Becoming An Unwilling Piss Slave


From high school wrestling star to pathetic piss-bitch, it’s been quite a rapid descent for Card Stevens. In less than a year, he’s gone from big man on campus to a human urinal who spends his weekends in the bathrooms of a gay bar, sitting naked in his own piss while downing load after load of stinking bladder wastes from dudes he used to scorn as disgusting perverts. And even though he’s already swallowed enough pee in the last six months to float a battleship, he still blushes like a little girl every time a dude he knew in high school steps up, unzips, and unloads his stinking urine down Card’s frantically gulping throat. He’s an honest-to-God piss-bitch now but that sure as hell wasn’t the future he saw laid out in front of him when he first ran into his Master, when he first met Jackson Anders.

He didn’t know that the dude sticking his hand out and introducing himself as his new roommate was going to be his Master. No, Card didn’t have a clue what the larger boy had in store for him. He took Jackson Anders for what he purported to be, a fellow wrestler, another scholarship student destined to help out State’s fabled wrestling team win another National championship. Little did he realize that behind the placid demeanor Anders presented to the world lurked a brutal sadist who took particular pleasure in sexually abusing and degrading other jocks, turning them into cowering, pathetic fuck-toys who would submit to any sick perversion Anders’ mind could devise. But Card’s epiphany was not long in coming.

They’d only been roommates two weeks before Anders made his move. The two of them had gone out after classes were over on Friday for a few brews. Card was surprised at what seemed to Anders unlimited capacity, but he tried to keep up with the bigger boy. By the time they called it quits, Card was finding it difficult to focus and he never would have made it back to the dorm if Anders hadn’t been there to help him.

And Anders continued to help him once they got back to their room, helping Card doff his clothes, though at times it seemed that his lands lingered a little too long on the smaller wrestler’s body. However, it wasn’t until Card was completely naked that the true nature of his roommate’s interest in Card’s body became apparent. Card felt Anders’ fingers running up and down the cleft of his ass. “Dude,” Card asked, trying to shake Anders’ hand off his butt, “what are you doing?”

But instead of removing his hand, Anders fingers stopped at Card’s puckered sphincter and began pressing a rigid digit against it. A second later, Card was shocked to hear Anders ask, “You cherry, Card? You ever been fucked?”

“What the fuck you talking about, dude?” Card exclaimed, trying to move away from his roommate. In just seconds, the two of them were grappling with each other, tumbling onto Card’s bed. Even sober, Card was no real match for his larger roommate but in his inebriated state, the fight was over in less than two minutes. Card was still struggling underneath his roommate when Anders ripped off his own briefs and jammed them into Card’s mouth, muffling the smaller boy’s screams and protests. And there, on Card’s own bed, Anders raped his smaller teammate, destroying the boy’s asshole, turning it into his own personal fuck-cunt.

Anders kept fucking him the whole night. Or at least it seemed that way to Card, who passed out around three in the morning while Anders was plowing away at his hole for the third time only to wake up hours later just as his roommate’s creamed the boy’s aching pussy-hole yet again. By the time Anders finally yanked his cock out of the ruins of Card’s sodden asshole, it felt to the smaller boy like his roommate had fucked him with a blowtorch, his ass burned and hurt so much.

Card was lying on the bed utterly exhausted by the ordeal he’d just gone through. But even though he’d spent the better part of the night coring out Card’s no-longer-virgin boycunt, Anders didn’t seem tired in the least. Instead, he reached down and grabbed a shock of Card’s hair and yanked the boy to his feet. “Come with me, bitch,” he said imperiously, “we need to get you cleaned up.” The next thing Card knew, he was being pulled out of his dorm room and led, by his hair, into the dorm-suite’s showers. And there, as two of his suite-mates watched in stunned disbelief, Anders proceeded to shave Card’s ass, his pubes, and his pit-hair, explaining to the other two boys that, “I like my bitches nice and smooth where it matters.”

In retrospect, Card realized that then was the time he should have protested, should have told his suite-mates that Anders had forcibly raped him, that Card wasn’t a willing party to what was happening. But whether it was the shock of having been violently and repeatedly raped the night before or the sheer humiliation that overwhelmed him as his pubes and other body hair were publicly shaved off, Card failed to make any objection. It was therefore not surprising that when Anders, having finished shaving Card’s most private parts, proceeded to violently fuck the boy again, right in front of his two suite-mates, neither of them made any attempt to intervene even when Card began squealing and shrieking in pain. And when, after he had finished fucking Card, loudly screaming as he shot a fresh load of Man-cum up the teenager’s aching shitter, Anders pulled the boy by his hair back to their shared bedroom, it took less that five minutes for the rest of Card’s suite-mates to learn that Card was a faggot who was serving as his roommate’s fuck-bitch.

Anders kept Card naked, in their bedroom, for the rest of that first weekend. And when he wasn’t brutally fucking the boy’s ‘cunt,’ he was training the boy in his new role as the bigger boy’s fuck-whore. “The rules are simple, bitch,” Anders told him, “you do whatever I tell you to do and you do it without any hesitation or any backtalk. And understand, failure to do so will result in immediate and severe punishment. Do you understand, bitch?”

Card was kneeling before his roommate, a fresh load of Man-scuzz dripping out of his battered boy-bung. “Yes…yes, sir,” he replied, now terrified of his roommate, not wanting to do or say anything that might set him off. But all his meek acquiescence gained him was a sharp slap to his face. “You will address me as ‘Master Jackson,’ bitch, because that’s what I am – your Master.”

“Yes, Master,” Card quickly amended, his face flaring both from the slap and the profound humiliation he felt at his abject submission to the bigger boy. But even his immediate submission did not serve to keep Master Jackson from roughly hauling the boy over his lap and administering a brutal ass-spanking that left Card’s ass-cheeks a fiery red and left him sobbing just like any little boy who’d recently been punished for his misdeeds. And it was merely the first of many ass-thrashings that Card had to endure that first weekend.

And it wasn’t only Card’s ass that was the focal point for Master Jackson’s discipline. Card’s balls and cock – his boyvaries and boy-clit as he was instructed to call them – were squeezed, twisted, and pummeled so much that Card began to view them as merely a source of pain and agony rather than one of pleasure. But even the way Card’s boy-junk was manhandled paled when compared to the mistreatment his poor nipples – his boy-tits – suffered.

Card’s little nips had always been particularly sensitive and, sitting the way they did on Card’s well-developed pectorals, it wasn’t long that weekend before they came in for their own abuse at Master Jackson’s hands. And once his new Master discovered how sensitive they were to pain, they became his favorite way to inflict pain on his bitch, something he seemed to enjoy even more than fucking the boy. Master Jackson squeezed and twisted and pinched Card’s boy-tits mercilessly, bit them voraciously, adorned them with weighted alligator clips until Card was shrieking in agony. And when Card, almost insensate from the pain shooting throughout his body from his tortured boy-tits, was reduced to begging and pleading with his Master for mercy, Master Jackson would laugh at him and add more weights to the tit-clamps. And those hated tit-clamps were all Card was allowed to wear when, on Sunday afternoon, at his Master’s direction, the boy went door to door in his suite, telling his suite-mates to please feel free to fuck his ‘faggot cunt’ whenever they got the urge. Two did, right then and there, and it didn’t take more than a week later before all of his suite-mates had come round to routinely fucking Card’s pussy whenever they got the urge.

But if Master Jackson was definitely aroused by the pain he could inflict on his new bitch, he was even more excited by humiliating the boy, particularly when he could do so in public. Master Jackson forced Card to dress in the most revealing clothes for his classes – cut-off tank-tops that barely covered his perky and swollen boy-tits, shorts so tight they looked they had been sprayed on. And Card was never permitted to leave the apartment without wearing a stainless-steel chastity cage complete with a multi-balled butt-plug that forced him to groan in discomfort every time he sat down.

Master Jackson even made Card wear his chastity cage to wrestling practices, forcing Card to out himself as a pathetic fuck-bitch in front of all of his fellow-jocks. Card’s entire body was blushing a brilliant scarlet that first day as he lowered his shorts in the crowded locker room to reveal the metal cage encasing his boyhood and then, as he’d been instructed, go over to Master Jackson and ask his Master to ‘please remove my clit-cage so that I can put on my wrestling singlet.’ The initial round of shocked gasps from the other wrestlers soon gave way to derisive jeers and insults as Master Jackson unlocked the cage and removed it to expose not only Card’s pubeless groin but the large butt-plug that had been wedged up the boy’s fuck-twat. And when, a few seconds later, a large effusion of Master Jackson’s ball-scuzz began trickling past the boy’s swollen cunt-lips, absolute bedlam ensued. “Get that faggot out of here,” one teammate shouted while another, calling Card a ‘disgusting piece of homo-shit,’ literally spit on the boy’s face.

Card thought he’d die of shame the way they ragged on him, throwing one obscene epithet after another at him, and it wasn’t until two of the coaches came into the locker room that some semblance of order was restored. The coaches looked at Card with undisguised contempt, shaking their heads. Finally, Rock Stranger, the head wrestling coach, spoke up. “Get dressed, boy,” he roughly ordered Card, “we got a practice we need to get to. I’ll deal with you, later.”

It was a practice unlike any Card had ever experienced before. None of his opponents held back in the slightest and while most of them seemed to go out of their way to squeeze and molest his junk in ways that would never be permitted in an actual match, the coaches never called any of them on it. It wasn’t surprising, considering the constant mauling it was undergoing, that Card’s boy-clit was totally boned up during the entire practice, actually dribbling pre-cum that was staining the front of his singlet, which, of course, generated no end of slurs and caustic comments from his fellow-wrestlers. Card was sure the was going to be cut from the team and, by the time the practice ended, even he thought that might be the best resolution possible.

During the practice session, Card had noticed that Master Jackson in frequent conversation with Coach Stranger. He had no idea what was going on, though things became perfectly clear once the practice ended and they all trooped back into the locker room. Once they were all inside, Coach Stranger told the wrestlers to gather around him. When they did, the coach turned to Master Jackson and said, “go ahead, Anders, tell them what you’ve already told me.”

Master Jackson look around for a moment and then stared directly at Card. “Okay, bitch,” he ordered with a smirk, “strip.” His whole body once again flushing a bright red, Card did as directed, having already learned what failure to do exactly what his Master told him would result in. Card couldn’t believe how humiliating it was, stripping while everyone else snickered at him. And it didn’t help matters that his boy-clit was still fully erect. Once he was totally naked, he looked at Master Jackson and waited for his Master to continue forcing himself not to try to cover up his embarrassing erection, knowing that Master Jackson would be furious if he did so.

Master Jackson was grinning as he took in his bitch’s obvious embarrassment. Then, he turned to speak to his fellow wrestlers. “As most of you already know, I discovered this weekend that my roommate, Card Stevens, was a pathetic little faggot fuck-whore. I’d had practice dealing with fags before, so I knew exactly what to do – I fucked the living crap out of his faggot-pussy and started training him up to be a respectful faggot-bitch for Real Men to use and enjoy.”

At this point, Jackson Anders paused and looked around the room. “Now I know a lot of you have never fucked fag-pussy and some of you may be put off by the idea of it. But let me assure you that once you try it – and please feel free to fuck the bitch’s pussy whenever you want – you will enjoy it. As they say, a pussy is a pussy. And the thing about fag-pussy is that you don’t have to worry about the fag. You can fuck his pussy as hard as you want. And, if it hurts him, so what? He’s a fucking fag. Who gives a shit? I sure don’t. And you shouldn’t either. So please, all you guys, feel free to fuck my new bitch after every practice. Just like I’m gonna do right now.”

And with that, Master Jackson began shrugging off his singlet and in just seconds his big cock was buried balls-deep in Card’s still-sore boy-cunt, as Card squealed in renewed pain as the bigger boy began jackhammering his tender hole. By the time his Master had once again creamed his tortured cunt, a line of horny wrestlers had formed up behind him.

Over half his teammates fucked his pussy that first afternoon, and by the third practice session every one of Card’s teammate had tried out his ass-cunt at least once. They all pretty much still treated him like shit when they weren’t fucking him, which wasn’t surprising since that’s exactly how they treated him while they were fucking him. He wasn’t their teammate anymore – he was the team’s faggot fuck-bitch. And Card, who before had always looked forward to these practice sessions where he got to pit himself against his fellow wrestlers quickly learned to dread them.

But as bad as being bitched out to all of his teammates was, it wasn’t the worst thing Master Jackson did to Card. Not even close. Because as Master Jackson had discovered early on in his training of his fag-bitch, the one thing that Card hated the most was being forced to drink his Master’s pungent urine. At least when he was being used as the team’s cum-dump, Card could appreciate the sexual pleasure his teammates were experiencing as they pounded away at his boycunt. It was incredibly demeaning lying there as one dude after another jammed his cock up Card’s back-hole and used his pussy to get a nut, but Card could at least understand the pleasure they felt when they used him that way. But to serve as another dude’s urinal, his piss-hole, seemed to have no purpose other than to humiliate Card, to degrade him, to emphasize how far away from being a Real Man Card really was. The pleasure a man felt in pissing down Card;s throat didn’t come from his own sexual release but in Card’s total degradation and humiliation. There was nothing else that Master Jackson did to him that disgusted and embarrassed him nearly as much, nothing that Card hated more. And, unfortunately for Card, Master Jackson understood this. And so, sadist that he was, Master Jackson determined to turn Card into a groveling piss-bitch.

Twice every day, Card was required to crawl naked, as he always was kept in the suite, from room to room and beg his suite-mates to be allowed to drink their pee. The looks of shock and contempt that greeted this request the first time he was forced to make it made Card literally shake with humiliation, but that was nothing compared to the shame that overwhelmed him when one of his suite-mates took him up on the offer and peed down his throat, literally snorting his disdain as he did so. As the days passed, one by one, his suite-mates took him up on his offer and, in less than two weeks, he had become the urinal of choice for all of his suite-mates.

It wasn’t long after that that Master Jackson made Card drink his pee in front of all his fellow-wrestlers, laughingly telling them that he hadn’t used the porcelain urinal in his dorm suite in three weeks. “Why bother?” he asked rhetorically, “when I’ve got a human piss-hole right at hand to take care of it whenever I want? And all you guys,” he added as he zipped up, “should feel free to use the little whore the same way whenever you need to take a leak.” Within days, the wasn’t a single teammate who wasn’t routinely using Card’s mouth whenever he needed to take a piss during practice and, by the time any practice ended, Card’s belly would be visibly bulging out his singlet with all his teammates’ bladder-wastes.

But the worst of it all started a couple months later. Card knew something was up the moment Master Jackson returned from the post office carrying a large cardboard box. He recognized the gleam in his Master’s eye as something that always presaged some new humiliation that was about to be inflicted on him. And the moment his Master began removing items from the box, beginning with the large metallic funnel, Card understood what it would be used for.

Card knelt in front of Master Jackson, blushing furiously, as his Master affixed the metal contraption to Card’s head. It had been cunningly designed to keep his head in an upright position that forced Card to look straight up at the funnel that led directly down to his mouth. And as Card watched in humiliated horror, no sooner had Master Jackson fitted the gag firmly over his mouth than he unzipped his pants and proceeded to aim a torrent of his rancid pee into the funnel and down into Card;s frantically gulping throat. The disgusting taste of his Master’s piss was still permeating his mouth when Master Jackson ordered Card to make the rounds of their suite so that their suite-mates might have their own opportunity to try out Card’s new piss-gag.

Card had been serving as his dorm suite’s piss-hole for a couple of months now, but even though he couldn’t even estimate how many gallons of his suite-mates’ piss he’d downed during that time, he still found it repulsively demeaning every time he did it. And his new piss-gag seemed to make it somehow even worse. It made Card feel not merely that he was serving as a urinal but that he actually WAS a urinal, that being their human piss-hole now defined him even more than being their faggot cum-dump. Before, as a practical matter, Card had served each of his suite-mates as a piss-pit individually, kneeling before each boy as he emptied his bladder into him. It was disgusting and demeaning to be sure, but there was still an element of a personal relationship to the act. But the funnel at the top of his piss-gag allowed multiple boys to simultaneously pee into it. And that’s exactly what they did – two or three boys standing up and pissing together into the funnel, laughing with each other, enjoying the bonding experience of mingling their piss into the same hole, while Card just knelt there almost ignored, desperately swallowing as fast as he could, watching his fellow suite-mates enjoy an experience that seemed to exclude him even though he was literally at the center of it. It made serving as their collective piss-hole more dehumanizing than it had ever been before.

But it wasn’t until that weekend that Master Jackson truly unveiled the full depths of the degradation he had planned for the boy. Card knew something special was up when Master Jackson fitted his thighs and calves with multiple metal straps and then affixed his ornate metal cock-cage/butt plug onto his boy-clit and up his pussy. From past experience, this only happened when Master Jackson was taking him to a wrestling team party, where he would serve as the group’s entertainment. When Master Jackson ordered him to bring the box containing the piss-gag with him, Card’s heart sank since he was sure that this meant that all of his fellow wrestlers would be using him as a urinal the same way his suite-mates now did – with the piss-gag fixed firmly on his head and in his mouth.

But it wasn’t a party Master Jackson was taking him to, it was The Last Stop, the most notorious gay leather bar in town. Just walking into that bar was an agony of embarrassment for Card, dressed the way he was. Heads turned, wolf-whistles and catcalls greeted him as he followed his Master into the back bar, barefoot and naked except for his metal cock-cage and the metal straps around his thighs and calves. Master Jackson walked right up to another man who was standing behind the bar.

“This is the bitch I told you about,” he said.

The dude looked Card over and then just shook his head. “I never would have figured a boy like him would be a piss-queen, but I guess it takes all types. Okay, get him set up in the bathroom. Just remember, he cleans up any mess that he’s made at the end of the night.”

“No problem,” Master Jackson replied. Then, turning to Card, he said, “C’mon, bitch. Let’s get you ready to show all these Real Men what you’re really good for,” and then headed off towards the bathroom, leaving Card to follow behind.

Once inside the bathroom, Master Jackson directed Card to kneel between the two urinals. Then he took the box from the boy and began fastening the piss-gag onto the boy’s head. “Oh, please, Master, please,” Card started begging. “Don’t make me do this. Don’t make me do this. Please, Master, I’m begging you.” But Master Jackson just ignored Card’s plaintive pleas and they were soon cut off as the gag was jammed into his mouth. Once the gag was properly in place, Master Jackson ordered Card to sit his naked ass down on the floor and to spread his legs apart, blocking access to the other two urinals. That way, bar patrons would have no choice but to use his funnel when they needed to relieve their bladders.

“You’re here for the duration, bitch,” Master Jackson advised as he unzipped his pants and began whizzing into Card’s piss-funnel. “And remember, any mess you make, you’re gonna be cleaning up.” Card was still gulping down his Master’s accumulated piss when the Man zipped up and headed towards the door. “Have fun, bitch,” Master Jackson sarcastically added, as walked out.

Master Jackson hadn’t been gone thirty seconds before the door banged open and in walked a biker wanting to take a piss. “Holy Fuck!” he exclaimed when he saw Card on the floor with the funnel from the piss-gag sticking into the air. He looked around for a few seconds, uncertain as to how to proceed, but finally just shrugged his shoulders and walked up to Card, pulled his cock out and started pissing. “Drink up, faggot,” he sneered, as Card began swallowing convulsively. The biker hadn’t even finished washing his hands before he was joined by another patron.

“Motherfuck!” the new man exclaimed as he took in the sight of Card, naked except for his cock-cage, on the floor. “What the fuck’s going on?”

The biker at the sink, chuckled loudly. ‘Looks like we got ourselves a human piss-hole for the night.”

“God,” the second dude replied, “that’s disgusting. What type of sick pervert would want to spend the night downing other dudes’ stinking pee?”

“One sick motherfucker, you can count on that, bro,” the biker opined. “But, I figured, if that’s what floats his boat, that’s his problem. There’s a lot of really twisted pervs in this world. He’s a good looking dude, but who knows what else he’s into. Probably eats shit, too, sick motherfucker. But I figured. when you gotta piss, you gotta piss so I gave the little bitch just what he wanted – a hot load of my bladder juice.”

“Well, he’s welcome to mine, too,” the second dude said, walking forward and unzipping. “I gotta piss something fierce.” And with that he started whizzing away into the funnel leaving Card with no choice but to swallow as fast as he could. And even before he’d flicked off the last few drops into the funnel, yet another dude came into the room wanting to take a piss. “What the fuck,” the new dude muttered as the guy who had just finished peeing down Card’s throat turned to explain things to him.

And so it went for the first couple hours as Card sat there naked on the bathroom floor. Dude after dude would come through the door, express his surprise, and then his contempt, and then use Card for the obvious purpose that he was there – as a human urinal. For Card, it was an unending nightmare of abject humiliation as he had to listen to all their exclamations of surprise, contempt, and disgust and then still had to swallow their stinking pee, thereby seemingly validating every vile thing they’d said about him.

And, as time went on, things only got worse. It was bad enough when he looked up and realized that a dude was peeing into his mouth for a second and then a third and fourth time, but what was even more embarrassing was when, as happened on a number of occasions, Card recognized the dude pissing into him from one of his classes – and the dude recognized him, too. Knowing the way the news spread on twitter and other sites, Card realized that virtually all of his classmates would have heard about the disgusting display Card had put on in the bathroom of The Last Stop before he even made it out of the bar.

Roughly two hours after Card had started serving as the bar’s urinal, he reached the point that he’d been fearing from the very beginning. His belly was bulging, the multiple loads of piss that he’d down obscuring his abs, his stomach extending so far forward that it protruded well beyond his pecs, the need for him to piss almost unbearable. The breaking point came when three dudes joined in filling his piss-funnel to the very top. Card’s control over his own bladder finally gave way and he began pissing himself on the floor, to their raucous amusement and his own excruciating humiliation. Card pissed himself a good five minutes and, by the time he finished, he was not only guzzling down other dudes’ pee, he was sitting in his own.

From that point on, Card pretty much lost all control over his own bladder and he was pissing himself constantly throughout the rest of the night. By the time the bar closed at 3:00 a.m., nearly half of the bathroom floor was covered with Card’s recycled piss. When Master Jackson finally came in to collect him, Card knew he stank exactly like you’d expect a urinal to.

“You have fun, bitch?” Master Jackson asked contemptuously as he finally took off the piss-gag that Card had been wearing for the last six hours.

Card just stared at his Master, all the accumulated humiliations of his long evening forcing tears to his eyes. But when Master Jackson raised an eyebrow in a way that Card had learned to fear, Card knew what he had to do. “Yes, Master Jackson,” he replied. “Thank you, Master.” Just saying those words, thanking his Master for inflicting upon him the worst night of his entire life, crushed any last remnant of manhood that Card had somehow managed to retain through all the other degradations he had endured.

A huge smile lit up Master Jackson’s face. “I’m glad to hear that, bitch, cause you were a real hit tonight – everybody was talking about the piss-bitch in the bathroom. So much so that they’ve asked us to come back tomorrow night. And,” Master Jackson continued, the raw humor making his voice almost cackle, “assuming things go as well, you’re gonna be a permanent weekend fixture here from now on. Isn’t that great, bitch? Isn’t that great?”

Card didn’t want to cry in front of Master Jackson – he knew how much his Master enjoyed making his bitch cry like a little boy. But Card couldn’t help himself and the tears just started cascading down his face. Yet even as he was audibly sobbing Card forced himself to respond, “Yes, Master. That’s great, Master.”

His triumph now total, Master Jackson’s grin grew even bigger. “Okay, bitch. Now you need to get his place clean. And you know exactly how a bitch cleans up a mess he’s made – with his tongue. So get slurping, bitch. Get slurping right now.”

And as Card knelt down and began slurping his own recycled bladder wastes from the bathroom floor of a seedy bar, the tears kept flowing uncontrollably. He was a piss-bitch now. A human urinal. That was the life that now awaited him. And even with everything else that had already happened to him, Card couldn’t imagine a worse fate.

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.”



Everlasting Bondage

My Grasp is a stickler for main points. The lists and schedules that now outline my lifestyles improve this, and that he's in general keep watch over of me: thoughts, frame, and spirit. From our first stumble upon there was once undoubtedly who was once in price. All over preliminary discussions, he was once very cautious to permit me sufficient leeway to establish that I used to be dedicated to the selection I used to be about to make, however the contract that I might ultimately signal could be ironclad, actually, and there could be no returning to my earlier station as soon as the report was once signed. There have been 3 conferences deliberate. The primary was once in his lounge, our preliminary face-to-face stumble upon after weeks of verbal exchange by way of email. My first sight of him put me relaxed. Even ahead of he spoke, there was once knowledge and balance in his demeanor. He presented me water, not anything else. We sat reverse every different on a big, cushy settee. We have been each wary, however each similarly certain of speech. He had many questions relating to my present scenario and the way I might be correctly taking good care of what he referred to as free ends. He sought after to be sure that I didn’t owe any cash to any individual, or have any non-public or criminal ties that might intervene with shifting me into his maintaining. Slaves will also be allowed only a few expectancies – it's the nature of slavery. However he was once keen to guarantee me that I might be saved wholesome and blank. The main points of my servitude I might be told later, however there have been 3 components that have been nonnegotiable… 1. I might successfully “disappear” completely from my present lifestyles, 2. I might be saved in bare bondage all the time, and three. The association could be everlasting! There have been no pretenses, there was once no bodily touch; we talked handiest, and I used to be allowed to mention anything else and ask any questions. After a few hours of speaking, we set the date of the following stumble upon, and I left, letting myself out. The second one assembly could be in his dungeon. I might be allowed to look my long run quarters, to view the bondage and coaching apparatus, to check the contract I might be signing and, as soon as once more, to invite questions and transparent up any doubts I had. We lived in the similar the town. I had ridden the bus to the closest forestall, a couple of blocks from his area. I didn’t need to go away. I knew he was once the only and I used to be able to start out my slavery adventure, however there was once a lot paintings and introspection to be finished. I might be told extra as time handed of his thoroughness, his warning, and his dogged consideration to never-ending main points. His perspective towards my bondage was once easy – as soon as in, by no means out. We have been each thinking about this. For years I had fantasized perpetually about that click on of the lock that might completely “bind” me to my Grasp’s dungeon flooring or wall. I even fantasized the collar or cuffs being welded or riveted into position. The bondage we have been taking into consideration was once everlasting and we should each be very certain of our dedication. And so, all over our 2d stumble upon, even supposing I used to be required to strip ahead of getting into the dungeon, there was once no bodily touch between us. The dungeon was once in his basement. Easy wood stairs led down from his kitchen. I adopted him as directed. We reached the ground stair and stepped onto a concrete flooring. The basement was once conventional searching, lengthy and slender, a laundry space off to at least one facet, a lot of shelving devices containing family provides, gear, On the different finish of the long, oblong room there was once a big padlocked wood door. Grasp stood to at least one facet and had me stand and face the door. Thus far he had no longer spoken. “This facet of the dungeon door,” he spoke softly and slowly, “is one thing that you're going to handiest see two times!” I used to be engrossed within the massiveness of the door, the iron hinges, the solidity of it, and it took a second for his phrases to sign in. I might see the door once more for the remaining time on my 3rd consult with, at my incarceration.What lay in the back of the door would transform my international, my lifestyles. Beside the door was once a small desk the place I used to be steered to depart my garments. Grasp Rick stood patiently and watched as I got rid of my blouse, trousers, undies, sneakers and socks, and positioned them well at the desk. The ground was once chilly to my naked ft. My nakedness made the door appear larger. A easy material hood was once positioned over my head however left free round my neck. I heard him free up the door. He took my arm and led me in. I used to be steered to take five brief steps, then stand nonetheless. There was once faint gentle coming from someplace. Taking a look down, I may just simply slightly see my ft from underneath the hood. The air was once hotter throughout the dungeon, the similar concrete flooring no longer as chilly. I used to be then steered to take a seat at the flooring. I sat cross-legged, my palms in moderation put on my knees, listening. The door closed in the back of me and I didn’t know if Grasp was once within the room with me or no longer. I regarded down at my dimly lit cock, which were incessantly reaching erection since I had walked in the course of the wood door. I knew instinctively to not contact. Grasp had made it transparent in our first consultation that general keep watch over of my genitals, their ache, their excitement, and all their purposes, could be an integral part of my slavery! I wasn’t chilly, however I shivered gently anyway from the solemnity of the instant! I misplaced monitor of time as one does in such eventualities. I attempted to hook up with smells and sounds as those have been quickly my handiest inputs. As opposed to the faint odor of leather-based, the air smelled blank. I become mindful of a few form of air flow device gently and quietly circulating air – no different discernible smells – no different sounds – and just a very faint gentle lightly allotted round me. The door opened and Grasp reentered – he HAD left me by myself. He walked slowly towards me, preventing beside me. He got rid of the hood from my head and I noticed for the primary time my atmosphere. I started to show my head when Grasp stated curtly, “Glance instantly forward.” The again wall of the room was once actually coated with each and every form of enforce of bondage, restraint, and correction that one may just consider, all placing from in moderation positioned hooks and organized well. Cushy spot gentle aimed downward forged a steady however eerie gentle at the assortment. There have been the anticipated steel and leather-based restraint cuffs, handcuffs, leg-irons, steel and leather-based collars, spreader bars – a number of lengths – and person who regarded adjustable; there was once a shelf of dildos, a few of steel, a few of plastic, and an impressive person who appeared like a policeman’s night time stick, I thought product of picket. There have been leather-based harnesses and straps covered up well, wiped clean and polished to a superb shine. There have been a bunch of cabinets that held plastic garage bins, the contents of which I may just no longer discern. Grasp driven me gently towards them the simpler to look. They contained an incredible choice of small clamps, connectors, locks, bits of chain and different diversified bondage paraphernalia – some I known – others I may just handiest wager at their use. Grasp became me round as he touched a transfer at the wall. The remainder of the room become slowly flooded with delicate down gentle which got here from recessed fixtures across the circumference of the another way darkish ceiling. “I will be able to go away you for some time now,” he stated. “You could stroll round, chances are you'll glance, however you won't contact anything else,” he added, and briefly left, final and locking the door. I used to be sure that he could be staring at me on a far off observe and so I used to be uneasy as to what to do with my palms. I clasped them in the back of me and left them there as I walked across the room. Afterward I knew that bondage could be hired to limit my actions, together with with the ability to contact myself, however now I might restrain myself voluntarily to exhibit that I used to be earnest on this topic. Sure, I used to be seeking to galvanize him – we each nonetheless had the choice of taking flight of the deal. The purpose of no go back for BOTH people could be on the 3rd stumble upon. The main points of the transaction could be published to me afterward, however it were made transparent to me that once I stepped in the course of the door of this room once more, if I selected to take action, it will be for the remaining time. For now, then again, we have been each nonetheless suffering with that ultimate determination. He volunteered to me that he had by no means had a long-term slave. Like me, and maximum people I suppose, his encounters to this point were brief – overnights, weekends, and a couple of week lengthy encounters. As soon as he had a slave for a summer season. My longest consultation ever were four days…all in joyful bondage. However he, like me, in his very core had at all times fantasized about an enduring scenario, a full-time slave, true possession, and TOTAL keep watch over. He, additionally like me, was once eager about the speculation of “everlasting” bondage. I had spent many hours in self-bondage through the years, dressed in leg irons, ball cuffs and the like, and pretending that somebody else possessed the keys, attractive passionately in self-stimulation, and on the similar time wishing there was once somebody in keep watch over who would no longer permit it; a Grasp who would permit me to ejaculate handiest at his whim, and in line with his time table; to be alternately “milked” mercilessly, then denied even an erection for weeks on finish; or to be required to take care of consistent erection, however NOT allowed to alleviate it; to yield general keep watch over of my ache and delight to every other! Now the possibility of my fantasies coming true led to me to shiver. It wasn’t chilly within the room, I used to be shivering from pleasure. My cock endured to harden. The room was once about 20 ft deep from the door to that again wall coated with implements and gear. It was once wider by way of 1 or 2 ft, kind of sq., with a cultured concrete flooring painted flat black. The ceiling was once top, possibly 11 or 12 ft and fully black additionally. From its heart, and from 4 extra issues similarly spaced concerning the ceiling, there hung massive steel rings, suspended on heavy lengths of chain a few foot down from the ceiling. I stared for some time at those rings. They stuck the sunshine and stood out ominously towards the opaque ceiling. They appeared like they may dangle an elephant I mused to myself, and I’m certain they’ll be keeping me in the future, I allowed myself to fantasize. The ceiling held the one lights, a chain of recessed fixtures circumvented the room and forged their gentle eerily downward, flooding the partitions, and leaving the middle of the room unlit by way of comparability. There was once yet another fixture within the heart of the ceiling which appeared like a conventional flood lamp, however it was once no longer on. I fantasized that it might be hired to focus on the middle of the room when one thing fascinating was once going down there! The whole thing I noticed spurred rampant fantasies. My thoughts was once racing. Each inch of me was once tingling with pleasure and childlike satisfaction! The opposite 3 partitions have been principally naked excluding for a lot of heavy iron rings located as more than a few heights. I imagined myself chained to those rings, my legs stretched around the room and unfold vast aside, a steel collar chained to the ceiling, fingers stretched and chained to reverse partitions! Chain and steel has at all times performed heavy in my fantasies, and I may just see simply that Grasp shared those fantasies with me. I may just no longer have designed a extra easiest dungeon to suit my bondage wants! I became my consideration now to the 4 corners of the room. Every of the 2 again corners had massive items of dungeon furnishings. In a single nook there have been two pieces; a padded punishment horse, over which a slave might be stretched for whipping or ass-work, and, leaning towards the again wall what appeared to be a transportable paintings desk or stretcher. It was once principally a desk best with out legs, and it had holes across the out of doors edge, clearly for tying down a slave! I thought that both it had attachable legs, or that it might be suspended from the ceiling when in use. The opposite again nook housed a conventional, however very elaborate leather-based sling. It was once placing from a hook top at the wall, however may just clearly be moved to any place within the room as wanted. In a single nook alongside the door finish of the room there was once a business bathe and wash space, a three×three concrete basin with 1 foot facets, and with a big drain within the heart. Overhead hung a hose with more than a few attachments, one among which I used to be certain could be used to wash out my insides. There was once a small shelf at the wall which housed what appeared like enema apparatus, cleaning soap, and different cleansing answers. The nook partitions in the back of the bathe space had further rings to which a slave might be hooked up and saved immovable. I fantasized being washed, shaved, and normally saved blank at this little nook facility. There was once no conventional rest room, and I thought that this unmarried drain would serve all my waste removing wishes. Close to the bathe space, at about crotch peak, a unmarried steel bar protruded about 18 inches instantly into the room. It was once clearly adjustable in peak, however another way inflexible. At its finish was once a heavy, chrome ring. The hoop, upon nearer exam had two halves which might be opened, however it was once tightly screwed at the side of Allen screws – clearly a tool for containing a slave’s balls and maintaining him hooked up firmly to the wall on the similar time. It seems that the slave would straddle the bar together with his again to the wall, and his balls could be encased by way of the heavy steel ring. There was once however one nook left to discover. It by myself was once NOT smartly lit. Grasp had clearly sought after me to look it remaining. As I became my consideration towards its darkness and started to pressure my eyes to look, a focus magically got here to lifestyles and shined upon a steel cage. Grasp WAS staring at me and choreographing this complete scene remotely. The cage subsidized up towards the nook, and as I tested it extra intently, I may just see that its bars have been embedded within the concrete flooring and that its two again partitions have been the partitions of the room. It was once an enduring fixture. Access into the cage appeared to be on its best facet. The entire best appeared to be on hinges, and there was once an ominous hasp and lock at the facet reverse the hinges. It regarded awesomely solid and I longed to the touch it. However I dared no longer. Afterward I may project an occasional breaking of a rule with a view to illicit the punishment I lengthy for, however for now, I’d higher no longer take any probabilities. In the end, Grasp was once staring at. The cage was once roughly 4 ft sq.. The bars, every no less than two inches thick, have been about 5 inches aside. I may just simply position my palms or ft in the course of the bars. At the rear partitions of the cage have been a lot of further steel rings. I imagined me throughout the cage, secured to the rear wall and with my ft and palms cuffed out of doors the bars. I questioned how a lot of my long run time could be spend cramped inside of this cage…wouldn't it be for infrequent punishment handiest, or wouldn't it, in truth, be my new house? Up to now, as I've discussed, Grasp handiest has spoken in generalities. “Main points come later,” he at all times added secretively. After all, now as I took in a majority of these darkish and ominous atmosphere, the ones main points allured and tantalized me. My eyes reluctantly left the cage and adopted alongside the facet wall to a curious installment. Close to the cage, about three ft from it, a unmarried steel pole, about four ft in peak, rose from the ground some six to 8 inches clear of the wall. There was once an adjustable mechanism close to its heart, and a screw becoming at its best, clearly for attachments of a few type. It was once bolted firmly to the concrete. There have been two D rings welded on all sides of it close to the ground. I actually shook, and for the primary time, my palms got here right down to my facet. I briefly put them up in the back of my neck. This was once an impaler! I had noticed those in on-line catalogs, and the pictures were a supply of never-ending fantasizing. The slave’s ft could be hooked up to the rings close to the ground. A dildo could be attached to the screw becoming on best, then adjusted upward and into the slave’s ass, impaling him and securing him immovably to the spot. Pre-cum dripped from my erect cock. I used to be mesmerized by way of this software and the fantasies it dredged up inside me. the door opened – my viewing consultation was once over. I used to be steered to take a seat at the flooring once more within the heart of the room. I used to be passed an envelope with my title revealed on it and the phrases, SLAVE CONTRACT! An overly vivid overhead gentle got here to lifestyles and I used to be steered to learn the report, taking as a lot time as I wished, and to signify that I used to be completed by way of status. I might be allowed to invite questions afterwards, however for now I used to be left by myself once more, with the envelope. As soon as once more, the door was once closed and locked! I sat bare at the flooring and slowly opened the massive brown envelope. Liberating the steel clasp, I got rid of the 3 crisp pages of the report that might outline my long run lifestyles. Thumbing via them I famous that there have been a lot of blanks to be stuffed in, and a number of other puts for each mine and Grasp’s signatures. I might be allowed as a lot time as I required to check it, however I might no longer get a duplicate to take with me as I had secretly was hoping – and I dare no longer ask for this. I started to learn…
SLAVE CONTRACT To whom it's going to worry: The slave contract described herein is entered into in this ___ day of ___, within the 12 months ___, and is entered into willingly and freely by way of the 2 events concerned. Upon signing, this contract is actually binding, and won't, underneath any instances, nor for any causes, be both revised OR revoked. To this finish, the Grasp, _____, and the slave, _____ each, with their signatures, will attest that the weather of this contract are understood and authorised. There are 3 elements to this contract, every of which should be agreed to, and signed for all of the contract to be viable. POINT ONE: The slave, ___ consents to depart his former lifestyles, severing all ties, actual or imagined, and to grant complete possession of his being, frame and thoughts, to the Grasp, ___. Possession will be outlined as follows: The Grasp can have general keep watch over and path over the slave and shall personal him outright. The slave will not have any rights or privileges rather than the ones particularly granted by way of the Grasp. The slave is not going to make choices or have reviews. The slave is not going to have possessions. The slave’s lifestyles and lifestyles will likely be utterly underneath the path of the Grasp. The slave will likely be saved blank. The slave will likely be correctly exercised, nourished and watered. Differently, the slave will haven't any promises and can exist totally on the Grasp’s disposal, and be guided and directed by way of the Grasp’s whim. With reference to POINT ONE, I, slave ___, do settle for, and keen comply. slave’s signature and date: _____ With reference to POINT ONE, POINT TWO: The slave, ___ consents that he's going to be saved totally bare endlessly; that he's going to by no means once more be allowed to the touch any a part of his frame together with his palms or ft with out the Grasp’s categorical permission and path; that absolute keep watch over will likely be maintained over his genitals, frame orifices, and ALL frame purposes; and, that more than a few bondage implements, and restraints will likely be often hired to put in force those necessities. With reference to POINT TWO, I, slave ___, do settle for, and keen comply. slave’s signature and date: _____ With reference to POINT TWO, POINT THREE: The settlement described herein, and entered into between slave, ___, and Grasp, ___, will likely be PERMANENT. It is going to no longer, and can't, ever be revoked or revised for any explanation why save the loss of life of both of the events concerned. As a security measure, two witnesses, who're mates of the Grasp, will witness and signal this report. Either one of those witnesses can have complete get entry to to the Masters area and belongings, and will have to the Grasp die, fall gravely unwell, or for every other explanation why be not able to satisfy his portion of this contract, the witnesses shall suppose joint possession of the slave herein described, and so they shall come to a decision collectively as to his destiny. He is also moved to every other place of dwelling, offered, or disposed of in any approach the witnesses in finding mutually applicable. This settlement between the Grasp and the Witnesses is additional defined and attested to in a separate report, and is alluded to herein to allay any anxieties the slave may have in regards to the long run well being of his Grasp. With reference to POINT THREE, CONCLUSION: The concerned events, having totally learn and understood this complete contract, shall beneath affix their dated signatures, as ensure of similar, and that each one events absolutely settle for the phrases defined herein:
After studying all of the report a number of instances, I put it again into the envelope and laid it beside me. My ideas have been racing! Studying the contract was once this kind of activate. However I should ensure that. I should watch out. I ran over and over again in my thoughts, would I leave out this, would I leave out that? However my core slave self constantly took over. My complete lifestyles had led me to this second. I might cross house and suppose some extra ahead of the THIRD ENCOUNTER, however I used to be certain that I used to be certain! I retrieved the envelope and stood up, and waited a number of mins for his go back. The door opened and I used to be escorted out. I dressed on the small desk beside the door. We went upstairs. I used to be presented water and requested if I had any questions or feedback. I didn’t have questions, simply an intense longing that completely fed on me. I regarded him within the eye for a while. I wished desperately for him to the touch me, to man-handle me, however that might come, in line with his plan! He appeared to perceive my wish to seek his eyes…for that's the place the soul is. Most likely his soul would mesh with mine…it for sure felt so. Most likely I used to be making the appropriate selection. 90 per-cent of me was once certain. However I should ensure that to not let my cock lead me into one thing that I might feel sorry about. I might have two weeks to strive against with the opposite 10 per-cent. In a single week I might go back for the THIRD ENCOUNTER! I might strip, be certain, and transform the everlasting belongings of my new Grasp. There was once a lot to do, and far to suppose and fantasize about. I left his area and took the bus again to my rental for the remaining time. We met, the 4 people, in Grasp’s lounge. I eyed the 2 witnesses in moderation, realizing that they have been complete contributors in no matter long run Grasp had deliberate for me, together with inheriting me if Grasp died! After temporary, perfunctory introductions, we moved to the eating desk, Grasp indicating the place every one among us will have to take a seat. At my position there was once that envelope I had noticed at the remaining consult with. My center did the primary of a number of leaps it will make over the following whilst…and so did my cock! All of them sat the similar means as though it have been deliberate (possibly it was once)…their elbows informally laid at the desk, their palms clasped ahead of them, and looking at blankly, however significantly at me. I put my reasonably trembling palms at the desk on all sides of the envelope, attempting to not glance too comfortable, and awaited directions. After a couple of moments of silence, Grasp produced a pen and laid it at the desk beside him. Taking a look me proper within the eye, he requested, “Are you ready to signal the report?” “Sure…” I attempted to mention, however it caught in my windpipe and I handiest let loose a pitiful squeak. Briefly clearing my anxious throat, I endured, “Sure Sir.” “Open it,” he stated. I fumbled it open, laid the envelope apart and unfold the contract out at the desk ahead of me. “Learn it once more,” he steered. I did… As I learn via it in moderation, for the remaining time ahead of signing, pertinent phrases leapt off the web page and despatched pangs of each concern and pleasure via my complete being: saved blank, Grasp’s whim, totally bare endlessly, absolute keep watch over over genitals, bondage implements, restraints… I made my means slowly via Level One, Level Two, Level 3, The CONCLUSION. I used to be completed studying, however I hesitated for a couple of worrying seconds, exercising my remaining little little bit of keep watch over, however simply getting rid of the inevitable. I had already determined to signal. I swallowed deeply and slowly and, in any case, regarded up at Grasp indicating that I used to be via. He right away passed me the pen. I took it in trembling palms and signed all of the puts indicated. I driven the report over towards him. He in moderation inspected all of my signatures, signed it himself, and, in flip, handed it to the 2 witnesses. Their heretofore solemn faces now sported the slightest smiles. This had clearly been a worrying second for them too! Nevertheless it was once over. The contract was once signed and witnessed and I used to be his and, in truth, theirs. “Wait right here,” Grasp stated to me, then escorted his two pals to the door. They spoke in brief and softly. I didn’t even attempt to concentrate. I used to be engrossed in my very own briskly racing ideas. What had I finished? Used to be I certain? Too past due! I may just run. I used to be nonetheless dressed. I may just “get away” out the again. However I sat and waited as commanded. When he returned his demeanor was once other. He checked out me sitting on the desk. I assumed that I will have to possibly know what he anticipated, however I didn’t. “Rise up,” he commanded, no longer harshly, however firmly. He was once taking command. That is what I had longed for. “Practice me,” he added tersely. I did. We stopped on the door to the basement. He became to stand me. I used to be following him so intently that I nearly bumped into him. Stumbling reasonably, I regained my stance simply in time, even supposing my knees had became to butter! He put his palms on my shoulder to secure me. “Calm down,” he stated, “You’re doing the appropriate factor. Now, simply believe me. Earlier than we cross downstairs,” he endured, “let me come up with some directions. Concentrate very in moderation, you'll handiest pay attention this as soon as, and there will likely be no talking for reasonably a while after this!” He paused. I regained my composure, checked out him longingly, and listened closely. I'm his slave now, I assumed. He owns me! It felt excellent already, even supposing I didn’t know absolutely as but what it intended. I might be told. “To begin with,” he defined, “your captivity will include a transition duration, with various schedules and routines. You'll lose monitor of time as you realize it now. After this you'll be settled into a normal, very detailed time table. Not anything will ever be defined to you, you'll by no means be made acutely aware of anything else rather than what to do and when to do it. You'll be told via punishment and praise simply what I really like and what I be expecting, and you probably have happy me! There are two regulations: 1. By no means talk except I let you know to!, and a pair of. Do what I say right away and with out hesitation. Do you know?” “Sure sir,” I stated, and my cock stiffened. He allowed me to proceed to gaze into his eyes. I knew in that second that he would sense all my wishes, that I might no longer wish to ask questions! I might paintings so onerous to thrill him, however I might additionally welcome punishment for no longer gratifying him. I shivered once more with satisfaction. He reduced his palms from my shoulders the place he’d saved them. He reached round me, pulled me to him and hugged me reassuringly. I cherished him. “Alright then,” he stated, “come, it's time. I adopted him down the basement stairs. On the backside of the steps there was once a five gallon plastic software bucket, unmarked and coated with a lid, and a small black satchel. Motioning to them, he stated, “Carry those alongside.” I picked them up, one in every hand, and we walked the duration of the cupboard space and as much as the massive wood door. The small desk the place I had positioned my garments were changed by way of a rubbish can with a plastic liner. At his instruction, I put down the bucket and the satchel and started to take away my garments. Getting bare was once at all times a hurry for me, particularly if somebody was once making me! This was once the remaining time I might strip. I did it slowly, savoring the frenzy, welcoming the nippiness towards my pores and skin, the chilly flooring towards my naked ft. Placing my garments and sneakers into the rubbish despatched me over the threshold. My cock was once utterly stiff now. Grasp checked out my cock, then regarded me within the eye and stated, “We’ll must get that underneath keep watch over, gained’t we?” I shivered once more. He swung open the massive door. I picked up the bucket and the satchel, and adopted him inside of. He closed the door and secured it with an enormous aggregate lock. There was once the solution to one among my questions; if I modified my thoughts and sought after to flee, even supposing I weren't another way certain, I do not have the mix to that huge lock. I used to be totally stuck now, bare and locked in his dungeon. My knees have been butter once more, I nearly fell from the load of my load. He directed me to place the bucket and the satchel down, took me underneath my fingers for give a boost to and led me over to the cleansing space. He directed me to step into the wash basin. I realized a unmarried chain placing down from over my head. He cuffed my palms with easy steel handcuffs. He then operated a mechanism at the wall beside us which reduced the ceiling chain. {The handcuffs} have been hooked up to the chain and pulled up simply over my head. “Kneel”, he stated, and, with some problem, I did. Pulling my head ahead, he rainy my hair with heat water. He sat down in entrance of me, took out a razor and started to shave my head. I used to be vulnerable with the enjoyment of it. He was once cleansing and shaving me, getting me able to be certain into his provider. It was once a scrumptious sensation to grasp that I do know longer needed to make plans or have any considerations in any respect, rather than to thrill him. I used to be now totally his! He shaved my head, after which endured down my frame, in moderation taking away all hair, right down to my ft. It was once an incredible sensation to have somebody else dealing with and touching EVERY inch of me. I were shaved ahead of in scenes, however not anything like this. He was once meticulous. The overhead chain was once attached via a mechanism which may be adjusted by way of pulling both of 2 chains placing towards the wall. Like Venetian blinds, he pulled me up or let me down, became me round, had me kneel, and altered me as important to house his cautious paintings. When he had completed shaving me all over the place, he stretched me up tall, status on my tiptoes, and stood again to recognize his paintings. I became round a number of instances, balancing on my ft. He was once viewing his handiwork, and surveying his new belongings. He reduced my palms to about chest peak and became me round, teaching me to lean towards the wall and to unfold my legs aside as vast as I may just. Sitting on a stool in the back of me, he inserted an enema nozzle into my ass. From an overhead bag he stuffed me up a number of instances, stretching my intestine find it irresistible had by no means been stretched, forcing me to carry it, then having me squat and liberate. This endured till I ran transparent. I had by no means been so blank inside of! Glad that I used to be blank, he stretched me upward once more. He then washed me all over the place with cleaning soap, rinsed me and left me placing there to dry whilst he busied himself at the back of the room. I couldn’t see what he was once doing, however the tinkling of chain and the rustling of leather-based and cord saved me onerous with anticipation. My palms drained briefly – my wrists have been hurting, however blood was once nonetheless flowing and I welcomed the slight discomfort as symbolic of my captivity. When I used to be dry he reduced my palms and launched them from the cuffs. I used to be bare and unbound in my Grasp’s dungeon, however no longer for lengthy. He re-cuffed my palms in the back of my again and, whilst I used to be nonetheless became round, he took what appeared like a caulking gun and, placing the end into my ass, stuffed me up with lubricant. It oozed out as he became me round to stand him, feeling squishy between my cheeks. He then retrieved a small leather-based software from his pocket, a harness, which have compatibility snugly round my balls, forcing them down into their sack, and isolating them with a decent leather-based strap. My cock was once left loose. It were onerous since I walked in the course of the door. Grasp made no effort to keep watch over it. I questioned what would occur to my cock. Would he tie it up too? Would he include it in an anti-erection software? Would he punish it for being onerous? It longed for liberate…to be touched, however he unnoticed it! He walked around the room and altered the lights in order that the center of the room was once flooded, the outer edge darkish. He directed me out of the wash basin and steered me to lie at the flooring with my head close to a small black heavy-looking, drum-shaped steel object. An enormous steel mallet lay close to it. He place me with the steel object in the back of me and with regards to my neck, and pulled the satchel over towards my face. I shivered uncontrollably as he got rid of a heavy iron slave collar slowly from the satchel. He put it down at the flooring at my nostril and stood again in brief, permitting me to savor the collar. “Take a look at it in moderation,” he steered. “You'll by no means see it once more!” As I stared at it and trembled reasonably, the sinisterness of what he had simply stated bore down closely upon me! I might no longer see it, however I might really feel it, ever-present, round my slave neck! The collar was once constructed from curved, forged steel bands, about two inches vast, and no less than 1 / 4 of an inch thick. It was once hinged, and met at the reverse facet with tabs that contained holes during which a lock might be positioned. At the hinged facet there was once a completely hooked up duration of heavy chain. The remainder of the chain remained throughout the satchel. Across the collar, similarly spaced, there have been 4 iron D-rings to which different chains, locks, ropes, and so forth. might be hooked up. It might be heavy, however I might undergo it. I might haven't any selection. It might additional bind me to him, a idea I relished. He lifted the collar and moved it against my neck, pulling extra of the hooked up chain from the satchel. I adopted his palms with my eyes. The chain jingled. The D-rings jingled. I lifted my head reasonably as he unceremoniously positioned the collar round my neck. It was once chilly, and right away very heavy. It clanked reasonably as he closed it and touched the tabs in combination in the back of me. He was once fumbling with one thing in the back of me that I thought was once an enormous lock. It was once no longer till he picked up the mallet and started to bang away on the small anvil in the back of me that I spotted it wouldn’t be a lock, however a steel rivet that might stay the collar in position. My balls strained of their leather-based bondage, my onerous dick bounced freely as I startled and shuddered from the loud noise. My palms pulled on the cuffs in the back of my again. He had stated “everlasting”, however little did I do know simply how everlasting he intended! He helped me to face, and as I stood up the gravity of my new PERMANENT collar hit me. It might take a lot being used to. I might by no means put out of your mind that I used to be dressed in it. It bore down on my shoulders, nonetheless chilly. It might ultimately heat as much as by way of frame temperature, however it will by no means transform lighter. The hooked up chain prolonged from the satchel as I rose, including to the load of the collar. Grasp directed me over to the wash basin, and adopted me sporting the satchel. He put the satchel down beside the plastic bucket and had me flip round. Sitting on a stool as ahead of and spreading my legs aside, he got rid of the leather-based bondage from my balls and changed it with a locking steel ball cuff hooked up to a small duration of chain. He then got rid of {the handcuffs} and directed me to take away the lid from the bucket. It was once about part full of a white powdery substance. Grasp sprayed some water into the bucket, gave me a stick and steered me to stir the mix. When the water was once totally integrated, he directed me to select up the bucket and the satchel. I adopted him to the middle of the room, striking them beside a small sq. of cardboard at the flooring. Grasp driven the card apart, revealing a spherical hollow reduce into the ground. Both the opening had no longer been there ahead of, or it were in moderation hid. In both match I had no longer spotted it. It was once about 8 inches in diameter and roughly twelve inches deep. My knees buckled underneath my load as I mentally pieced in combination his plan. Grasp took the chain hooked up to my collar and pulled it from the satchel. On the different finish of what appeared to be a few fifteen ft chain, there was once a small, iron anchor. The anchor was once kind of the scale of the opening. His intentions have been transparent. He positioned the anchor into the opening and steered me to pour the liquid cement in to hide it. I poured, shaking as I did. I stood and watched as he smoothed the cement, taking away the surplus with a trowel. He positioned a small steel body over the opening which might dangle the hooked up chain up off of the cement till it dried, and directed me to observe him. I did, swinging the quick chain from my balls, and dragging the lengthy duration of chain from my neck. We walked over to the nook which held the cage. I used to be clearly going to spend a while within the cage, a idea which despatched pulses via my throbbing dick. How a lot more adrenalized may just I transform??? We walked to the nook that held the cage. Grasp in moderation led me with the chain that was once hooked up to my collar, ensuring to not pull towards the nonetheless rainy cement. I realized once I stepped into it that the cage was once slightler greater than I had prior to now assessed it to be. There could be room for me to take a seat upright in it. The highest was once opened and quickly secured with a small hook towards the wall. Grasp became me going through the nook and had me bend over with my legs unfold aside. He squirted extra of the chilly lubricant up my ass, then informed me to take a seat within the nook with my again towards the wall. It was once then that I realized one thing that had no longer been there ahead of, a LARGE dildo, bolted into the ground, out from the nook about eight inches. It was once darkish in colour, possibly product of rubber or plastic – I couldn’t inform. Grasp was once affected person and I took my time. I knelt going through it in the beginning, getting a excellent shut have a look at it. It was once between 6 and eight inches in duration, pointed then tapered out towards the ground to a slender spot round which my asshold would tighten, necessarily attaching me to the ground by way of the ass! Now I knew why Grasp had put such a lot lubricant in me. I’m no virgin, however it took a while for me to get the object totally in me. Grasp gave me no directions excluding to “take a seat on it”, so I squatted, held onto the higher fringe of the cage and slowly reduced myself onto the dildo, step by step shifting my ft ahead as I took in increasingly more of it. I needed to carry up and take a look at once more a number of instances ahead of I may just get my asshole to chill out sufficiently. Ultimately my ass did chill out, sucked within the monster, and closed down gratefully across the slender segment close to the ground, successfully attaching me immovably to the ground. I reduced my palms and leaned again once more the nook wall. It was once very chilly to my again. I wiggled reasonably, feeling the fullness of the item inside me, and figuring out that I couldn’t transfer my torso in any path. I used to be held rapid to the ground. Earlier than I had a lot time to consider it, Grasp took my ft, unfold them aside, and positioned them into iron shares. The enforce consisted of 2 steel bands with curved sections at both finish that, when closed in combination, shaped ankle cuffs. The software screwed in combination at 3 puts, by way of every ankle, and within the heart. Every of the screws was once crowned with an eye fixed hook. Grasp then attached a brief duration of chain from every eye hook to the quick chain placing from my balls, pulling my ft again clear of the bars of the cage and forcing my knees into the air and aside! This compelled my again towards the nook. Grasp then pulled two straps from in the back of me and used them to connect my higher frame to the wall; at my waist, and at my chest. He then adjusted my collar in order that the hooked up chain was once in entrance, and the use of the D- rings on all sides of my collar, he hooked up the again of my neck to the wall. On the out of doors higher nook of the cage there was once a slender slot, simply sufficiently big to carry one hyperlink of the chain. He stretched the chain out from me till it was once instantly, then secured it into the slot. This may stay me from pulling at the chain and tense the nonetheless drying cement. Teaching me to stay my palms out of the way in which, he reached down between my legs and grabbed my cock…in any case, I assumed, he going to do one thing with my dick, however what? Protecting my dick in a single hand, he pulled a plastic sleeve onto it, securing it with a strap that went underneath my balls. He used scientific tape to tighten the software round my dick, particularly close to the pinnacle. I may just nonetheless get onerous, however no longer totally. At the finish there was once a small nipple to which Grasp hooked up an extended piece of tubing. The tubing was once lengthy sufficient to succeed in around the room and empty into the basin drain. I doubted that I might ever be cushy sufficient to piss, however in case I had to, I may just. Some other piece of tubing, reasonably greater, was once position close to my mouth and taped into position. It ended in a gallon jug of water simply out of doors the cage. I might be watered and may just piss all I had to. Grasp clearly meant for me to be right here some time! Handiest my palms had to be secured. “Carry them up and position them towards the wall,” he steered, appearing me the place to place them. He slowly reduced the highest of the cage and I may just see two reduce out spaces alongside the threshold, simply the scale of my wrists. The highest of the cage slightly grazed the highest of my head because it closed down into position, securely locking my palms towards the again partitions about eight inches clear of my neck on all sides. For one remaining contact, Grasp attached a sequence from the iron leg shares to the out of doors nook of the cage, pulling my ft ahead so far as they'd cross and reasonably stretching my balls. My knees have been loose – however no longer for lengthy – Grasp tied a bungee twine loosely round every knee and pulled them aside, securing them to the bars of the cage. I may just stretch my legs reasonably for slightly workout, however they have been at all times briefly pulled again by way of the bungee twine. He left the sunshine on within the heart of the room. I may just handiest take a seat nonetheless, impaled by way of the dildo, strapped helplessly to the interior of an iron cage, and look ahead to his go back. Grasp did one remaining test of all my bindings, checking for circulate. I might clearly be there for some time. He reached down and fiendlishly pulled at my knockers, mashing them between his palms and twirling them relentlessly. My cock strained in its plastic sheath bondage. My asshole tightened across the dildo. My balls pulled hopelessly at their iron bondage. My ft cramped, but if I wiggled them for reduction, the chains pulled at my balls. I may just handiest glance instantly forward and watch the cement dry – clearly Grasp’s plan for my following couple of hours. He left the dungeon, closed the heavy door in the back of him. I heard the huge lock click on, and faintly, his booted steps as he walked away. My ass longed to rid itself of the monster. My palms, placing helplessly started to pain. My balls have been stretched and sore. Any slight motion I made pulled at the chains attached to them. My ft and legs cramped from being held inflexible in a single place for goodbye. My complete frame went from uncomfortable, to sore, then to painful…ache that was once unendurable, and but I needed to undergo it! There have been no alternatives for me any more. Grasp would come to a decision how a lot ache I may just take, and simply what I may just and WOULD undergo! I misplaced conscientiousness a number of instances. Every time I roused from pain-induced stupor, I needed to be subconscious once more. I needed maximum of keen on Grasp to go back and to liberate me from this cage. I knew complete smartly that liberate from this present horror would handiest get replaced by way of every other horror. This was once what I had longed for all my lifestyles – general slavery – everlasting bondage. Whether or not or no longer I may just “take it” mattered no longer in the slightest degree. I might undergo it. I had signed the contract. I not had alternatives, and I needed to discover ways to hand over wishing and hoping. I might merely undergo. This was once my destiny. To even mentally query this was once futile. This monster up my butt was once there to show me about futility, about hopelessness. The iron encircling my ankles and my balls have been my new lecturers. The collar round my neck was once my guru, main me to acceptance of the truth that I used to be now the valuables of every other. My attachment to Grasp’s dungeon was once everlasting. I used to be now part of the dungeon, cemented to its flooring. I do not know how a lot time handed ahead of Grasp’s go back. The water jug was once empty. The cement was once lengthy dry. I had watched it flip colour, from darkish when rainy, to a powdery white when dry. The door opened. He paid me no consideration to start with and went to the middle of the room to test the cement, taking away the body which held the chain and pulling with all his weight towards the ground. He knew it was once dry and that the chain was once safe. This display was once for my get advantages. My dick sprang into motion and worked towards its bondage as I watched him. He walked slowly over towards me, searching at me with out emotion. After status and staring for a second, he unlocked the highest of the cage which launched my palms. I couldn’t transfer them in the beginning, then slowly, painfully, I reduced them to leisure on my knees. I dare no longer contact anything for concern of being punished – as though I weren't ALREADY in ache. He launched the iron from my ankles and disconnected the chains from the iron ball ring which he left in position. The chest and waist straps have been got rid of. “Stand up,” he stated, realizing that I may just no longer with out help. He positioned his fingers underneath mine and pulled me up off of the dildo. My ass stretched painfully because it got here previous the vast level of the monster. “Unscrew the dildo,” he added after I used to be absolutely status. I assumed I used to be rid of the monster, however it seems that anywhere I used to be going, it was once coming with me. I knelt on sore knees and unscrewed the object from the ground. I stood with Grasp’s lend a hand and stepped painfully out of the cage, questioning once I would consult with it once more. We walked over to the wash basin the place he made me stand nonetheless in order that he may just take away the penis sheath and the iron ball ring. I stood bare excluding for my collar. I leaned backward reasonably to counter the pull of the heavy chain. He motioned me into the basin, and directed me to wash the dildo, after which to put it apart on a shelf to dry. After a number of enemas, he washed me all over the place with cleaning soap and left me status to dry. I appreciated very a lot the sensation of being totally bare excluding for my collar. After I used to be most commonly dry, Grasp cuffed my palms in the back of me, then positioned the dildo in my palms. I used to be to stay it with me. I used to be then led me a small steel bowl at the flooring close to the door. I used to be it seems that going to be fed. I used to be hungry. I knelt down and ate the bland, cereal-like mush ravenously. It was once tough to stay my steadiness, suffering on sore knees and balancing the dildo in the back of me, however I controlled to consume all the mush. I then drank some water from every other bowl. Such was once breakfast, or lunch, or dinner or no matter it was once. I not had a way of time. We headed again over towards the cage. My center sank. I had had sufficient of the cage for some time. The neck chain pulled at me as I walked. Grasp lifted the chain to help me. We handed the cage and stopped on the impaler, a easy steel rod emerging from the ground. My thoughts raced with pleasure and concern! I attempted to not tremble as Grasp launched my cuffed palms. I introduced my palms and the dildo round to the entrance of me. Grasp steered me to mount the dildo onto the steel rod. There was once a screw becoming to house it! He then had me bend over and, sticking the squirt gun up my ass, stuffed me with the lubricant. I knew what was once coming. Turning me round, he subsidized me towards the wall till I used to be status over the dildo aimed toward my ass. He reached over into the cage, retrieved the iron ankle shares I had worn ahead of, and screwed them into position round my ankles. Spreading my legs aside introduced my ass downward. The dildo slightly grazed my asshole. Subsequent he put the locking ball ring again round my nonetheless aching balls. Must I bitch? Must I ask for mercy? I dared no longer talk – it will make issues worse! My task was once to conform willingly and to admire Grasp’s plan, no matter it will imply for me. After recuffing my palms in the back of me, he put the plastic pissing sheath again on my suffering dick. I loved his touching my dick and longed for extra, however Grasp had a plan for it I used to be certain! For now, I should be content material to endure bondage. He hung a gentle weight steel pail from my certain balls. There was once sufficient room between my spread-apart legs for the pail to swing back and forth. He then ran the piss tube into the bucket and taped it into position. My very own piss would fill the bucket and light-weight would flip to very heavy. He put ear plugs into my ears and onto my head he positioned a leather-based hood without a eye holes, handiest nose air flow and a hollow for the water tube to be taped into position in my mouth. The hood laced up the again of my head, and round my neck. It felt excellent. He ran his palms calmly over my fingers, checking for circulate, I assume. He cupped and fondled my balls and rechecked the penis tubing. Then there was once an extended pause. I may just no longer inform if he had walked away, or was once status close to me. After which I felt his palms on my shoulders. He gently driven me down onto the ready monster. I sat down, slowly eating its hugeness, pushing, stretching, till my asshole discovered the slender spot and I used to be caught. He then loosened the rod in order that it might be raised, and driven me up with it till I used to be slightly status on my heels. I used to be impaled, stretched upward by way of the ass. I may just handiest stand there helpless, and drink water, and piss, and fill the bucket. How lengthy would he go away me on this state? What distinction did it make? There would handiest be every other fiendish bondage scenario to observe, then every other, then every other…for the remainder of my lifestyles! Numerous days and nights went by way of. I used to be not acutely aware of time. My handiest focal point was once on my bondage which was once endless. When the piss bucket placing from my smooth balls was once complete and dripping onto the ground, splashing onto my legs, Grasp got here in, emptied it, and hung it there once more to be refilled. I don’t know the way time and again I stuffed the bucket – a number of. Then, all at once, it was once over. The bucket was once emptied and no longer changed. The impaler was once reduced and me with it. I used to be pulled up off of it, my legs, palms, head, and balls launched from their prisons, and led over to the nook wash basin. The slight stubble that had amassed all over the place me was once my handiest clue to time handed; round every week I judged. I don’t know what in me inspired me to check out to stay alongside of time. Why? There was once no time for me within the conventional sense. T his was once clearly his plan, to difficult to understand my sense of time. It was once operating. However in the meantime I might cling directly to this handiest clue – the stubble of hair. It was once a easy factor, however someway I wished the relationship with time fact. Differently I imagined that I might be insane. And possibly I already was once? In my former lifestyles I were a stickler for maintaining to the time table. I by no means neglected a closing date in my 12 years as a journalist. The time table was once, I started to appreciate now, my former Grasp. I had merely exchanged one for the opposite. The variation now was once that I had 0 enter. I might be making no choices. While ahead of I had fascinated with my ingenious output, I now was once compelled to focal point ONLY on my bondage. The chain that pulled repeatedly at my neck did that. Hoods, ball rings, manacles, leg irons, dildos, would all come and cross, however that collar and chain was once on me for excellent.  

Originally posted on

10 Days in Detention – Part 01

By socalbd


The van started moving and it was hard to keep my balance.  But that was the idea.  I was secured in such a way that keeping my balance would be difficult.  This was predicament bondage, after all.  Wearing only blue jeans, shirtless and barefoot I had surrendered myself to these men within the last few minutes.  They placed me in the van, on my knees, ankles locked in stocks behind me.  I was gagged and hooded with a black sack of some kind that had been cinched around my neck.  A steel collar was then locked on me.

My wrists, having been cuffed behind me earlier, were pulled up to the small of my back by means of a chain attached to the steel collar.  My elbows were forced out away from my body in this position.  Fingers were playing with my nipples, rubbing them, pulling them.  Then I felt the all too sudden pain on my left nipple as a clamp was applied to it.  I took a deep breath and the pain subsided to a dull ache rather quickly.  But then I felt the chain hanging from the clamp moving and no sooner than I could prepare myself mentally did the right nipple feel the same searing pain as had the left one just a moment ago.  Not finished with the application, I felt the chain between the clamps pulled out and up from the front of me as if it had some how been tied to the top of the van.  As the van started to move, I quickly realized what I was in for during the long journey to the detention center.  If I didn’t maintain my posture perfectly my nipples would be in a lot of pain.   And I had asked for this.  I asked for this and a whole lot more.

How did I get into this situation?  Well, I had contracted for it.  It’s something I wanted and asked to have done to me.  But this was just the beginning of what would become ten days in detention.  It all started about two years ago.

My name is Dave.  I’m forty years old, 5’ 7”, 165, average to good build.  I go to the gym regularly but not a gym rat by any stretch of the imagination.  In fact, I’m deceptively average except for one thing.  I’ve been into BDSM for about ten years.  As a kid I always wanted to be the robber when we played cops and robbers since I knew I would eventually get caught.  When playing army, I made sure to be captured so I could be taken to the base and interrogated.  I purchased my first set of real handcuffs in college.  Even though I was 30 before I started seeking out guys with similar interests, looking back, I know I had been into bondage since my childhood.  While I can tie up a guy pretty well and have a pretty good selection of gear, I prefer to be the captive when the situation is right.

About two years ago I met John on the bondage web site.  We had been looking at each other’s profiles for a couple of months but neither one of us had ever sent the other a message.  I had been on the site for a few years and had come to know several guys that shared similar bondage interests.  One buddy I had come to know well and he was some what connected in the local bondage community.  I trusted him implicitly having been tied up by him on occasion.  He was very respectful of my limits when we played as well as the discretion I requested.  I asked him about John and he told me that yes, he knew John and he thought John and I had very similar interests.  He encouraged me to contact him.  While he told me John was safe and could be trusted, he also told me to be careful what I wished for.

According to his profile John was 37, athletic, 5’ 10”, about 175.  He listed himself as mostly top but willing to switch every now and again.  He appeared to have a good selection of gear and better yet, a terrific looking play space.   In addition, he met my number one bondage requirement– no sex other than JO.   In his profile he wrote, “The bondage is the sex” and “it’s not bondage until you want out.”  Both of these phrases resonated with me.  I shot him a message.  He soon replied thanking me for the message and mentioned he always liked my profile but usually never made the first approach.  He included his Yahoo IM address and we started a real time conversation.

At one point he asked me what finally made me contact him and I told him we had a mutual buddy who suggested we were very much alike in our interests.  More importantly, our buddy let me know he was safe and a good guy.  That must have sealed the deal because John suggested we meet that Saturday afternoon.  We exchanged face pictures and I have to say he was a good looking guy with a terrific smile.

Saturday arrived and I have to admit I was nervous and excited at the same time.   It was a really nice day, so I felt comfortable dressing pretty casually in khaki cargo shorts, maroon tee shirt and leather treads.  John told me he would be wearing jeans and a black tee shirt.

I arrived at the coffee shop a few minutes early and thought I saw John sitting outside in the far corner.  As I approached a broad grin came across his face and he stood up and motioned me over.  As I got closer I noticed he was wearing flip flops.  I thought, “wow, how cool is that!”   I have a thing for guys in flip flops.

We introduced ourselves to each other and I couldn’t stop thinking what a great smile he had.  John started asking me about my bondage past.  How did I get started?  What appealed to me about it?  We both shared our bondage stories and discovered we had very similar pasts except he was more top and I was more bottom, or as I liked to categorize it, more captive.

I think he could see I was getting very turned on by the conversation and asked if I wanted to see his place.  He had told me when we set up our meet that he was only about two blocks away.  I asked him if I was going to be handcuffed when I entered his space.  He shot back that great smile and told me if that’s what I wanted he would oblige me.  I told him he had a deal.

I followed him the two blocks to his place.  He lived in a very nice subdivision of single family homes.  What was interesting about his side of the street is the houses were built on a small hill with the front of the houses on the top of the hill.  The front part of the homes looked like they were the second floor with additional space below and to the back.  I parked my car on the street while John pulled into his driveway in front of his garage.

We met at his door and he invited me in.  He showed me around a bit and asked if I needed to use the bathroom.  By that point I desperately needed to go as I have a very small bladder.

When I was done I met John in the kitchen.  He asked me if I was ready to see his dungeon.  I said yes.  He instructed me to follow him through a door that let down a set of stairs to the lower level.  At the bottom landing we arrived in what could be best described as a foyer with two doors.  There was also a linen cabinet built into the space.  John stopped and turned around and asked if I was serious about wanting to be handcuffed.  I said yes.  He smiled again.  He asked me to turn around and face away from the door behind him and wait.

I heard the door open and then close.  About two minutes later the door opened again and closed.  John said I could turn around.  He looked at me and said, “OK, Dave, I’ve got the handcuffs.  You need to understand the following.  We’ve just met.  I’m willing to indulge you today with putting you in cuffs and showing you my dungeon.  Understand though you’ll be in restraints while I show you around and then we’ll chat some more.  Very little will happen today in terms of bondage play.  I want to know you better before we do anything more involved than just basic restraint.  And, I want you to know me better before you agree to anything else.”

I thanked him for that and for indulging me.

John opened one of the doors on the linen cabinet and took out a large manila envelope.  He told me to take my wallet, cell phone, car keys and anything else in my pockets and place them in the envelope.  He said he didn’t want to have access to them while I was restrained.  After placing them in the envelope, he asked me to seal the envelope and sign over the seal with a pen he provided.  He then took the envelope back and placed it the linen cabinet.  He then told me to turn around and place my hands behind my head.

John proceeded to pat me down.  When he got to my mid section he felt the hard on that was inside my shorts.  He whispered in my ear, “I like that.  Too bad for you we won’t be taking care of it today.”  He told me to remove my shirt which I did.  He grabbed my wrists and expertly pulled them behind me and handcuffed me.  He then double locked the cuffs.  He bent down behind me and told me to kick off the treads I was wearing.  I then felt cold steel on each of my ankles as he applied legcuffs.

He turned me around to face him.  He looked directly into my eyes and gave me that incredible smile.  Taking his hands he lightly rubbed my nipples.  He said he remembered I told him that my nipples were incredibly sensitive.  My eyes lost contact with his as they rolled up and closed as he continued rubbing.  I was his.

He stopped and took his hands and placed them on either side of my cheeks and said, “Open your eyes and look at me.  Dave, I have to say I like your responsiveness.  Today is a get to know you session for both of us.  In a moment we will enter the dungeon.  Understand that I will not do anything to lose the trust you have placed in me.  Your trust is the most important thing to me.  When we go inside I’ll let you walk around and take a look at the gear and the furniture.  Ask any questions you want.  After a few minutes I will have you sit in the bondage chair.  You’ll be cuffed to it and then we will pick up the conversation from where we left off at the coffee shop.  Understand one more thing.  If you come back in the future, how you are dressed now sets a precedent.  When entering the dungeon you will always be shirtless, barefoot and cuffed.  If I remember correctly from our online conversations, this is how you like it.”  I responded he was correct and I very much appreciated his feeding my fantasies.  He looked at me and said, “Be careful what you wish for.  You might get it some day.”


The dungeon


I had heard that phrase before, “Be careful what you wish for, you might get it some day.”  But let’s be honest, what most of us wish for is fantasy.  It’s safely put away in our minds where we can always handle what ever it is we imagine.  Looking in John’s eyes there was something that told me to he was very capable of indulging what ever bondage fantasy I could come up with in my mind.  Maybe it was his piercing eyes, possibly the tone of his voice, or just the matter of fact way he said it to me.  But I believed it when he said it.

John turned around to the dungeon door and opened it.  He stepped part way through, stopped, turned toward me and said, “Welcome boy.  You may enter.”  He put out his hand to invite me in.  I stepped forward and into the space.

The first thing I noticed was how dark it was in the dungeon.  The walls were black.  Everything was black.  The floor was the type found in gym weight areas – sort of bouncy with some give, dark grey in color, and wall to wall in the space from what I could tell.

The room was larger than I had imagined.  It appeared to be about 15 feet by 25 feet with two doors on the far wall, one just off center to the left and the other in the right corner.  Another door was about mid way down the side wall.  There were no windows.  Track lighting at various spots in the ceiling illuminated the space.  And what a space!

John was definitely not lacking for bondage gear or furniture.  As I walked a little further into the space I went into inspection mode.  I started by stepping to the left.  In the corner was a St. Andrew’s cross finished in black lacquer.  There were more attachment points than I could count.  On the wall next to it hanging from various hooks was a nice selection of floggers and whips.  A sturdy, steel cage was a few feet further down the wall.  I thought this is something I definitely want to be put in for a good long time.

What could only be described as a bondage frame was next.  It was two heavy wooden posts joined across the top by another heavy post.  It was kept about two feet away from the wall by two steel plates that were some how connected to the outer wall and were fastened to the top of the vertical wooden posts.  The bottom of the posts looked like there were sitting in steel brackets that went underneath the floor padding.  I could only assume they were either screwed into the sub floor or somehow connected to keep everything rigid.  Attachment points were spaced at essential spots.

In the corner was a black wooden box.  It looked about three feet cubed.

Turning the corner was the first door.  It was black, solid looking, with two dead bolt style locks.  One was located about three feet off the ground and the other about two feet above that.  A handle was in between the locks to pull the door open.  Just past the door was a wall unit with cabinet doors to the top and drawers in the lower portion.

The door in the corner followed.  It looked like a standard, non-descript bedroom door except it was painted black like everything else.

Turning the next corner I came to a stand up vertical cage.  My cock stirred in my shorts looking at it.  The third door was next.  After that was a spider web of chain weaved between heavy wooden posts.  I’d seen this type of thing in photos, but had never seen one in person.  It was impressive to me in terms of the geometry and mathematics that had to be involved to get it just right.  A bondage chair was pushed against it.

I felt a hand on my shoulder and turned around.  It was John.  I had almost forgotten he was there as I moved around the space looking at his furniture.  It was then I realized I was still wearing the handcuffs and legcuffs.  They were second nature to me as I moved around the dungeon.  But now, for some reason, I actually felt them against my skin.

“You OK?” John said to me.

“Yeah, I’m good,” I responded.  “Actually, I’m more than good.  I’ve never been in a space like this before.  It’s impressive.  Thank you for sharing.”

“I haven’t shared – yet,” John responded, pausing for effect between shared and yet.  I sort of chuckled at that and he along with me.  “You have any questions?” he asked.

“What’s behind the doors?”

“Ah, you’ll have to wait for that.  Suffice to say behind the door in the corner is a bathroom.  The other doors you may learn about in time.”

John reached forward and taking the fingers of each hand he started to lightly massage my nipples.  I immediately responded.   My cock began to grow in my shorts, my eyes slowly closed and my breathing became deeper.  He continued lightly rubbing and touching them.  It felt so good.  I felt him lean into me his head going to the side of mine.  “Are you OK, boy?” he whispered into my ear.

“Yes, sir,” I responded quietly.

“Good boy,” he said.  He leaned back out and then lightly kissed me on the lips.  He simultaneously stopped kissing me and rubbing my nipples.  I opened my eyes to see John standing in front of me with that incredible smile and those piercing blue eyes looking into mine.

John continued to look at me and we just smiled at each other.  There’s a lot to say for non verbal communication.  John broke the silence.  “I appreciate the fact you are willing to call me sir, but it’s not necessary, yet.  I’m assuming you were responding to my calling you, boy.”

“It seemed appropriate, at the time, and natural, sir,” I said with a bit of a chuckle.

John laughed along with me.  “I like your attitude, Dave.  Are you ready to continue our conversation?”

“By all means, please,” I said.

John turned around and pulled the bondage chair away from the chain web and to the center of the space.  He motioned for me to come over.  The chair was like others I had seen in photos.  Built primarily of two by fours, there was no seat to speak of.  Two legs came out at a 45 degree angle from the back.  A small piece of triangular wood created what could be considered a small seat to the rear.  Clearly, though, this was made to keep the legs separated and the crotch accessible.  The back was ladder like, not very wide, but about five feet tall from the bottom of the chair to the top of the back ladder rails.

While I stood by the chair, John went to the cabinet on the back wall and opened a drawer.  I heard him rummage around and then close the drawer.  When he came back to me he had a pair each of leather wrist and ankle cuffs.  He tossed them on the floor in front of me and took a set of keys from his pocket.  He had me turn around and bent down behind me.  John used the keys to unlock and remove the legcuffs.  He then put the leather ankle cuffs on me locking them on with small padlocks he pulled from his other pocket.  Likewise, he stood up, unlocking the handcuffs from me and replacing them with the leather wrist cuffs.  He also locked them on using an additional set of small padlocks.  He moved me into the chair and went behind.

I felt my wrists being pulled together and then heard a padlock being used.  My wrists were locked together.  Next John came around the front and using two additional padlocks he locked each ankle to attachment points on the side of the chair slightly pulling the legs back along the chair’s side.  I tested the restraints.  I wasn’t going any where.  John leaned in to me and said, “Are you ok?”

“Yes,” is all I could get out before he leaned in and lightly kissed me again.


The conversation


After a few moments John stopped kissing and pulled away leaving me looking at him.  And there it was, that great smile looking back at me.  I don’t know why, but for some reason John’s smile really did a number on me.  He’s a good looking guy to begin with.  But when he smiles there’s this terrific personality that comes out and makes me feel like we are really connected.   Pretty amazing if I thought about it considering we just met for the first time earlier.

John pulls up a small stool that was off to the side and sits down directly in front of me so close our knees are almost touching.

“So, I’m thinking you’re enjoying yourself so far,” John says.

“Yeah, I am.  I can’t believe this space you’ve got here and you’ve been very nice in appealing to my fantasies so far just by cuffing me, bringing me in here and now having me cuffed to this bondage chair.  Very cool.  Thanks.”

“No problem,” John responds.  “So here’s the plan.  You like being restrained and that’s how you are at the moment.  I want to learn more about your bondage interests and what gets you going.  I want to learn what your fantasies are, what kinds of internet pictures and videos you look at and wish you could change places with the guys in them.  And I want you to be able to concentrate totally on the conversation and our discussion without any distractions.”  He smiles at me as he says this last line.   “So, since I keep noticing your reaction when I smile at you, and by the way, thanks, I’m going to blindfold you if that’s OK.  Are you OK with that?  It’ll allow you to completely concentrate on what I’m saying and how you are responding.”

“Sure, I’m good with that,” I answer.

“Good,” he says.  “Do you wear contacts?”

“No,” I respond.

“OK, then you’ll be OK with the blindfold I’m going to use.  If at any time you are feeling uncomfortable or not sure about what is happening, tell me.  Your safety and trust in me are at all times important.”

I look at him and respond, “Thanks, I appreciate that.  So, if I’m not feeling right or uncomfortable I should just tell you and you’ll take the blindfold off and release me from the chair,” I ask.

“Yes, just let me know what’s going on and we’ll end it,” John says.

“Well, I don’t mean to stop the conversation,” I respond.

John looks at me and says, “Dave, part of today is about building up trust.  To that end, I want you to go as long as you can in the chair and blindfolded.  The conversation will help with that since you won’t be concentrating on the amount of time you are in the chair and blindfolded.  But, if I release you, we’ll stop for today.”

I take in his words for a minute and think.  This wasn’t exactly what I thought today would be like.  But then again, I’m cuffed to a bondage chair wearing only cargo shorts and I’ve got this really hot guy across from me telling me in so many words he wants to know more about me and my bondage interests.  What’s a guy to do?

“We’re good,” I say to John.

“Cool,” is what I get back in response.  He gets up from the stool and walks back to the cabinet and pulls something out of a drawer.  As he turns around he’s got a blindfold in his hand.

“Seen this before,” he asks me holding up a padded blindfold.

“Yeah, I have.”

“Have you worn one before?”

I smile at him and say, “Well, as a matter of fact, I have one.  It’s one of my limited investments I’ve made in gear over the last couple of years.”

He shakes his head smiling and looks at me saying, “Well, I guess I’ll have to ask about that.”

With that, he steps behind me and carefully places the blindfold over my eyes and around my head.  John then pulls the strap tight sealing the blindfold over my eyes.  It’s completely black.  I can’t see a thing.

John takes one of his hands and pats me on the head and then each hand moves to the side of my head gently touching me.  I start to relax.  John’s hands move down to my shoulders and he lightly massages them.  No words are spoken at all between us for the next few minutes.

Still standing behind me, John’s hands work their way down to my nipples and start lightly massaging them again.  I start to lightly moan and continue to relax.  I feel his head get close to mine.

“How are you doing, boy,” he asks.

“I’m good, Sir,” I respond.

“Sir, again.  You like calling me that, don’t you, boy?”

“Yes, Sir,” I respond.

John asks, “Does the boy want to continue calling me Sir the rest of the day?”

“Yes, Sir,” I respond again noticing my breathing is becoming deeper and more regular as he continues to rub my nipples.  I’ve also got a raging hard-on inside my shorts.

“Good boy, then,” John says.  “Until I release the restraints you are my boy.  Sir thanks the boy for the trust he is placing in Sir.”  As he says that he is moving around to in front of me still trying to maintain contact with my nipples.  Again I feel him leaning into me and once again he starts to lightly kiss me.

“Thank you, Sir,” is all I can get out as we continue to kiss.  It’s making me feel very comfortable with him.  I’m totally his.

John pulls away and stops massaging my nipples.

“I’m going to ask you a lot of open ended questions, boy.  Your job is to answer them to the best of your ability without holding anything back.  As you can tell, I have interest in you and I know you have interest in me.  You’ve been very responsive when I touch you and my guess is that responsiveness will carry to other aspects of play if we get there.  I was watching you when you entered the dungeon and I can tell you are extremely interested in trying some of the items out you were looking at.  Again, today is a get to know you session, and vice versa.  I’ll give you a chance to ask me questions later.  What you have experienced so far and how you are currently restrained is the extent to what will happen to you today.  You are perfectly safe.  Are you ready to answer some questions and tell me more about yourself, boy?”

“Yes, Sir,” I answer.  “Your boy is ready to answer Sir’s questions.”

I hear John chuckle and I can’t exactly figure out why.   “You really are getting into this.  I like it,” he says back.  I’m thinking I like the fact he can see the humor in this, as well as get into the head space when he wants.

“OK, lets’ start,” John says.  “Tell me why you like bondage and what appeals to you most about having another guy tie you up and take control of you.”

For what seems like a couple of hours John asks me all sorts of questions and I tell him a lot about me, about why I like bondage and specific types of bondage that get me going.

John finds out that I’ve been into bondage since I was a kid.  I just didn’t know it.  I guess it’s the same for a lot of us guys.  Playing cops and robbers or army as kids lit a spark in us.  We liked controlling the other kids or being controlled when we played.  For me, I always wanted to be the one that got caught.  As an adult, we’re still playing.  We’ve just got cooler toys and places to play now.

I tell John about the gear I’ve purchased over the last few years as I’ve gotten more involved in the scene.  In terms of steel he learns I’ve got handcuffs, legcuffs, rigid irons, a steel collar along with an assortment of chains and padlocks.  I tell him how much I like steel.   He hears how there’s nothing like cold, hard steel against the skin and the sound of the lock as it closes.  I tell him how much I want to be in heavy steel and locked in the cage he has for a really long time.

I let John know I’ve got some leather restraints, as well.  This includes the padded blindfold, parachute stretcher, a few ball gags and a posture collar.  He also finds out about the nipple clamps and rope I’ve got, too.

I tell John how I have come to want long term, multi hour bondage that becomes increasingly harder as time passes.  I tell him the bondage that appeals to me starts uncomfortable and progresses in pain to a level like a toothache.  I know it’s there.  It really bothers me and it does a number on me not just physically, but mentally, too.  It’s that type of pain a person hates, but you know you can handle it which makes it all the worse.

John also hears how that bondage can be intermixed with overt type pain play and medium SM play.  He asks if I’ve ever been flogged and I tell him no, but it interests me.  He asks if I’m usually naked when I’m tied up and I tell him yes.  We discuss how it appeals to me that my captor is clothed, at least with pants or shorts and when he asks why I let him know it’s about head space with me.  Clothing is one of the defining differences between me as captive and the captor.  He tells me he understands.

We chat about some of my experiences and what I’ve liked so far and what hasn’t worked like mummification.  It just didn’t appeal to me.

It’s a good conversation and he eventually leans in to me and tells me to close my eyes behind the blindfold.  I do so and I feel him reach around and remove the blindfold.  He says, “Open your eyes, slowly.”  As I do so I see his hand in front of my face.  He’s shielding my eyes with his hand and the light is ever slightly coming through.  After about a minute like this he slowly pulls his hand away and my eyes slowly adjust to the light again.

John is smiling at me.  I smile back and he says to me, “Good job.  You did well and I learned a lot.”

“Thanks,” I respond.

John leans in and gently kisses me again and then pulls back.  “I want you to know something,” he starts.  “You were very open with me and very forthcoming.  I appreciate that.  I think we have a lot in common.”

I look at him and say, “Sir, thank you so much for this afternoon. I’ve never had anyone invest time like this just to find out my interests before we really do a session.  I hope it was worth your time.”

“More than you know at the moment,” John says.  “I think it’s time to call it a day.”

I smile back at him and nod my head yes as he said that.  John walks around behind me and I feel him unlocking the ankle restraints.  My feet fall forward one at a time.  Next, it’s the wrists being unlocked.  I pull them around the front and start stretching.

John comes around and stands in front of me.  After a few minutes of stretching I look up and we smile at each other without saying anything.   For whatever reason, instead of standing upright, I get up from the bondage chair and fall to my knees in front of him and pull my wrists behind me back.  My head bows down in front of him.

John reaches towards me and pulls my head into his legs running his hands through my hair.  “Yes, boy, you have done well today.”

“Thank you, Sir.”

He continues to stroke my hair.  “Stand up, boy.”  I stand up and John says to me, “Good job,” and flashes that smile.

John guides me to the dungeon door.  We step out and he hands me my shirt.  I put it on and step into my flip flops.  He opens the linen closet door and pulls out the envelope with my wallet, cell phone and car keys in it.  I break the seal and take it all out handing the envelope back to John.  We head upstairs and he offers me some water which I accept.  We aren’t really saying anything to each other.  At the same time, we don’t need to.  We’re just sort of standing and smiling at each other.  When I’m done drinking I say to John, “Thanks again for today.  It meant a lot to me and I hope we can get together again soon.”

“Definitely, Dave,” John answered.

John reaches towards me and gives me a really nice hug.  When we’re done we head to the front door and he shows me out.  “Until next time,” he says.

“Definitely a next time,” is how I respond.

“Glad to hear it.  Safe drive.”

I go to my car, get in and start to drive home.  It’s been a very good day.


Making First Plans


Needless to say it was difficult falling asleep that night.  Lying in my bed, staring up at the ceiling, all I kept thinking about was the time John and I spent together today.  There seemed to be a real connection between us.  That, and let’s be honest, the dungeon was amazing and I was very much hoping John would invite me back to try out some of the gear and furniture.

I was online a couple of nights later when I saw John’s IM account sign on.  Seconds later John sent me an IM.  “How’s my boy doing tonight?”

I replied back with about four short messages.  “Hey John, it’s good to see you online.  I’m doing well.  Thanks again for Saturday.  I very much appreciated your time and showing me your place.”

“You’re welcome.  I’m looking forward to having you back.  Let me know when it’s good for you.  Soon, I hope.”

Before I knew it, we decided to meet again the next Saturday.

So here it was Tuesday night, and I just committed to spending part of Saturday with John in his dungeon.

I had some thinking to do before we chatted online again in a couple of nights.  Do I just tell him let’s go a couple of hours and make sure it’s all good this first time or do I tell him I don’t really have any plans and he can keep me as long as he wants on Saturday?   I opted for a compromise in my head.  Hopefully he would be OK with it.

I was online again on Thursday night and as I signed on I saw John’s IM account signed on, as well.  After about thirty minutes of reading some news and checking some favorite sites for updates, I thought I’d better connect with him.  He hadn’t sent me a message and I didn’t want to lose the opportunity for Saturday.

“Hey John, how’s it going?”

John replied, “Hey buddy, I’m doing well.  Are we still on for Saturday?”  Great, he was still interested.

“Yeah,” I replied.  “Let’s definitely meet on Saturday.”

“Good.  How long have you got?”

“Well, to be honest I have all day.  But I’m not sure I should go more than a couple of hours the first time.  What do you think?”

John took a couple of minutes before he replied.  “Well, I’d like to have some more time if that’s possible.  I think you and I have a great connection and I’d like the chance to prove it.  I understand your hesitancy though.  Two hours is good if that’s what you want to try.”

I thought for a couple of moments and then replied with the compromise I worked out in my head.  “How about this?  I appreciate your interest and that you seem to have some things you want me to try.  How about two hour intervals?  I’ll set aside most of the day but about every two hours could we do a check-in of sorts and see how I’m doing?”

“I like that idea.  Yes, that would work fine.  It would give me the chance to try something on you.  We see how you do and whether you want to keep going.  Be forewarned though, if you say yes to another two hours at a break, I’m keeping you for those two hours.  No getting released.   We’ll definitely have safe words in use but I get to try some stuff on you until the two hour interval is up.  Sound good?”  John really put it out there.  He was going to be in control.

“Yeah,” I replied.  “I’m good with that.”

“Cool,” John shot back at me.  “What time can you get here and what’s the latest you want to leave?”

“How about I arrive at 10 and I’d like to be home by 10 so leave around 9 at the latest?”

“11 hours.  Are you sure you want that long a day?  I’m just asking,” John types back.  “I think someone’s dick is getting ahead of their brain.  LOL”

“You’re probably right, but I’m good with that.  What else?”

“What time will you leave on Saturday morning to get here?”

“A little after 9 for me to be there by 10.”

“OK, at precisely 9 on Saturday morning, be online and I’ll give you final instructions before you leave.  Sound good?  Any questions?”

“No, that sounds good.  Talk to you on Saturday morning.”

“Good.  Until Saturday, then.”  And with that John signed off.


First Session – instructions and arrival


The alarm went off at 7:30.  Not exactly the hour I wanted to get up at on a Saturday morning.   I continued to lie in bed for a few more minutes before I felt motivated enough to get up and get started.  A shower would definitely wake me up.  But before that breakfast and the paper were calling.  I decided to make myself a large mushroom omelette thinking that I wasn’t at all sure how long the day would be and whether I would be given any food along the way.

By 8:30 I was done with breakfast, the paper and just sitting around.  I turned on the computer and headed to the shower.  The warm water felt good.  After drying off I shaved and finished using the bathroom.  I slipped on a pair of briefs, jeans and a tee shirt and sat at the computer.  It was 8:55.

At exactly 9:00 John signed on to IM.

“Good morning, boy,” he sent to me.

I replied back, “Hey John, morning to you, too.”

John sent another IM.  “Let’s try that again.  Good morning, boy.”  I of course noticed the “boy” was underlined.   Apparently our session had already started.

“Good morning, Sir.”

“That’s better, boy,” John typed back.  “Are you ready for your session today?”

“Yes, Sir,” I responded.

“Good.  Your session starts now.  If you are not already naked, strip!”  I instantly got a hard-on and complied.  This was going to be a good day!

“From this moment until I release you later today, you are my bondage boy.  I intend to respect all of your limits as we previously discussed.  You will refer to me as “Sir” or “Master” when you address me.  Failure to do so will result in punishment.  Per our agreement, when you arrive a two hour clock will start.  At some point prior to the end of the two hours, I will ask you if you intend to continue.  My belief is that you will say yes.  I have a good day planned for you all the way up until 9 tonight.”

I couldn’t believe what I was reading.  He’s hoping I stay all day.  I was still hard from earlier and showing no signs that was going to change at the moment.

“Yes, Sir,” I typed back.

“Here are your instructions.  Follow them to the letter.  You will put on a pair of blue jeans, no underwear, and a white wife beater tank.  You may bring your wallet, cell phone and car keys.  Nothing else.  Understood?  Questions?”

I responded back, “Sir, no flip flops or footwear?”  I was certain he had forgotten but I thought I had better ask.  His answer totally surprised me.

“Boy, you told me how a bondage boy should not be permitted footwear of any type.  That he should be barefoot always.  Therefore, you will drive to my house barefoot.  The only reason you are permitted the jeans and tank is in case you need to stop for some reason and to be able to get from your car to my house.”

“Understood, Sir.”

“When you arrive, you will park out front on the curb.  You will walk to my front door.  There you will find a large envelope just like the one you placed your belongings in last week.  Take your wallet, phone and keys and place them in the envelope.  Remove the wife beater and place it in the envelope also.  Seal the envelope and drop it into the mail slot in the door so it drops inside.  Kneel and wait.  The only thing you better be wearing are your jeans and absolutely nothing in the pockets.  You have 50 minutes to get here.  Do not play the radio during your drive.  I want you focusing completely on the session you are about to have and I don’t want your mind wandering off to other things.  Drive here in silence.  Don’t be late.”

“Yes, Sir.”   As soon as I typed that, he signed off.

I immediately stood up, shut the computer down and put the jeans and wife beater on.  I grabbed my keys, cell and wallet and headed for the door.

The drive was uneventful as far as traffic.  It was a beautiful day out so I had the windows down.   Without the radio on it was tough not to think about where I was driving and what could happen today.  The silence had the exact effect John wanted it to have on me.  And driving barefoot was definitely interesting.  There’s a different feel without anything between the pedals and the bare skin.

I arrived at John’s about five minutes early and parked.  I got out of the car, hit the locks and walked up the front entry.  His door was a little secluded from the street so I wasn’t hesitant about following his instructions.  I found the envelope just as he said.  I pulled the wife beater off of me, put it and the phone, wallet and keys inside.  After sealing it I had to flatten it out some to get it through the mail slot but it dropped through.  I kneeled down, put my wrists behind my back and waited.

After about ten minutes I heard movement on the other side of the door.  A moment later the leather blindfold I had on last week and a pair of handcuffs dropped through the slot and down to the ground.  The handcuffs certainly made a sound when they hit the concrete.

I didn’t need any further instructions to know what to do.  I picked up the handcuffs and engaged one cuff onto my left wrist.  There’s nothing like the sound of a handcuff ratchet clicking close.  I then picked up the blindfold, put it over my eyes and cinched the back tightly to my head.  I pulled my wrists behind my back and closed the other cuff onto my right wrist.

A few moments went by when next I heard the door open.  I could feel someone standing in front of me and then walk around behind me.  I felt hands on my wrists and realized he was double locking the cuffs closed on me.  He then pulled under my arms and I instinctively stood up.  I small push on my back indicated to walk forward.  I knew there was a small threshold to step over so I was sort of careful as I walked in.  After about three steps a hand on my shoulder pulled me to stop.

The door closed behind me.

“Hello boy.”  It was John.

“Hello, Sir.”

“I’m very pleased with you.  You appear to have followed your directions perfectly and you instinctively knew what to do with the items I dropped outside for you.  Good job, boy.”

“Thank you, Sir,” I responded.

“Are you ready to start your first session,” John asked.

“Yes, Sir, I’m ready.  Thank you, Sir.”

“No need to thank me – yet.”  He sort of paused before that last word and then let it hang there as he said it.  He definitely has a way of setting up a scene.

With that he guided me through the house and carefully down the stairs to the dungeon entrance.  When we got there he turned me around facing away from the dungeon door it turns out.  He removed the blindfold and uncuffed my wrists instructing me to place them behind my head and to spread my legs.

John was wearing jeans and a black tank that looked really good on him.  He was in good shape to begin with and the tight tank accentuated his body.

He then began to pat me down.  I thought that was funny since I was only wearing jeans.  But he made sure to go over every inch of my torso with his hands against my bare skin.  When he got to the jeans he took extra notice of my package.  It was still hard under the jeans.

When he was satisfied that I was clean, he cuffed my wrists behind my back again and then had me turn around and face him.  He was smiling from ear to ear.  Gosh that smile was amazing.  He leaned in and kissed me lightly.

“Ready,” he asked.

“Yes, Sir.”

He reached down to my waist and undid the button on my jeans.  Slowly he opened them up and revealed my cock letting it spring out.  He played with it and my balls for a few moments cupping them in his hand.  He then kneeled down in front of me and pulled the jeans down to my ankles.  I stepped out of them and was left standing naked.

Next he pulled a small chain out of his front jeans pocket and a small padlock.  He put it around my neck and closed the padlock.

“This collar is a sign that you are my bondage boy for today.  During your session today you may earn a collar of a different sort.”

“Thank you, Sir,” I responded.

“Good, boy.  You are remembering to demonstrate deference towards me.  Continue to remember that.”

He looked into my eyes and asked, “Do you trust me?”

“Yes, Sir,” I replied.  “I trust you, Sir.  I know that you will take care of me today, Sir.”

“Good, boy.  I intend to push you a little today once I understand a little more about you.  But you will not experience anything you can’t handle.  We’ve talked a lot and I think I know how to provide you with a good first session today.  Your safe word today is red.  If at any time you need to use it, do so.  There will be times when I ask you for a color.  If all is good say green.  If things are somewhat tough but you don’t want to exactly give in yet, say yellow.  Red gets you out today of what is happening at that moment.  It does not end the session today, though.  Understood?

“Yes, Sir.”

John continued.  “Don’t wait for me to ask for a color if you need to red out.”  He then looked into my eyes and smiled.  He retrieved the blindfold and put it back on me.

I heard the dungeon door open.  He guided me in and towards what I think was the center of the space.  I heard the door close and some additional sounds that were like chains being rattled.  A few moments later I felt leg cuffs being applied to my ankles.  Here we go I thought.


First Session – the dungeon


There’s nothing like cold, hard steel restraints against the skin.  There I was standing in the center of the dungeon space with my wrists handcuffed behind my back, ankle cuffs below and a blindfold over the eyes.

I felt John take his fingers and start running them through my hair.  Slowly he moved down to my cheeks and his fingers circled them.  Next, his hands went to my shoulders and finally to my nipples, where he spun circles around them with his finger tips.  I was instantly hard as my cock came to attention.

“On your knees, boy,” he instructed me and down I went.  He pulled my head into the crouch of his jeans pushing my face into the denim.  At the same time he was stroking my hair.   I took in the smell of the denim and could feel his arousal underneath as it moved.  After a few moments he moved away and left me there on my knees.

I could hear him moving around, drawers opening, gear being moved about.  I had no idea what he was taking out or what would happen next.

I felt him come near to me again.  “Stand,” was the command I heard and I obeyed.  He put his hands on me and guided me over to the left side of the dungeon.  He removed the cuffs from my wrists and ankles and replaced them with leather restraints which I felt and heard him lock on.  It’s amazing how you pick up sounds when blindfolded, like small padlocks clicking closed.

He moved around to my left side and pulled the wrist into the air.  A padlock was used to lock it to something keeping it slightly suspended in the air.  Likewise, he went to the other side and repeated the same thing with my right wrist.  Next his hands were on my right ankle and were being attached to something.  As he moved around I felt the rigidity of the spreader bar at my ankle.  He took one of his hands and tapped on my left ankle and then on the right ankle motioning for them to be further apart.  I stretched out thinking I was good, but then felt the tapping again.   Another stretch and then I hear the click of a padlock from the left ankle.  I try to move my legs and realize they are at either end of the spreader bar.

A few moments later I hear the sound of a crank.  My wrists begin to lift and spread.  Within a few moments I am in a tight standing spread eagle, naked and exposed before John.

“Because you want the option of being released every two hours, your torment today will be in two hour increments.”  John was matter of fact in the way he said this.  He took his hands and fondled my body and I reacted with moans of pleasure.  I felt his body very close to mine as he used his hands to explore my exposed body.

I felt John’s head come close to me, and then whispering into my ear he said, “Today you will feel pleasure and pain.  It will be a mixture so I can see how you react.  You have a safe word, but I doubt you will need, or want, to use it.  Enjoy your ride, boy.”

As he pulled back his fingers started to circle around each of my nipples.  I immediately reacted as my breathing pattern changed and my head tilted forward.  I could feel my cock stiffening and coming to attention.  Then I felt the first searing pain as a clamp was attached to my right nipple.  I gasped.  “Breathe deeply and relax,” John whispered.  “Let the pain subside slowly.”  I did as he suggested.  The pain eventually did subside, but was still there and had my attention.  A moment later, I felt the left nipple experience the same sensation.  Again, I tried to breathe in deep and slowly.  I felt a chain against my chest no doubt connecting the two clamps that had just been attached.  John took his hands and massaged my face.  He took one hand and put it behind my head and pulled my head forward into his chest.  “Good boy,” he whispered into my ear and he pulled away.  I was left there, spread tightly, blindfolded and clamps attached to my nipples.

After a few minutes like that, I heard the crank being turned again a few clicks and with it I was pulled tighter.  My wrists were now far enough apart that I was on the balls of my feet in order to keep the pressure off my arms.

“Ah!” I shouted as I felt something impact my left thigh.  He was using a riding crop on me.  I shouted again as the crop hit my right thigh this time.  I feel John’s hand roughly grab my chin and he says, “If you’re going to yell I’ll have to gag you.”  His hand pulls away and another hit to the right thigh.  Again I yelp.  All of a sudden I feel something being pushed into my mouth.  He’s inserting a ball gag.  He pulls the strap tightly around my head and secures it.  “That’s better,” he says.

Over the next few minutes the crop lands on my thighs, calves, butt cheeks, near the clamps and on my stomach.  I try to move around as if I’m going to keep him from hitting me.  It’s useless, of course, as he hits his mark and my movement only causes the chain between the clamps to swing and pull on the nipples.

When he finished with the crop I feel his hands near my nipples and then searing pain as he pulls them off me.  The blood rushes back into the nipples and with it the pain that causes me to yell into the gag.  It only lasts a few seconds but the nipples feel like they are on fire.  I feel John step into towards me and he puts his hands around my back and pulls me into him.  I feel his naked torso against me.  At some point he must have pulled off the tank top.  He tells me to calm down and holds me tight.  I let my head drop into his shoulder as he’s holding me.  He finally lets go and steps away.  I hear the crank again but this time my wrists are being let down slightly and I can stand on both feet flat.  I’m breathing heavy and it takes a few moments for it to get back to a regular state.

John removes the gag from me.  “Good boy,” he says.

“Thank you, Sir,” I respond.

He takes one of his hands and runs his fingers through my hair.  “I’ll give you a few moments before we continue,” he says.  I just hang there thinking how rough that was, but also how much I liked it.  To a certain extent, even how much I needed it.  John was definitely putting me through some limited pain to see how I would react.  But he was also showing his balance making sure to touch me at just the right times and reassure me of his presence and my ability to take what he was dishing out.  It was going to be a long day, but a good day.

After a few minutes the crank begins to sound again but this time my wrists are being lowered to my sides.  I take this opportunity to stretch a little bit.  At the same time, John has come around behind me.  I feel his presence near my back.  He releases my wrist restraints from the ropes at my side and pulls them behind my back using a padlock to secure the leather restraints together.  He pulls in close to me his bare chest against my back, his head on my right shoulder, his hands coming around to my chest and holding me tight.  After a few moments his hands begin to massage my nipples.  Eventually they work their way up to my head and stroke my hair back.

John steps away and relatively quickly is back behind me again.  But this time, he’s pulling a posture collar around my neck.  I hear the snap of a padlock and then a piece of rope being threaded through the back of the collar very close to my neck.  The end of the rope is near my wrists and John begins to knot the rope through the padlock connecting my wrist restraints.   A moment later, the crank starts again and my wrists are pulled up into the small of my back.

John steps around in front of me and attaches a parachute stretcher to my balls.  Once he’s got it in place I feel a tug.  The tension is getting tougher but it has some give.  It’s a bungee cord being used to pull the stretcher down to the spreader bar.  My instinct is to bend my knees to take the pressure off but as I do this, my wrists are pulled up higher into my back.  I immediately realize what is happening.  John is making sure this predicament position has only one option.  I’m going to be hurting some place.  It’s just up to me what I do.

“Do you understand the position you are in right now, boy?” John asks.

“Yes, Sir,” I answer.

“Good.  Just to summarize, your balls are being pulled down by a bungee cord.  If you decide to bend your knees, you will increase the pressure on your shoulders and arms.  In addition, that half squat you do will eventually tax your thighs.  If you decide to stand to relieve the pressure on your shoulders and legs, your balls will take the brunt of that decision.  You still have an hour to go in your first two hours of bondage.  You will remain like this for that hour.  Good luck, boy.  I hope you are entertaining for me.”

I heard John step away and I think I even heard him sit down on the floor.  It was difficult to know exactly where he was in the space but I knew he was still there since I didn’t hear the door open and close.  Every now and again I would hear what sounded like heavy breathing.

For a while I just went back and forth between squatting down and trying to stand.  It was a continuous process for me switching every few minutes.  Evidently this is what he wanted.  He wanted to watch me make choices and then switch.  My legs were starting to get tired and would occasionally begin to shudder when I tried to hold the squat too long.  My breathing pattern noticeably changed, as well, becoming heavier and deeper.

I felt his presence again very close to me.  “You’re doing well boy.  Keep it up.  You undoubtedly feel me next to you and that is all you will feel.  I’m not going to touch you until I release you.  For now it’s just you and the bondage.  Get used to it.  I know this is what you want.  It’s what you crave.  Do not say anything.   I’m not going to gag you because I want you to be able to breathe through your mouth.  But you are not permitted to speak until I tell you after you are released from this position.  I’ll let you figure out how much time you think you have left.  I’m enjoying the show.”  Then I heard him step away from me and sit down again near by.  His words went right through me.  He’s very in tune with my thoughts and fantasies so far.  Damn, this is hot, but it’s also tough.  I’ve got to make the best of it and get through it I think to myself.  He’s challenging me and I like it.

My dance continues but now it’s becoming more frequent.  I’m holding each position less and less time.  My legs are starting to feel like jello as I squat down.  My breathing is now shallow and I’m breathing through my mouth.  I can feel droplets of sweat slowly working their way down my skin.  I have no idea how long I have to go.

John is beside me again.  His body is so close but we’re not touching.  He’s circling me slowly.   Once he’s in front of me he’s using his hand to pull my head forward into his.  The other hand is stroking my hair.  He pulls back.

“Well done, boy.  You’ve done really well,” he says.  I’m still trussed up and continue my dance.  I hear the crank again and my wrists are being let down towards my waist.  It helps but I can’t stand up because of the bungee cord.  “Squat down,” I’m directed.  As I bend my knees I feel the pressure being released from my balls.  He’s unhooked the bungee cord.  A shot of brief pain goes through my balls as I feel the parachute stretcher released and pulled away from my skin.  Next, my ankles are released from the spreader bar.  John takes his hands and puts them under my pits and tells me to stand upright.  He’s helping me to stand as I try to pull my feet together.

He steps around behind me.   The rope is untied from my wrists and then he removes the posture collar after unlocking the padlock.

“Kneel,” he commands.  I slowly go down to my knees.  John takes off the blindfold I’ve been wearing and slowly my eyes adjust to the dim light in the space.  Eventually I look at him standing in front of me.

“You may speak again,” he says.  “How are you doing?”

“Good, Sir,” I respond.  “Thank you, Sir.  That was amazing.”

“You did well.  It’s time for you to decide if you want another two hours, boy.”

“Yes, Sir.  Let’s please continue, Sir,” I answer back.  John

looks down at me and smiles.  “I was hoping you would say that,” he says with a wide smile.  I sort of fall into his waist with my head and he puts his hands behind my head and strokes my hair.  I think to myself this is the beginning – but the beginning of what?

John looks down at me and says, “Stay here for a moment and rest.”  I sort of sit back on my feet and try to stretch out a little which is difficult given my wrists are still cuffed behind me.  I see John go over to the side and pull the bondage chair out from the wall and towards the center of the space pretty close to where he has me kneeling.  It gives me a chance to take a good look at it again.  The last time I was in it I was wearing cargo shorts.  This time I’m completely naked.

John comes over to me and helps me to my feet.  He walks me over to the chair and sets me down.  There’s a different feel this time with my cock and balls hanging loosely given the only support are the two wood legs at a 45 degree angle and that little triangle of a seat that is barely enough for my butt to sit on.

John reaches around behind me and removes the padlock that has kept my wrist restraints together.  There’s a small piece of rope on the floor which he picks up.  “Bring your wrists in front of you,” he says.  I comply.  He takes the rope and weaves it within the D rings on the leather cuffs and pulls the rope tight.  Next he takes the rope and brings it up and over head towards the ladder chair back.  My arms are pulled above my head.  He ties off the rope at the top effectively out of reach of my hands.  Next he bends down and attaches my ankle cuffs to the front of the chair.  At least this time they are not pulled back and up like the last time he had me in this thing.  Next comes rope over the thighs, then rope around the waist and finally rope around each elbow effectively tying me to the chair so I can hardly move.

John takes a look at his handy work and smiles.  I try to struggle a little bit just to test out how he’s got me tied to the chair.  I’m completely exposed.  My cock and balls are hanging freely and my arms are tied above my head exposing my pits and forcing out my chest a little bit.  I smile back at him with approval.  I’m not going any where.

He reaches down with his hand and rolls my balls around.  Then he takes my cock and starts to massage it some and I’m getting harder.  I pre cum a lot and he’s using it to maximum effect.

He looks into my eyes and says, “Pain and pleasure, boy.  It’s time to begin your next two hours.”  I smile back at him and think he’s totally got me, both physically and figuratively.  Physically, I’m completely helpless.  Figuratively, it’s his smile, his being only in jeans, bare chested, barefoot and looking pretty damn good.  I have to remember to ask him how he keeps so athletic looking.  He leans in and kisses me again.  It’s never really deep when he does it.  It’s just light kissing – very tender, very light – just enough to show interest and some level of caring.

What I didn’t see coming was the ball gag again which he shoved into my mouth and quickly strapped on behind my head.  Next he grabbed the riding crop.  I thought it interesting that he didn’t blindfold me.  He obviously wants me to see what is happening at the moment.  He showed me the crop taking the end and slowly pulling it down my chest to my navel.

John then took the crop and started to slap my balls ever so lightly from underneath.  I started to regulate my breathing and get used to the sensation.  Slowly, he began to increase the intensity and with it I started to whimper ever so slightly.  He made direct eye contact with me as if to say, “Take it.”  I nodded my head yes to him and tried my best to hold back any sounds.  Again he increased the intensity but slowed down on the frequency of hits.  Still it hurt like hell.  I kept holding back even to the point of holding my breath a few times thinking that would help.  It didn’t.

John decided I had enough of the ball thumping and started to work on my nipples alternating back and forth every few whacks.  Again he would start lightly and then increase the intensity.   I had to again hold back trying to deal with the pain changing up my breathing to compensate.

When John finally stopped, he leaned in, smiled at me and nodded his approval.  I was glad I was meeting his expectations to this point.  He stepped away and came back holding the blindfold.  Showing it to me it was as if he was asking me if I wanted it.  I nodded yes and he leaned forward and put it on me.

I felt John sort of sit on me straddling my legs with his legs.  His hands started to play with me stroking my hair, lightly touching my arms and pits, then slowly and lightly touching the sides of my torso working his way down to my waist.  He repeated this several times and I appreciated the affection he was showing me knowing full well the crop was going to return.

And return did the crop.  He kept alternating between my nipples, thighs, balls and torso.  I never knew where the next series of hits would be as he was very good at mixing up his targets.  Again and again he would also alternate the intensity.  I have no idea how long he kept this up for but I was dripping beads of sweat when he finally stopped taking his hands and embracing my head.

John stepped away and left me alone for a few moments.  When he came back he took the gag out and said, “Drink,” putting a straw to my lips.  I started sucking and it was water – a very welcome relief.  I took several swigs and then sort of put my head back to indicate I was OK.

John then put the gag back in me.  Again he let me sit for a while without any touching or sensations.

After a few minutes I felt his fingers massaging my nipples.  It wasn’t to last though as the nipple clamps returned.  And so did the parachute stretcher only this time he added weights to pull down on the balls when he was all set.  There I sat with my nipples on fire and my balls being pulled away from me.  I heard John whisper into my ear, “Show me you can take this.  It’s just you and the clamps and the weights now.  I’ll be here.  But it’s just you for the rest of the time.”  And with that I felt him pull away.

I tried to use my breathing again to help get through the painful stimulation.  After a few minutes the clamps and the ball weights were just annoying.  It wasn’t so much pain any longer as it was just a dull ache.  I was able to sit quietly and concentrate.  I could get through this.

Eventually time was up.  John came over to me, removed the clamps, ball weights and parachute stretcher.  I yelped as they came off.  Then off came the blindfold and then the gag.  And there in front of me that wonderful smile.  “You are meeting all my expectations today.  Perhaps I should be tougher on you.”  I smiled back at him and said, “I’m ok with the current intensity, Sir.  Maybe another time to ratchet it up.”  He sort of chuckled.

“I have a deal for you,” John said.  “You’ve been here four hours and it’s only mid day.  I’d like to keep you another four hours.  My proposal is this.  I notice you looking at the cage when ever you get a chance.  I’ll be happy to put you in it for a couple of hours.  Nothing will happen to you while you are in the cage.  Consider it a two hour break.  When that time is up, we’ll do something else for a couple of hours and then we’ll call it a day.  How’s that sound?”  He smiled at me looking directly into my eyes.

How could I pass this up?  “I’m in, Sir,” I said.

“Good.  Let me get you off the chair, then.”

After I was released from the chair, I stood up and stretched a little bit.  At the same time he started to remove the leather restraints from my wrists and ankles.

“Sir, no bondage while in the cage?” I asked.

John answered, “Well, since you are going into a steel cage I thought steel restraints would be appropriate.”

“Yes, SIR,” I smartly replied grinning from ear to ear.

“You should be very careful what you wish for, boy,” John retorted.

John went and got five way heavy irons.  He had me stand there as he put them on me – steel collar, wrist and ankle restraints with connecting chain between them all and wrists secured in front of me.  Everything locked on with a hex screw.  I immediately felt the weight of the restraints and chains.  This was not light weight stuff.  John opened the end of the cage and motioned me in.  The bottom had a soft pad and I scooted in.  Once all the way in, he closed the door and padlocked it closed.  “Enjoy your break, boy,” John said.  He smiled at me then turned around and headed for the dungeon door.  “I’ll be back in a while.”  And with that, he left the dungeon.  I tried to lie down as best I could and discovered that wasn’t necessarily what I wanted to do.  I decided to lean against the far end of the cage and spread out as best I could given the limiting nature of the chains and the size of the cage.  I sat there thinking how cool this all was being invited into a space like this, having a captor as cool as John and getting into some different head spaces.  This was a good day.

When John came back into the dungeon he was still only wearing his jeans.  I liked him bare chested and barefoot and pretty much told him so.  “I’ll have to remember that,” he chuckled.  “There are times I want my prisoners very uncomfortable and times I want them to thoroughly enjoy their time with me.  I think you should experience both in your last couple of hours.”

John continued, “When we’ve talked you mentioned you like endurance positions.”

“Yes, Sir, I think it’s hot to be put into bondage that is difficult but not necessarily painful to start.  It sort of sneaks up on you, Sir,” I added.

“Good, then.  I think I have just the position to put you in.”

With that he opened the door and had me get out and kneel.  He moved the bondage chair back to the wall and out of the way so the center of the floor was clear.  He had me move to the open space and sit down on my butt.  He took the hex wrench out and removed the five ways.  Out came the leather wrist and ankle restraints again and he padlocked them on.  Next he had me bring my wrists behind my back and used a padlock to keep them together.  He had me bring my feet together in front with the soles touching each other and the knees spread apart.  A steel collar was put on me and I saw three lengths of chain and some more padlocks on the floor to the side.  John took a piece of chain and connected to the back of the steel collar and then pulled my wrists up into the small of my back and secured them to the chain.  I could not touch the floor with my wrists.  Next he took two similar lengths of chain and connected them to the front of the collar.  “Lean forward,” he instructed.  As I bent forward he took a padlock and connected one chain to the left ankle restraint and then repeated with the right.  He looked at me and he must have decided it wasn’t tight enough.  He unlocked the right padlock and pulled me down towards my feet another couple of links before securing the padlock again.  He made the left the same as the right.  And there I was.  I was forced to stay in a forward bending position, my wrists yanked up my back.

John ran his hands through my hair and said, “You’re going to be like this for two hours.  It’s going to be tough.  Your back, your legs, your shoulders will all begin to hurt.  If it gets to be too much use the safe word.  I won’t think any less of you and rest assured I will invite you back.  I just want to make sure you understand this is about what you think you can take, not me.  I’ll be here the entire time.  You won’t be blindfolded or gagged.  My job is to help you stay like this as long as you can or for the two hours.  Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” I replied.  “Thank you, Sir.”

“All right then, your two hours starts now,” John finished.  He then brought over a pillow, leaned on it and began to watch me.

Needless to say it was a long two hours.  About 30 minutes into this, I’m guessing, my back started to ache and I began to move around trying to do isometric stretching.  John saw this.  He got up, took the pillow and leaned it against the cage upright.  Then he sort of grabbed me and dragged me over near the cage.  It wasn’t far just a couple of feet to move me.  John leaned against the pillow and then pulled me in between his open legs sort of embracing me.  He leaned into me and I could feel his bare chest against the wrists.  His hands came around my front and he began to massage my nipples.  I got hard instantly.  He whispered in my ear, “You’re doing OK.  You’re a little more than a third of the way through.  Hang in there.”

“Yes, sir,” I responded.

He continued to play with my nipples and eventually was stroking my cock.  It wasn’t enough to get me to the edge but it felt good and at least briefly took my mind off the discomfort that was quickly moving into pain.

After a few minutes he sort of leaned back away from my body and used his hands to lightly touch me.  He ran his hands over my shoulders, down my arms and on either side of my back with the chain in between.  It didn’t really do much for me physically in the sense that he was massaging away any of the joint pain I was experiencing.  It was just good to feel his tender touch on me letting me know he was there.  It’s interesting that we really didn’t talk much at all during the day even when I wasn’t gagged.  His touch and our looks to each other were enough communication between us and all we really needed.  I never felt anything but safe even when he was inflicting a level of pain on me.

I started trying to move around some more.  I was leaning to one way and then the next.  My breathing patterns changing again becoming deeper and more thought out.  The head space was very interesting.  John was next to me.  He was no longer touching me.  But I was all alone at the same time.

John must have sensed I was getting to a breaking point as he took out his keys and undid the padlocks from the collar to the ankles.  “Stay forward.  Don’t try to sit up too quickly,” he warned me.  Before I knew it the wrist chain was unlocked as was the padlock connecting the wrists together.  In another moment the collar was off of me leaving me with the leather restraints on me but nothing connected.  “Lean over onto the floor just as you are,” John instructed.  “Slowly stretch out.  Very slowly.”  I did as he suggested.  It took a while before I could stretch out fully on the floor.

While I was lying on the floor he removed the restraints from my wrists and ankles.  “How long did I stay like that,” I asked.  “It was just over an hour.  You were starting to really get into the head space. I could tell.”

“Why didn’t you leave me longer, then?”

“I was thinking you’ve had a long day and still need to drive home at some point.  I didn’t want you to be in too much pain tomorrow when your muscles start to revolt.  You’ll go longer next time,” he said smiling at me.

“Thanks,” I said.

“You did well today, boy.  I think we’re done.  That position can do a number on you.”

“Yes, Sir,” I replied.

After a few minutes he helped me stand up and walk towards the door.  As we left the dungeon he handed me my jeans and we went upstairs.

We sat on the couch and I slowly got dressed.  “I think you should relax for a bit before you drive home.”

I sort of laughed it off and said, “I think you’re right.”

We stayed and chatted for a while about the session.  I told him how I liked to be touched when he had me spread eagle and how interesting it was when he left me alone in the chair and again on the floor.  It was just me and the bondage at that point and how I had to focus my energy to get through it.  I told him I thought I would still ache tomorrow and he said he knew I would.

After a while I felt good enough to stand up and John had me do some stretches.  When he was satisfied I was OK, he handed me the envelope with my wallet, keys, phone and the tank in it.   I thanked John with a big hug for today and we said our goodbyes.  As I walked out the door John said to me, “I’ll be looking forward to our next time.”  “Yes, Sir.”

It took me about an hour to get home.  I stopped on the way to grab some food as I really hadn’t had anything to eat all day.  I could tell I was going to be sore tomorrow but I chalked it up to a reminder of the day.

When I got home I took the food upstairs thinking I would get online and eat while I was checking email and doing a little surfing.  When I opened email I saw a message from John.  “That was quick,” I thought.

“Hey Dave, it was great having you over today. You make a terrific bondage toy for me to play with and I really enjoy our time together.  You are very open and I appreciate that.  Let me know when you are ready for another session.  Perhaps an over night session may be possible.  Take care and let me know your thoughts.  Best, John.”

Wow, he just invited me for an overnight session.  I guess we really are clicking.  I hit reply on the email and began typing.  “John, thanks for today.  I couldn’t have asked for a better time.   I also want to thank you for your caring approach to the session.  At all times I felt safe and looked after by you, even when you were making sure I was to be uncomfortable and in some pain.  Even at those moments I knew you were taking care of me.  And, yes, another session would be great.  I have a connection with you I haven’t felt with anyone else I’ve met and I think you can take me to places I’ve only fantasized about.  I know fantasy is often not reality.  But it doesn’t mean we can’t try to get close.  I’m open to an overnight session.  Let’s discuss soon.  Thanks again, Dave.”  I hit send and finished eating.

I was definitely feeling the affects of the bondage.  Once I was done eating it didn’t take long to feel the need to head to bed.  I turned off the computer, took the dishes downstairs, and then came back up to get ready for bed.  As I stripped down and climbed into bed, I realized that I never got off today at John’s.  While he kept me horny almost the entire day and played with my cock on and off, not to mention my nipples, he never got me off.  It got me to thinking what an awesome bondage experience I had today and it didn’t involve a climax.  In one way it was kind of cool.  In another way, I was still really horny thinking about it.  Let’s just say I took care of business before my head hit the pillow.


The Weekend Session


John and I caught up with each other online a couple of days later.  He reiterated his suggestion that we get together for an overnight session.  He even suggested that if I were up for it to make it a short weekend session.  His suggestion was to essentially arrive on Friday night and stay through Sunday late morning.  I told him I needed to think about it and we could chat more about it later in the week.  He was fine with that.  We were both busy this next weekend so it wasn’t like we were under any kind of time table to make it happen.

Honestly, I had a great time with John the past Saturday. I felt safe with him and personally I really, really liked him.  The suggestion for a short weekend stay was amazingly appealing to me.  Yet at the same time, it all felt like this was moving really fast.  I entered into our first meeting with the hope and intention of finding an occasional bondage buddy.  Something felt like it was moving beyond that, and quickly.  I decided to try to slow things down a bit.

I knew I was going to do the weekend.  But I decided I would chat with John more to find out what he had in mind rather than just moving headlong into it.  I also wanted to put it off for at least a couple of weekends and find out if after a break we were both still as in to each other as we seemed.

We continued to chat online off and on for the next couple of weeks.  During that time John revealed that he would like to take the intensity up during my next session and that’s why he suggested the weekend stay.  Staying over a couple of nights would afford him the chance to put me through some intense bondage that would only be possible with the gift of time.  The more he told me the more I got hard as we exchanged messages.  We decided on a weekend coming up and set our plans in motion for me to spend it in his dungeon.

John’s expectations were simple.  I was to arrive Friday night at 7 PM and be prepared to stay through Sunday afternoon at 2 PM.  I would be in the dungeon the entire time, naked and always in some sort of restraints.  Also, there would be no safeword this time.   That sort of scared me but I trusted John so I agreed.

I arrived home from work on that Friday around 5:00.  I showered and ate a small meal.  I would need to be on the road just after six to make it in time.  John instructed me to drive to his place wearing only blue jeans – nothing else.  There was no shirt, no shoes, no underwear – nothing but the jeans.  He wanted me to know he controlled me even before I left my own house.

I arrived at John’s house right on time.  I didn’t know really what to expect.  All he told me was he was going to push me and see what I could handle.  The weekend would be about testing limits.

At his front door there was a note for me.  It said to go around the side of the house and down to the lower level outside.  I would see a door with another note.  This note was pretty straight forward.  “Open the door and step inside.  You will find this room is joined to the dungeon through a door on the other side.  Once inside this room you will remove your jeans, fold them and leave them by the door you just entered.  Once naked enter the dungeon through the opposite door.  Go to the bondage frame.  There you will find restraints prepared for you along with a blindfold and gag.  You’ll know what to do.  Lock yourself in facing the wall.  Once you click on the cuffs you are submitting to me for the weekend.”

I opened the door, stepped inside and closed the door behind me.  The room essentially looked like it was being used for storage, except it was storing his extra dungeon furniture from the look of things.  Apparently he had more gear than fit in the play space when being used.

I quickly removed the jeans, folded them and placed them by the outer door.   My cock was already dripping pre cum.

I walked to the door on the opposite side and opened it.  It did indeed lead into the dungeon.  It was the door next to the spider web of chains.  I closed the door behind me as I walked over to the bondage frame.

John had prepared for me.  From the center of the over head beam was a short chain hanging and a pair of darby style handcuffs attached.  Leather ankle cuffs with short chains were attached to the bottoms of the side beams.  A small padlock was next to each ankle cuff.  On the floor in the center between the ankle cuffs were a ball gag and blindfold.  The intention was for me to be secured in an inverted Y position.

I started by putting on the ball gag.  It was enough to fill my mouth but not too big.  Next I put the blindfold on my head but didn’t pull it over the eyes yet.  It took some doing to get my ankles secured in the cuffs and locked in and then to get up into a standing position, but I managed.  I looked up at the handcuffs dangling above my head.  I pulled the blindfold down over my eyes and then reached up.  It wasn’t that hard to get my wrists cuffed in.  And there I was, gagged, blindfolded and stretched out.

After a few minutes I heard one of the doors open and someone enter.  I felt the chains on each ankle being pulled to get me into a tighter position.  Then hands reached up to my head and tightened the ball gag pulling it deeper into my mouth.  Next I felt fingers massaging my nipples and I started to moan.  “How are you doing, boy?”  It was John’s voice.  “I can tell from your cock you like this.  We’ll see how it likes what’s coming next.”

John stepped away from me.  A few moments later I felt the first blow on my back of the flogger.  It took my by surprise.  It wasn’t a full force hit but it stung and I yelped through the gag.  He continued working different parts of my back at that same intensity for a couple of minutes.  Each time I let out a yelp but as the strokes progressed I found I was able to handle them better.  My breathing though became shallow.  After about 15 hits, John stopped.  He came over to me.

“We’re not even close to done yet.  You’re going to take a lot more strokes and a lot more intensity before we’re finished with this.  You can handle it.  Continue to work through it as you are.  I can tell you were able to acclimate after the first few strokes.”  He took his hands and rubbed them over my back.

The strokes started again and he did increase the intensity.  I handled the first few OK but then couldn’t hold back any more and started to scream through the gag.  It hurt like hell.  John took more time between each stroke at that point but he still hit me just as hard.  It was like he was letting me recover between each stroke.  I started to whimper from the gag.  John stopped.

The ball gag was taken off and John moved around in front of me.  He took my head in his hands.  “You’re doing well, boy.  But I want to see how much more you can take.”

I answered, “Please, Sir, no more.”

“Do you trust me, boy?”

“Yes, Sir,” I responded.

“All right then,” John started.  “Think back to our first conversation.  You told me it was your wish to try things that would really test you and ultimately break you.  This flogging is your first test of the weekend and my intent is to break you with it.  But you aren’t even close yet. You can take a lot more and you will.  Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir,” I whimpered.  John took the blindfold off.

He was shirtless wearing bdu’s and boots.  He looked so hot!

“Look into my eyes.”  I raised my head so we could lock eyes with one another.  “Good boy.  Remember, I will never harm you.  You are safe.  But remember, also, I said there would be times when I would hurt you to take you where you want to go.  Trust me and I’ll take you there.”

“Yes, Sir.  Thank you, Sir.”

“We’re going to start again but this time no gag and no blindfold.  If you need to scream then scream.  No one can hear you in here so do what you need to do.  However, you will need to buck up.  Only when I can deliver 10 in a row without a whimper from you will I stop.  Do you understand?”

“Yes, Sir,” I said with tears welling up in my eyes.

He took his fingers wiped away the tears and then pulled me in and kissed me.  He looked at me and said, “Deep down you need this, don’t you?”

I didn’t answer right away.  I actually took a few moments to think about it before I looked him in the eye and said, “Yes, Sir.  Thank you, Sir.”

John started up again.  I never did keep count.  But it didn’t take long for him to have me screaming and begging for him to stop.  At some point my begging became tears but the strokes didn’t stop.  Eventually my body must have become immune to what was happening.  I found myself hanging by my wrists and listening to the sound of the flogger as it flew through the air before it landed on my back.  But nothing came out of me.  And then there was silence.

John came in front of me, looked me in the eyes and then started passionately kissing me.   It was amazing.  When he stopped, he kneeled down and unclipped the ankle cuffs from the frame.  He helped me to stand upright.  Next he released my wrists from the cuffs overhead and they fell down in front of me.  He told me to kneel.

Behind me he reached around and pulled my left wrist to my back, placed a leather cuff on it and locked it closed.  He repeated with the right cuff and then locked my wrists behind me.  He brought a chair over and sat down in front of me.

“I’ll be honest with you.  The flogging you experienced on the bondage frame is the intensity of what you will experience most of this weekend if you stay.  Now that you understand what that truly means, I want you to have time to consider whether you want to continue.  Do not answer now.  You have one hour to think about it.  At the end of the hour you will make your decision.  Stand up.”  I stood up and John reached around and put the ball gag back in my mouth.  He guided me back over to the bondage frame having me lean my back against one of the uprights and kneel.  He undid the lock on my wrists and pulled the wrists around the upright and secured them again.  Then he padlocked my ankles together.

John walked over to the corner and came back with some sort of black bag in his hand.  He looked at me and said, “One hour to decide.”  Then he took the bag and put it over my head plunging me into darkness.  I heard him leave the dungeon and there I was alone to think about his offer.

The hour must have gone by quickly because I heard John come back into the dungeon.  I felt the lock holding my ankles together being unlocked.  I stayed on my knees.  After a few more moments he removed the black bag from my head.  He was sitting in front of me on a stool.  He had removed the boots he was wearing earlier and was barefoot and still shirtless.

“We’re going to find out what your decision is and just how far you’ve decided you are willing to go.”  John scooted the stool closer to me and unbuttoned the bdu’s he was wearing.  He took out his cock and displayed it in front of me.  “I’m going to remove the gag.  You will not speak.  If you’ve decided to quit, stand up as you are able since your wrists are still cuffed behind you.  If you’ve decided to continue, you know what I expect of you.  Don’t you?”  He said the last part looking at my eyes and then down to his cock.  He had never suggested before that I would have to service him.  But somehow I knew I wanted to.  John reached around and removed the gag.

I looked at him and then leaned forward.  John stood up so his cock was at the same level as my mouth.  I opened up and took it in slowly.  He reached down and stroked my hair while saying, “Good boy.  You’re mine now.”  I continued sucking on him for a couple of minutes.  John was groaning in pleasure.  He pulled out of me.  “Stand up.”  I struggled to get up on my feet with my wrists still cuffed around the post.  John helped me up and then kissed me.  I knew I wanted to be his bondage toy more than anything else.  He was taking me some place I needed to go.

John looked into my eyes and said, “I’m glad you decided to stay.  I promise you won’t be harmed, but you will hurt a lot.”

I looked back at him and said, “Yes, Sir.  Thank you, Sir.”

He took his hands and rubbed them through my hair.  I sort of let my head fall forward and it landed in his chest as he pulled closer to me.  It felt good to have John hold me for those few moments.  As he continued to play with my hair he whispered, “Time for your next torment.”

He pulled away from me and went over to the far side of the room.  There was a flat gym bench that was sitting over there and he picked it up and placed it between the two posts where I was at.   Out of his pocket he took out a parachute stretcher and placed it around my balls.  Next, reaching around behind the post, he unlocked the padlock keeping my wrists together just long enough to pull my arms from around the post and padlock them together again behind my back.  He moved me towards the bench and had me sit down straddling it.

John left me again for a few moments and I heard him over in the corner.  When he came back he had several loops of rope and a few other items.  He took the gag from earlier and re-inserted into my mouth.  The hood went on next.  I felt a rope being tied to the padlock at my wrists and before I knew it my wrists were being pulled up behind me in the air.  I started to lean forward and heard, “Keep you back straight and your arms parallel to the bench.”

I complied.

The ankles were next as they were pulled up off the floor so I was essentially floating on the bench.  Some sort of nipple clamps were applied and I could feel a rope attached to the chain being pulled away from me.  Before I knew it the other end of the rope must have been tied off to the parachute stretcher.  The pull on the balls was in direct proportion to the pull on my nipples.  This was going to be hard.

John said, “Do you understand what is happening to you right now?  Nod your head if you do.”

I nodded my head yes.

“Very well.  This is your next torment.  You will be like this for a while.  Good luck, boy.  I’ll be watching but don’t think you’re getting out any time soon.”  I heard John step away but I never heard the door to the dungeon so I assumed he was still in the space.

This position was difficult.  Any time my arms became tired and I started to lean forward to take some pressure off, my body wanted to pull back on the bench causing the balls to pull on the rope that was connected to my nipples.  My breathing pattern became slow and steady.  It was the only thing I could concentrate on.  To say my shoulders started to ache after a while would be an understatement.

I had no idea how long I had been there when I felt his presence beside me and the hood was pulled off.  It took a moment for my eyes to adjust and John was there standing by me looking at me.  His expression was stoic.  No smile.  No reaction.  He was just looking at me eye to eye.  He took his right hand and ran it through my hair.  It made me feel somewhat safe even though I was hating life at that particular moment.  He removed the gag.

“It’s tough isn’t it, boy?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“I want you to make me proud.  I have no intention of releasing you yet.  I know you are in pain but you need to continue to work through it.  Understand?”

“Yes, Sir,” I replied.

“Good.  You should know you are barely halfway through the time I want to keep you like this.  This will be a test for you.”  After he said that he leaned in and kissed me lightly on the lips.  “Make me proud.”  He took the gag and put it back in and then the hood plunged me back into darkness.

The arms, the shoulders, the quads, the nipples were all in intense pain after a while.  I started to moan and groan into the gag hoping to get some relief.  But there was no sound of movement and no relief.  I started to whimper.  My head told me I was an idiot for allowing myself to be put in this position.  How could I want something like this?  At the same time, my cock was rock hard on the bench.  I told myself you want it because you have to know if you can take it.  I got control of myself and once again concentrated on my breathing.

A short time passed and again I felt his presence next to me.  The hood came off and this time after my eyes adjusted I saw his smile.  “You made me proud boy.”  I tried to smile back through the gag and nod my head yes at him.  I saw him reach down and untie the rope from the parachute stretcher and it lessened the pressure on my nipples.  He sat down on the bench in front of me and placed his hands on the nipples clamps.  With his eyes I could tell he was asking if he should take them off and I nodded yes that I was ready.  I knew what was coming.  As they came off the blood rushed in and I let out a scream through the gag.  The pain was intense.  My breathing became short and rapid.  John immediately got up, loosened the rope that was keeping my ankles off the floor and they were able to drop down.  Next the rope holding my arms up behind me was let loose and they came crashing down behind me.  The blood rushing back into my shoulders produced the same painful intensity my nipples had just gone through and again I let out a scream through the gag.  And again my breathing shortened up and became rapid.

John again sat down on the bench in front of me and pulled closer.  He wrapped his arms around my body and pulled us together.  “It’s OK,” I heard him say as he held me.  “Go ahead, let it out.  I’m here and I’ve got you.”

With that I started to whimper through the gag.

He continued to hold me tight.

When I had calmed down, he pulled back to in front of me and our eyes locked.  He reached around and removed the gag and immediately leaned in and kissed me.

I kissed him back.  “Thank you, Sir,” is what came out of me as we continued to enjoy each other.

“No, thank you.  You met my expectations.  I could tell the stages you were going through.  When you started to whimper I wanted to release you.  But I had to find out if you could gain control of yourself again.  And you did.  You were fighting through it and won.  You understand, don’t you?”

“Yes, Sir,” I replied.  “I do understand.  I’m fighting myself to see what I can handle and to push through.  Thank you, Sir, for the opportunity.”

John looked at me and said, “Trust me, it’s my pleasure.  You’ll have more opportunities to push through this weekend.  It’s just starting.  And that was just two hours.”  I thought to myself that was a long two hours.  But it was only two hours.  There’s a lot of hours left in this weekend.

John looked at me and said, “I think that’s enough for tonight.  We both need some rest.”  And with that, he had me stand up and walk towards the cage.  Lying on the floor was a set of heavy five way chains.  “Can I trust you not to JO tonight,” he said to me.

“Yes, Sir, I promise I won’t play with myself.”

“Good, boy.”  He removed the leather cuffs I was wearing and put the shackles on me.  They were heavy.  The steel collar and chain leading to the wrist and ankle shackles let me know who I belonged to.  He opened the cage door.  Instinctively I got down on my knees and put my head into his crouch.

“Yes, boy?”  It was more a question than a statement.

I looked up at him and said, “Thank you, Sir.  The boy would like to show his appreciation.”  Did that really come out of my mouth, I thought to myself.  But it did.

John looked down and opened up the crouch on his bdu’s and out came his cock.  I took it and began to perform.  It was all I could do to show my appreciation to this man that was taking me on an incredible journey.  After a few minutes of his moaning and groaning I could feel the change in his shaft.  He pulled out of me and spewed all over my chest.  When he was done he looked down at me and said, “Good boy.  Time for bed now.”

I crawled into the cage and he padlocked the door shut.  The cum was still wet on my chest.  I curled up and looked up at him as he looked back at me smiling.  He walked away, got to the door of the dungeon and hit the light switch plunging me into darkness.  The door opened and out he went as I drifted off to sleep.

I’m not sure how long I slept but it was a good sleep.  Even though I was heavily chained I felt amazingly rested when I woke up.  The dungeon was still pitch black and I could hardly make out anything once my eyes fully adjusted from waking up.  I managed to move around in the cage and decided to lean against the back side opposite the door with my legs as stretched out in front of me as they could go.  I kept them apart so I was essentially presenting myself.  I was just waiting for him to return.

After a while the dungeon door opened and in walked John.  He was carrying two dog bowls which he placed just outside the cage.  He was once again wearing his bdu’s but nothing else being shirtless and barefoot.

He leaned down to the front of the cage and said, “Good morning, boy.  Sleep well?”

“Yes, sir. Thank you, sir,” I responded.

He took keys out of his pocket and unlocked the padlock on the cage and opened it.  “Time for breakfast, boy.”

I crawled out and went to the dog bowls staying on all fours.  As I moved the weight of the chains was definitely felt and they clanged as I crawled along.  In the bowls was oatmeal and water.  I knew better than to use my hands and put my head down into the oatmeal and ate as best I could.  John was stroking my hair as I ate.  I managed not to get too much oatmeal on my face, but it didn’t matter once I got to the water as it sort of washed off as I tried to lap up what I could.

When I had finished everything I got on my knees.

John looked at me and asked, “Enough, boy?”

“Yes, sir, thank you, sir.”

“Stay put and I’ll be right back.”  John picked up the oatmeal bowl and left the dungeon.  He returned after a few minutes, picked up the water bowl and placed it inside the cage.

“Get up boy.  Time to get you cleaned up before we start the day.”  With that he helped me stand up and walked me to the bathroom door.  Like the dungeon space, it was pretty much done in black with a little gray here and there.  Inside there was a toilet, wash basin and stand up shower.  John released me from the shackles so I was essentially free.  He dropped the shackles on the floor inside the main dungeon.

“You have 15 minutes to do your business and take a shower.  I’ll be back once the time is up whether you’re done or not.  Do not play with yourself, boy.  Understood?”

“Yes, sir,” I replied.

He left me alone in the bathroom and I took care of what I needed to do.  The warm water in the shower felt good but I didn’t take too long knowing I was being timed.  I finished up, toweled off and stood in the center of the space, hands behind my back, feet slightly spread and my head bowed waiting for his return.

When John returned he said, “All right boy, go stand in the dungeon by the black box standing just as you are.”

“Yes, sir,” I responded and complied.

The black box was about three feet cubed.  It was solid looking from the outside and had hasps all around to keep the top securely closed.

John came behind me and started to put leather wrist and ankle cuffs on me.  Each of them was padlocked on and then my wrists were padlocked together behind me.  He then took a parachute stretcher and put it around my balls.  Going to the box he unlatched the hasps and pulled the top open.  The inside was painted black as the outside.  There were attachment points at various places around the edges and in the dead center of the floor.

“Step inside,” he said to me.  John held my arm as I stepped over the edge and inside.  “Kneel,” was the next command, which I obeyed.  He reached in and locked my ankle restraints to corner bolts inside the box.  Next he grabbed a hood with a mouth hole and put it on me.  I was in complete darkness.  I felt a collar being put around my neck.

“OK boy it’s time for your next torment.  You said you wanted to experience bondage that caused discomfort all the way up to pain just from the position you would be forced to endure.  I suggest you enjoy this.  In just a moment I will force you to bend over tightly into the box.  You will remain in this compression position for several hours with no break.  I will check on you from time to time but you will not receive any relief until I decide you have endured enough.  If you beg, whine or otherwise ask for adjustment I will make it worse.  Any questions?”

“Yes, sir.  What if I have to go to the bathroom, sir?”

John looked at me, smiled and said, “Then you go.  If you have to piss, then piss.  If you have to shit, then shit.  You’re not getting out until I decide you’ve had enough.  It will be several hours, so you’d better figure out how you are going to cope.”

And with that, I felt a tug on the parachute stretcher.  He pulled me down until he was able to connect the stretcher to the bolt in the bottom center of the box effectively keeping me down.  Next I felt a piece of chain being attached to the collar.  “Bend over, boy,” he barked and I bent forward.  He pulled me down into the box and I heard a click.  When I tried to pull my head up I could feel the tug of the chain to the floor.  Here I was with ankles connected to the back corners of the box, balls pulled down in the center preventing me from rising up, and my head pulled down forward causing me to completely compress my body.

“Good luck, boy.  You’re going to need it,” I heard John say just before he closed the lid on me.  I heard the hasps being used to secure the lid locked.  It wasn’t long before I realized how tough this position was going to be.  Was John serious about keeping me in here for hours?  I decided he was probably was serious and I was screwed.

I have no idea how long I’d been in the box when the lid opened.  All I knew was how much my back and shoulders ached and that it sucked kneeling in my own piss not being able to hold it long ago and just letting it go.  The smell of urine filled the box.

I could feel his presence over me.  “Well, I see and smell that you had to go.  Too bad for you.  I bet this is tougher than you thought.”

“Yes, Sir,” I answered in a low voice, and then continued, “Permission to speak, Sir?”

“No. You’re in there to see what you can take and stay there you will until I decide you are done.  I don’t care what you have to say at this point,” he answered with absolute authority in his voice.  I heard the lid close and the locks engaged again.

After what I have to think was a couple of more hours I couldn’t take it any more.  The pain and stress were getting to me.  I could feel a panic attack coming on.  I started to throw my body against the sides of the box.  I yelled out for him but there was no response.  It was more than I could take and I started to cry and then yell some more.  My emotions were taking over.  Still, though, there was no response from outside the box.

I’m not sure when or how but I heard quiet.  I realized I wasn’t crying any more but was just coping again with the situation.  The urine smell was now a part of me and the constant pain in my shoulders, back and arms was going to kill me I thought.

I heard the sound of locks being opened and the whoosh of air when the lid was lifted.  I felt his hand in front of my face and the tension on my neck being released.  “Slowly lift your head,” was the command.  I tried to pull up but the pain in my back as I tried to kneel upright was amazing.  It took me a few moments to get upright.  Soon after the parachute stretcher was removed and my ankles were unlocked from the corners.

“When you are ready, stand up and I will help you,” he said.  I did the best I could and felt his hands under my arms helping to lift me up.  I was finally standing still in the box when he removed the hood.  The room was barely lit so my eyes didn’t have too bad a time adjusting.  I looked into his eyes and the emotions suddenly came back and I started crying again uncontrollably.  He pulled me towards him and held my head tight against his chest.  He whispered in my ear, “It’s all right, boy.  You survived.  You did well.”

I started to mumble through the tears, “I’m sorry, Sir.  I can’t do this. I can’t take any more. This isn’t for me. I’m so sorry.”

He let me finish and get control of myself.  John then helped me to step out of the box wrists still cuffed behind me.  He guided me a few steps away and had me sit kneel on the floor.  He pulled a chair over and sat in front of me.  He took his hands and ran them through my hair trying to comfort me.

I looked up at him and asked, “How long was I in there?”

“Six hours,” he answered.

“Sir, why did you leave me in there so long?  I lost it and couldn’t take any more.  I was hitting the side of the box and crying out but you weren’t there to help me. How could you leave me alone?  I trusted you.”

“Yes, boy you did trust me, and you still will trust me.  I never left you alone.  I was here the entire time and I know what was happening in there.  Others have reacted the same way, including me once.  You were safe.”

I looked at him square in the eyes and said, “Sir, I can’t do this.  Please let me go.”

He looked back at me.  “No.  No chance.  You wanted this.  You need this and you will go through with it.  You wanted to be broken.  You wanted to be put in a situation that would take you to this place.  You trusted me.  And I won’t break that trust by breaking our agreement.  If I let you go you will always wonder whether you could have kept going through this weekend.  You will always want to try again.  I’m not letting you out of our agreement.  You are safe.  You can trust me.  Look at you now.  Are you safe?”

“Yes, Sir.  But the pain I was in and the break down I had. I don’t know if I can handle this any more.”  I put my head down into my chest as I said this as much disappointed in myself for being a wimp as I thought he was disappointed in me, most likely.  “I’m sorry I didn’t meet your standards, Sir.”

“Look at me,” he commanded with his tone of voice changing.  “Don’t ever say anything like that again.  You are doing very well.  Do you really think anyone could do six hours in that box like that without going through some of what you went through?  Really?  Are you that dumb, boy?  You had to experience what you went through.  It’s part of who you are and who you want to be.  I’m giving you what you asked for and you are taking it.  Buck up and be proud that you came out the other side.  And no more talk of ending early.  You are here for the rest of the weekend.  I own you until we’re done.  I will continue to subject you to tortures.  And you will continue to take it and survive.  And you will ask for more when we are done.  I know you and others like you.  You need this,” he said emphasizing “need” when he said it.

Deep down I knew he was right.  He was feeding a need only he could with his experience and his equipment.

“Thank you, Sir. You are right.  I promise I will get through this.  I’m sorry, Sir,” I said.

“The next time you say, ‘I’m sorry,’ you will be,” he answered.  “Look at me.  I am here to help you.  That sounds strange, but it’s the truth.  You wanted a specific journey in your life and I’m taking you there.  Let me do that for you.  Trust me.”

“Yes, Sir.  Thank you, Sir.”

With that he suggested some time for me to rest, as well as him.  He led me to the bathroom and removed all the cuffs.  I was able to take a quick shower and get rid of the urine smell.  He put me back in heavy chains and took me to the cage.  I crawled in and was locked in.  I curled up and realized I had a lot to think about.  It wasn’t long before I was sound asleep.


Click for Part 2


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