gave me another wink and left, I unzipped my bike boots and stepped out of them, placing them neatly under the table and then unzipped the fly on my leather jeans and stepped out of them, feeling cooler but still warm in the rubber suit which had warmed up nicely on the ride over.

Once they were folded on the table I fully unzipped my jacket and shrugged it off and put it on the table. My keys were in one of the zippered pockets in my jeans and I hadn’t brought wallet or phone, not like there was a vending machine in the cell anyway. I pulled my hood on and then zipped it up at the back. The zip on the back of my suit is about a inch wide and molded in really well, There is 4 zips on the suit, I ran two of them all the way up to the top of the hood, that way a collar could be put around my neck and as long as it was on I would not be able to take the suit off, the two remaining zips we had agreed would be joined together with a short length of chain. Allowing me to open them wide enough over the ass area so I could attend to natures demands, but not wide enough for me to pull the cup out through the gap.

I stood there with my cock fully pressing against the inside of the cup, staring at the cage, the hood is pretty thick and I was so mesmerized by the cage that when someone laid a hand on my shoulder, I jumped a little, when I turned the sight before me made my cock press even harder against the inside of my cup. Three muscled leather dudes stood grinning at me. Each wore tight leather jeans tucked into high boots, that shone in a way that made my mouth water, tucked into the jeans were short sleeved leather shirts, black and brown belts and leather caps made the whole thing hot as hell, each had cuffs and batons hanging off their belts. One reached behind his back and when his gloved hand returned he was holding a pair of hinged cuffs in them. My mate had explained that the ‘prisoner’ was shackled inside the cage by the ‘guards’ I am sure it was very well-watched footage!! The guard holding the cuffs pulled my arms behind me, I didn’t resist him, he ratcheted them on tight but not uncomfortably so, and then one of them muttered ‘show time kiddo’ and gave me a push towards the open cell door.

My heart was in my throat as I was marched towards the door, a guard on either side and one behind me, I thought of all the guys who would be watching me being led into the cage. Once we were inside the cell one of the guards locked the door behind us, as if to stop me bolting. I shivered a little at the sound of the lock clicking shut. I glanced at my meagre furnishings the pallet and the poor excuse for a toilet, glad to see that the can under the seat of the toilet was nice and clean, I would have to try and use it as little as possible. On the pallet I noted a whole heap of metal, that was interesting, I had expected shackles, but apparently my mate had other plans for me. One of the guards unlocked my wrists and barked at me to put my hands on the bars and spread my feet, I complied quickly, I had no doubt that while they wouldn’t really hurt me, they would certainly rough me up for the cams if I gave them a excuse to, two stood either side of me, holding batons as if daring me to move while the third gathered some of the metal off the bed. The first thing that went on was a collar, it was in two halves, and it was massive, it looked more like some sort of pipe fitting then a kink collar, it sat snugly around my neck, probably two inches wide, and about a inch thick. Two bolts on either side held it on and the guard screwed the bolts on tight, I heard him grunt in effort to tighten them, this guys arms were probably a little thicker then my thighs, so if he was putting this much effort in, there was no way I was getting these off with just my fingers. The collar sat around my neck, it was a snug fit, there was no way I would be able to slip the zip down past it. To secure my suit on further the guard pulled a small but solid looking padlock out of his pocket and I heard a click near the top of my head, my guess was that he had padlocked the two zips together, this would stop me from unzipping the hood and pulling it off, and even if I managed to get the zip past the collar I would still not be able to get out of my suit.

While the guard gathered some more steel of the bed one of the two guards beside me started to run his baton up and down the inside of my leg, he tapped it lightly on the cup, causing my cock to twitch from the vibration and me to shiver slightly. The third guard returned and grabbed one of my arms and pulled it down to his waist height again using a two halves wide steel circle he fasted them together around my wrist. They fit snugly around my wrist just behind my hand, he tightened the bolts more carefully this time, being careful not to tighten them so much that they crushed my wrist, they were firmly in place behind my hand I doubted I would be able to slide it up my arm. These were wider about 4 inches wide but just as thick as the collar, looking at them I was convinced they were from a hardware shop and not a kink store.  He released my wrist and the weight of the bracelet nearly dragged my arm down to my side but I lifted it up above my head and he pulled my other arm down and repeated the procedure. He fetched more metal bracelets and one went around each of my ankles, I was really hard by now and would be surprised if I was not dribbling pre-cum I was in a cage with three hot leather guys, having heavy metal attached to me while in rubber, it doesn’t get any hotter than that!

Once my ankles had metal bracelets bolted onto them one of the guards pulled a massive gag off his belt and strapped it on, my mask had eyes nose and mouth holes in it, my mouth was now firmly filled, I thought of all the other prisoners who had no doubt been gagged like this and groaned in lust, already wishing I could jerk off, and I still had two days to go. I head the click of a lock and knew the gag wasn’t coming off anytime soon. They firmly told me to stay in position while they backed out of the cell, walking backwards holding batons like I was a real dangerous prisoner, considering the weight of the steel it was not such a bad idea, I basically had two hammers on the ends of my arms if I decided to take a swing at them. They stepped out of the cell and locked the door behind them, 48 hours to go.

 

Part 2

 

I wandered around my cell a little after my wardens had left, they had really left the area, they were not just standing off to the side out of camera view, walking with the weights around my ankles and wrists took a little getting used to, I have no doubt that people watching the footage would have a laugh as I high stepped around at first until I worked out how much effort I had to expend to lift my weighted ankles, I was happy enough to look like a bit of a full bringing my legs up high rather than risk tripping over my own ankles and possibly tearing my catsuit on the floor. I also had to be really careful not to swing my arms or they would tend to swing back and bump against my side, and again I was a little worried about the suit getting caught and ripped, rubber is great aesthetically but not as hard wearing as leather! I played with the gag with my tongue as I strolled around the perimeter of my cell, it filled my mouth comfortably, but effectively silenced me.  My cock continued to rage against the inside of the cup and I really, really wished that I hadn’t been banned from stimulating myself, although it was probably for the best, it was probably better to be enjoying my predicament and being horny rather then not enjoying my predicament and not horny at all.

My mind kept going back to the ‘guards’ they had been damn hot, I promised myself the first thing I would do with my free membership from this would be to pull up the old footage of a mock rape. Remembering I was on cam and supposed to be performing I grabbed the bars of my cage and gave them a little shake, as if trying to find a way out, I also tried to undo the bolts holding the metal bracelets on my wrists knowing that there was no way I could get them off but thinking it would probably look good for the cams. I wandered around my cell a little more, but it was hard work walking even the short distance in my cell with all the extra weight on me! I hadn’t slept much last night since I had been so excited, and I knew that I was going to be put in a few bondage positions through the night so I figured some rest at the moment would not go astray, everyone at home would have PLENTY to watch later on. I laid out on the pallet, I had to fold the thin pillow in half so I could rest my head on it high enough that the collar did not dig into my neck, ah this was bliss. As I stared up at the room I noticed something, there was a massive open pipe over the top of the cell, I guessed it had been put in so the cell could be quickly and easily cleaned, above it was a some with a whole heap of little porthole windows, must be like a peepshow thing for the club so they could look down from above at the dude in the cage. Aside from that the view was uninteresting, what I could see between the harsh lights was just more pipes and stuff, general cellar. Although with the club above pumping and even through the day anyone down here yelling for help would not find it coming.

I must have dozed off slightly cause it seemed like a few seconds later and I jerked up at the sound of someone rattling my cage bars with a baton, I glanced over and the three guards were at the door, I quickly stood and walked over to the wall that I knew faced the main cameras (there was a big arrow on the wall in case there was any doubt) and placed my hands on the bars and waited. The guards entered and one of them came up behind me and pulled me away from the centre of the cell and told me to put my hands behind my head. I did so, being careful not to whack myself in the head with my weighted wrists. The two other guards were holding two pieces of metal each, they each put a piece on the ground and then moved forward, they held the two pieces together on my left side and I saw that the four pieces would go tether to make a belt, I was a little worried at this stage, this would be really heavy and I was not looking forward to the pressure it would put on my hip bones, I figured I would find a way of conveying this if it became too much, from what I had gathered of our chats there would be a number of different poses through the night. While one guard held the completed half of the belt against me the third stood nearby tapping his baton against his gloved hand and looking at me in a  stern manner, the second guard grabbed the next piece of the belt, a few mins later and it circled around my back and my left side, the last piece would complete the circle, they had adjusted the bolts carefully so that it sat tightly against me but did not cause me any discomfort, I was unsure as to how I would go laying or sitting down in it though. That problem was shuffled to the back of my mind when after they had finished securing the belt the two guards left and then returned carrying chains between the both of them.  Their arms were straining and the chains were obviously very heavy, while the third guard stood watching me they left and returned with even more chain, I was getting really worried now, if I had to wear all of that metal I would not be able to stand up, there was enough there to mummify me in chain!  However it quickly became apparent that the length was for another reason altogether. Moving quickly the two guards fasted a end of chain to each corner of the cell, once the four corners of my cells had chain hooked around them they dragged the ends towards me, I snuck a quick peek down, my belt, had a lot of solid looking rings welded around the outside.  Using massive padlock the chains were attached to these rings, the chains had been precisely measured and the last one was only just long enough to be hooked through the padlock and through the belt, once this was complete I was attached to my cell from four points, I was trapped in the center of my cell, there was zero slack in the chains so I could not move left right forward or backwards. The chains attached to the top four corners of my cell took the weight of the belt, so I was not uncomfortable, but I wasn’t moving anywhere from this spot either. The guards ducked under and stepped over the chains and left again, locking the door behind them, although that seemed a little bit of overkill at this stage.

I stood there imagining how I must look, 8 chains attached to a thick metal belt around my waist, preventing any and all movement, I felt a little silly standing there and was unsure what to do with my arms which had not been restrained in any way, I tested the chains holding me in place, each padlock was massive, they had side guards to prevent them from being easily cut, and the key for each of them was a weird shape,  I imagined that a lock picker would have a lot of trouble with these. I tried to rattle the chains but it was impossible there was no tension, they just hummed slightly from the vibration. In the end I just stood there facing the cameras holding onto two of the chains in front of me, I had thought of keeping my hands behind my head but the weight of the bracelets made that too hard.  I looked around seeing that the guards had once again left, I looked up and was surprised to see a face at one of the porthole window, there was something funny about it, that I couldn’t really place, it was like the guy was not actually looking at me, but through me or something. The face left and in a few mins another appeared, again it did not seem like he even cared that I was there! He looked bored, I felt a little insulted by that and looked away.

I was standing there thinking that this had been a lot of work if the position was going to be changed soon when the guards returned. This time two of them carrying long two long bars each, the bars were long and flat with holes at either end, except for one which had large semicircles of metal at either end. I quickly put my hands behind my head as they entered and faced forward, once again the guards navigated their way through the chains towards me, again as one stood watch the other two worked. They tapped my legs indicating I should spread them and I did so, they had attached one of the bars to my ankle bracelets, using padlocks to secure them, then the piece with the semicircles was placed just above my knees and they produced the remaining to halves and bolted them around my legs snugly, so I was now effectively prevented from moving my legs at all. The next part however came as a surprise, one guard held my head steady and the other attached the remaining bars so that they ran from my belt to the collar, one at the front and the other against my back. I am not sure how this was done exactly since I could not look down, but I did not hear the click of locks so I am assuming it was screwed on. When they were done all three left again, once more my hands were free so I ran my hands over the belt and collar trying to feel how the bars were attached, I could not bend at all, the bars held me rigidly up and down, since I was being held up by the belt and chains if I tried to bend my knees all that would happen would my feet would come of the floor and I would be hanging there, I imagined it would get uncomfortable pretty fast and may tear the rubber of my suit so I stayed still, again resorting to holding two of the chains in front of me.

My suit was quickly beginning to fill with sweat as I stood there, the lights were very bright and not far off the top of the cell so a little heat from them beat down on me, but it was enough, I could feel trickles of sweat running down my back and legs to pool in the feet of my suit, I wiggled my toes feeling the sweat squish between them, likewise the fingers of my suit also had sweat pooling at the fingertips, though if I elevated my arms I felt it trickle down my arms and then make its way to join the rest pooling in the feet of my suit. The result of this is that I was feeling a little thirst, I had no idea whatsoever of how long I had been like this, since I had fallen asleep, if there were people in the club it would have to be around 5 or later, I knew the staff would arrive around then.

As I stood there resisting to the temptation to swing my arms since they were the only part of me that was free I heard my cell door open again, the collar was on firmly enough that I could only just twist my head a few inches before the bars on my front and back prevented any further movement. I saw they were carrying more chains, I went to raise my hands behind my head but one of the guards grabbed them and lowered them, they then padlocked the bracelets to the center of each chain, I figured this would be to keep them hanging down by my side since with the weight of the bracelets and the chain it would be to much strain to hold them up, but I was wrong, they then attached the ends of the chains to the chains coming from the top corners of the room, so I was standing with my arms stretched out either side of me, like a T. There was a little slack in the chains but I was only if I lifted my arms, and the metal bracelets made that too hard to do. One of the guards stepped up beside me and I heard a click and then felt him unbuckle the gag, he moved in front of me blocking the cameras view, making it look like he was checking my belt me murmured, ‘how you doing Fred?’ I was a little surprised at being addressed by my name, but managed to mummer back, ‘I am fine but I am a little thirsty.’ He seemed to find this funny cause he chuckled, he then raised his other hand up to eye level to show me he was holding a funnel gag, ‘don’t worry boyo, we’re about to take care of that now.’  He pushed the gag into my mouth and moved to the side so that the cameras could see what he was doing, while he buckled it up me kept muttering in my ear. ‘Right above you is the bathroom, the dome is actually a ring of urinals, the portholes are one way glass, so that lads can see when they can expect a load to come down that pipe directly above your head there, though we are gonna leave the pipe closed till the tank above it is nice and full, most of it will just run over you but a fair bit should land in that funnel, you can’t move your head to tip it out of the funnel so your gonna have one option only, good thing you’re thirsty huh?’  He laughed again as he used a padlock to secure the funnel gag on me and then they left.

I was absolutely frozen in the middle of the room, a figure in black rubber and a ton of chain and metal holding him in place, immobile, and helpless. I wonder how long till they empty the tank on me?

They emptied the cistern tank three times that night, the deluge of piss washed over me, my nose filled with the smell of strong piss and urine, I gulped down the piss that landed in the funnel, chugging the foul stuff down as fast as I could trying to avoid tasting, from the whistles and shouts on the side I am guess the guards enjoyed the show.

 

Part 3

 

I have no idea how long I was like that, I was in a sort of trance near the end, and jolted in shock when someone put their hands on me and undid the gag, they told me the cameras were off now, and that I could get some sleep. They removed all of the metal except for the ankle and wrist bracelets and the collar, I collapsed onto the pallet, and went straight to sleep, wondering what tomorrow would hold in store for me.

I was awoken by the sound of a baton being run along the bars to my cell, the harsh over head lights had been left on all night, I had managed to get to sleep by resting a arm over my eyes. I sat up, waking up covered in rubber and locked in heavy metal bracelets sounds hot, but the reality is that your disorientated hot and uncomfy. I groaned and sat up, three guards where circling the outside of my cell running their batons around the outside of it, they stopped when they saw I was sitting up and awake. They pointed their batons at the entrance to my cell and I saw that a rubber mat had been laid on the floor near the entrance, it was about the size of a beach towel, at one end of the mat was a silver dog bowl of … mush. Even in my slightly groggy sleepy state, I could tell what was expected of me, as I headed towards the mat one of the guards circled around and entered the cell to stand in front of the bowl, probably to make sure that I played by the rules and didn’t use my hands or something, as I knelt down on the mat I heard the sound of a zip being undone, I looked up, if I was expected to give a blowjob as soon as I had woken up from what was basically passing out from exhaustion I was not going to be to amused. As I looked up a stream of warm piss splattered in my face, causing me to gasp and then choke as some of the urine was sucked down the wrong way. When I had finished coughing and splattering I realized that the rest of the stream had ended up in my morning breakfast mush, greeeeeeat.  I sighed and bent down and started to slurp up the mush, which was sort of sweet, with an aftertaste of piss.

As soon as I was done the guard reached down and grabbed me by the arm and stood me up, I opened my mouth to tell him precisely what he could do with his piss, no sooner did I open my mouth than a gag was strapped back in my mouth and padlocked behind me, then my arms where twisted behind me and I was frog marched out of the cell, it happened so fast I was still blinking in shock before I realized we where halfway to the stairs leading up to the club.

Once on the club floor the guard jerked me to a halt, I looked at him in what I hoped was a inquiring manner, it must have worked cause he started talking, “you think you just get to chill out in a cell all day Fred? Not likely lad, club needs cleaning.” As he was speaking he was joining my wrists and ankles together with lengths of heavy chain, massive padlocks attaching the chains to the bracelets on my wrists and ankles, I was tired, hot and sore, but the click of each lock closing made my cock twitch. A tray was shoved in my hands and I was given a push towards the tables loaded with empty glasses and bottles. I sighed, this was going to be hot and tedious. With my ankles hobbled by the heavy chains I shuffled around the club, loading the tray up and then carrying it to the large bin set down clearly for this reason, it was hard work, I couldn’t really lift my feet and I couldn’t load the tray all that much since I already had a massive amount of weight around my wrists as it was. I grumbled to myself as I shuffled around the floor.

There where no clocks anywhere in the club so I had no idea what time it was, that was probably the most disorientating thing about this whole experience. It seemed to take forever to get the club cleaned when I was done the guards came over to me, they had been leaning against the side of the bar commenting on my work for a while now.  I eyed them off as they approached, these guys were super woofy, their leather looked so soft, the hood was mostly filling my nose with the scent of rubber and a nightclub has a very distinctive odor of its own however I concentrated and took a deep breath I could catch a whiff of leather. My ankles where unlocked but my wrists were left locked together and I was pushed along in front of my three tormentors.

We reached a corner of the club that had a few of those raised stage things you sometimes see on dance floors so that people can stand on them and dance and generally make tools of themselves on.  Two had been pushed close together a guard got up on each and then reached down and lifted me up by my arm, I was forced to stand with a foot on each stage my legs where spread wide but not uncomfortably so, which was probably a good thing since the third guard took out some chain and those damn massive padlocks and secured my ankle bracelets to the stages, there was some rings on the corners of the stages that could be laid flat, clearly these stages where used for some bondage productions on a regular basis, when he had secured my right foot the guard on my right hopped off the stage and disappeared. He was back soon carrying 4 padlocks and a short length of chain and a bolt, the guard on my left suddenly grabbed my head and tilted it up and towards the roof, I went to reach up to try and push his hands away but the guard who had been padlocking my ankles to the stages reached up and grabbed the chain connecting my wrists preventing me from lifting them, I heard chain clinking together and then three clicks of the massive padlock and a tugging sensation on the collar and then my head and hands where released, my immediate reaction was to reach up and feel what had happened, no sooner had I done this then I felt a tug on the chain connecting my wrists and then a click of the fourth lock shutting, the guards laughed at having tricked me into lifting my hands so they could lock them onto the chain they had bolted to my collar but I ignored them, there where three other locks on the chain besides the one locking my wrist chain to the chain around my neck, but they where not doing anything, granted the extra weight was I no way pleasant but it was hardly going to force me to walk with a hunch or anything like that.

The guards left me standing on the stages like that. I was so frustrated I wanted to scream. These seemingly random events where frustrating to the extreme, I had expected to spend two days in a cell being placed on bondage positions, this was more of a massive mind fuck, never knowing what the hell was going to happen next!  There was nothing I could do however but stand there and wait, and wait.

I have no idea how long it was before the bar staff started to appear but I was REALLY bored and thirsty by then, when they all walked in one of the guards entered with them, he was carrying a bottle of water and my eyes zoned in on it like a eagle spotting a rabbit. He smiled at me as my eyes tracked the bottle in his hand, he climbed up on the sage next to me, “ok I am gonna take the gag out and hand you the water bottle. If you speak, I will backhand you, and it won’t be gentle.” I swallowed nervously as he unlocked the gag, I really wanted to ask what the hell was going on and why I had been taken out of the cell but I believed him when he said he would hurt me so I kept my mouth firmly shut till except to skull the water. The water in the bottle was warm but it was the best thing I had ever tasted in my life, rubber was fun to wear, but man did it dehydrate you with all the sweating! I finished the bottle in record time and was handed another, I finished it off as well and then the gag was strapped back in, he grinned at me and gave me a heavy pat on the cheek with his gloved hand, “smart move Fred, there is a lot of stuff I wanna do to that mouth, I wasn’t looking forward to having to smack it though.” He jumped down and walked off, and I was left there stunned, he wanted to do stuff to my mouth? I wondered if he meant he wanted to kiss me or he wanted to slide his cock down my throat, as I watched his leather clad ass leave the floor I thought that I really would enjoy both of those things.

I wont bore you with a description of standing there flexing my knees to avoid cramps while the bar got ready for the night, suffice to say it was boring as hell and I suspected I was supposed to be entertainment for the crowd when they arrived and I was thinking I would probably be ready to call it quits before they even arrived, however it wasn’t going to be my call to make. When the doors opened my guards returned and took up stations around me, one standing either side and one on the floor between my legs, a few people came over to see if I was available to play with but the guards firmly told them they could move along. I was glad, in this state I would be pretty helpless, and one or two people who approached I would definitely not have wanted touching me. A few people ignored me completely and hit on the guards themselves, the guards where polite but firm that they where working.

Soon the club was packed and more then one curios glance was being directed at me and my security detail. Soon however the MC cut across the music with an announcement, “ok party people! We have some entertainment for you tonight, as you may have noticed we have a guest with us tonight, he is going to be completing a little challenge tho he is going to need your help, alrighty boys, bring it out!”  At these words some guys started to push something towards the stage, I twisted my head as much as I could to get a look, it looked like a se-saw except on one end there was a massive square trough, the other end had a screw sticking up like you could attach something to it. Also some weights where strapped underneath, they pushed it along until the seat with the screw was directly underneath me, I was starting to get a bad feeling about this, suddenly the MC tossed something over the heads of everyone and the guard to my left caught it, I turned to see what it was and nearly fell over in shock, it was a massive dildo! It had to be at least 11 inches long! It was handed down to the guard standing on the floor and he quickly screwed it onto the se-saw, I definitely did not like the way this was going. In front of me the crowd was cheering as the guard to my right reached down and opened the zips on the ass of my suit, to allow the monster below me a path to my pooper.

The MC’s voice cut over the cheering, “ok folks, as you can see our lad is ready to be impaled.” (Like hell I was!) “However in order to help him along we are gonna need you to donate some piss to that trough, now he has to get the key which is taped under the seat holding goliath there.” (Great, I was about to ripped apart by a dildo with a lame name!) “So lets do our bit to help him reach it shall we?”

At these words the crows cheered and a line started to appear near the stage, great, just great. In what seemed like no time at all I felt the head of the dildo against my puckered asshole, I tried to relax, the guard on the floor gave it a subtle push and suddenly I felt the tip pressing hard against my shithole. My legs trembled as the pressure continued, people where gathered in front of me watching with excitement and wide eyes, some taking bets as to how many more guys it would take before the weight at the other end would force the dildo into me, suddenly pain ripped though me and I screamed into the gag as the massive dildo pushed its way up into my guts. I swear I was on the verge of passing out, my legs trembled so much that one of my guards actually had to hold me upright.  A massive cheer went up from the crowd, and a siren was set flashing from the DJ’s booth and a blastoff sound effect played, oh how hilarious. I gasped for air as I felt the dildo continue its journey inside me as more guys pissing into the trough. It felt like I was about to couch up the end of the dildo when there was a tug a cheer and the guard on the floor was holding up the key. Thank fuck for that!  The dildo was gently pulled out of me, some people booed about that, I swear if I ever got a hold of them I would give them something to boo about! I grunted as the last of the dildo left me, and when my ankles where unlocked from the floor I collapsed into the arms of the guard who was holding me, I felt my arms being freed from the padlock holding them to my neck, the next words of the MC however snapped me right out of my wooze. “OK folks lets have a big round of applause for our lad Fred here! He still has three more locks to get off, so remember to come along for the next few nights and help him out. Looks like I wasn’t getting free anytime soon, I would have liked to struggle and scream but I was gagged and exhausted and my limbs weighted down. All I could do was groan as the guard carried me back down to my cell.

I felt the gag being unlocked and the guard standing in front of me handed me a bottle of water, I gratefully drank it down, I was numb from shock at the news that this wasn’t my last night in captivity, I still had 3 more nights ahead! I bowed my head and fought back despair, suddenly a gloved hand was under my head tilting my head back, I squinted as the overhead lights shone in my eyes, the guard was a dark shape against them. “Now, about that mouth of yours boyo.”

Maybe a few extra nights wouldn’t be ALL that bad …

 

Part 4

 

I raced in the front door and glanced at my watch. Shit I was gonna be late! I quickly changed out of my work clothes and grabbed the first pair of jeans I saw and pulled on a t-shirt, I had worn it running last night so it had a pretty musty smell, didn’t matter I wouldn’t be in it too long. I grabbed my keys but left my wallet and phone on the table, grabbing my bike helmet and jacket I raced out the door.

I pulled into the back entrance of the club with about 10 mins to spare, I jumped off my bike and pushed it inside, just inside Greg was waiting for me, he was dressed in his usual leather outfit, complete with peaked cap and baton. His black harness boots shone in the low light, which was nice, considering I had spent about half a hour polishing each of them before he had let me go home last night. He grabbed the front of my jacket and pulled me into a rough kiss, I had to admit, that this sort of made it worth it! He finally pulled away, ‘cutting it kinda close there Fred, come on, let’s get your ready for tonight.’ I followed him as he walked deep into the club, as we walked through the staff room I glanced up at a flat screen showing a guy in a orange jumpsuit, hogtied on the floor of the cell. After my period in the cage had boosted ratings so much, there was no more simply wandering around in shackles, now each prisoner spent some serious time in bondage, or being assaulted by the three sexy guards, one of which I was following though the back areas of the club now. I had a happy little daydream of the night he had first came into my cage and fed his massive cock down my throat after my little stint being sodomized by a see-saw.  When I had finally earned my release from that damn cage I had been given a proposition, I would be locked in chastity and released and I would work at the club for free each Friday and Saturday night and then on Sunday the chastity devise would come off. Or I could stay locked in the cage until I agreed. I had to admit the man had a way with words.

We were in the dressing room when Greg handed me my catsuit, I had started leaving it here since it got so much use, I had been dressed only in a jockstrap and collar last night though, I had been the club’s boot black, heavy manacles around my ankles preventing me from leaving my area, instead of a boot stirrup I had a chair that was tilted at about 45 degrees, the manacles had been attached to either side of the chair the guys who boots I had to polish where sitting in preventing me from closing them and then the guy would sit in the chair and his boot would rest firmly on my crotch while I polished, since the chastity device I was wearing had a front shield cover the whole thing wasn’t TOO bad, however my balls where still aching at the end of the night, and then Greg had hopped in the chair and planted his booted foot on my crotch, the club had just closed, it was about  5 am and I was stuffed, however if I was truthful I would have to admit that the time spent polishing his knee-high harness boots was some of the best of the night, gently buffing each boot while he flexed his foot in it, pushing against my crotch. Then he had let his legs hang down and unzipped his fly and pulled my head forward and …

A lubed finger pushing its way up my ass broke me out of my happy daydream and I gasped and tried to relax my ass muscles as Greg greased me up and then slowly pushed a massive plug in me, I groaned a little as the widest part pushed its way into me. I always imagine popping noise when the plug’s widest part passes my sphincter and my ass clenches around the thin section before the base. He patted my ass once the plug was in and then leaned forward and whispered in my ear, ‘that’s a little something from me, will help get you ready for what will be coming your way after work tonight.’  I shivered a little, his low voice was like silk over gravel, and never failed to cause my stomach to flip, particularly when I knew my chastity device would come off tonight and I would be ordered to hop on the back of Greg’s bike and we would either spend the rest of the day at his place or my place, till he brought me back to the club to be refitted with the device and then I would hop on my bike and head home.  I have to admit, all the torment and frustration I went to was worth it, for the time I spent with that hot guy between when the club closed Sunday morning and when I was dropped back off Sunday night.

In no time at all I was in my catsuit and being led onto the club floor, once there I noticed three other dudes in rubber catsuits, I wondered if they were in contracts like me or if they were just other guys who had volunteered for this, the club had really started to attract large crowds for the ‘displays’ that went on, to the point where I was not enough to entertain everyone! Last night as bootblack I had seen another guy trapped to a chair on the stage, the seat of the chair had been like a padded toilet seat, and he had a large dildo in him from below, and his balls being pulled from above, he had to hold a chain to keep the two in balance, two high and his balls would get relief but his ass would get fed more of the giant dildo (and I mean giant, this thing looked like a traffic cone) if he pulled on the chain to much though, his ass would be slightly less ruined but his balls would be pulled nearly off!  It doesn’t sound to tricky but he had on rubber gloves and the chain was greased, and guys could pay to go up and pour more grease on the chain. Plus out of his sight the counter weights could suddenly be changed so he had to move the chain up and down to re-achieve the balance. I was very glad I had just been polishing boots resting on my crotch!

We all ended up in one corner of the club, it had been roped off and some new couches had been placed in a square, clearly this was going to be a bit of a V.I.P. area for the night, I wondered if we where gonna be kinky server boys for the evening? This was disputed as we got closer and I saw the piles of metal laying around the area, clearly we were going to be in bondage nearby, either as toys or as displays for whoever was going to be here.  The two other guards, Trent and Jason, were waiting near the couches, they motioned the other two rubber lads over to them, while Greg stepped in front of me and held out a large gag. I obediently opened my mouth and he strapped it in. he then ordered me to hold my arms out, he picked up two halves of a metal restraint, when together it looked like a 8 on its side. He undid the screw in the middle holding the two halves together and then inserted my wrists in it and tightened it up, my wrists where now restrained, wrists pointed in. He picked up a similar restraint except this one was a little stubbier and rounder, he pushed my arms together at the elbow and positioned the restraint on my forearm just after the elbow and fastened it, this was a tad uncomfortable, try it at home, hold your wrists together and then press your elbows together, not exactly a relaxing position huh?  The same metal restraints were used on my ankles and just above my knees. Greg helped me sit on one of the nearby couches since maintaining my balance like that was trick as hell! While like this he put a metal collar on me, the inside of it was padded and he did it up quite tight, I would not have been able to twist the collar around if I had tried to. Once this was on he helped me off the couch on onto the floor in front of it, using a short pieces of chain he attached my ankle restraints to my thigh restraint, my thigh restraints to my forearm restrain, and my wrist restraint to my collar, so now my knees where bent and I was prevented from moving them around to much since they were attached to the restraints near my elbow. The whole thing was not amazingly comfy, but from the large bulge appearing in Greg’s pants I am guessing that the shiny steel looked really good against the black rubber of the suit. Thank goodness for the plug, it would make things a lot easier when he eventually got me home and then fed his monster cock up my pooper.

Greg pushed me onto my side and I felt him push something under my ass, when he pulled me back over I felt that I was sitting on a cushion of some sort, I doubted that it would have a happy little floral pattern on it somehow. He grabbed two pieces of metal, one end of each of them had an angled foot at the end of it, he attached these to either side of my thigh restraint, preventing me form rocking from side to side. Then moved behind me and lifted me up slightly, my back would have been at about a 45-degree angle to the floor, I had seen a bunch of poles with angled ends with padding on them, I am guessing he must have put them under me since when he let go I felt supported at different points along my back. Since I was off the floor like this I could see that the other rubber guys had also been restrained like this. We were all pretty close to each other and formed a Y shape. I watched as Jason and Trent strapped thick rubber band around their heads, and then around their knees and Greg did eh same to me. I was more than a little curious as to what the heck was going on by this stage.

Once these bands where in place all three of them disappeared, I wiggled a little, but I couldn’t move, my wrists where attached to my collar just below my chin, my thighs attached to my elbows and the poles either side prevented me moving my legs from side to side, the ankles had been attached to the thigh restraints with a pretty short chain so I couldn’t comfortably wiggle my ankles around too much. I tired to wiggle my upper body a little, but my own body weight pressing me against the supports under my back stopped me from being able to move much, I wasn’t at a high enough angle that I could swing myself up into a sitting position. Basically all I could do was lay like that, staring at the other two guys bound exactly the same way.

I was wondering what purpose this could possibly serve when the three guards re-appeared, carrying a massive round piece of glass, we all watched as the glass was positioned over the top of us and then lowered. I was stunned, the main weight of the glass was taken by my knees which had the padded band around them, the same type of band protected my head, there wasn’t to much weight on my head but the glass prevented me from moving it at all, so this was it, we where to be the table for the V.I.P section, I had to admit that from above the sight of three rubber guys bound with heavy metal restraints supporting a table would look damn good!

The night passed pretty quickly, I was by no means comfortable but at the same time I had been in a great more discomfort, the couches filled with guys who leered through the glass at us, and it was sort of weird staring up at drinks resting just above your head. My main way of passing the time was to think of Greg taking me home after this was all over, he would probably make me put my clothes back on over the catsuit, leaving the gag in, and then just wear my helmet over the top. I sat there as drinks clinked against the glass above me, daydreaming happy thoughts of zipping through the dark morning streets, my arms around Greg’s leather covered body, passing cars that had no idea I was gagged under my helmet.  So caught up was I in my happy little fantasy that I was shocked when the weight of the glass was suddenly lifted off us, I was able to move my head again and I looked around at the empty club, above me Greg grinned down at me, and I felt my cock twitch, going home time had never sounded so awesome!