‘suspended’ – a bondage movie – part 1

‘The Prisoner’ continues to face the dubious hospitality of ‘The Captor’. In this latest escape challenge, ‘The Prisoner’ finds out that chances of freedom will be literally suspended if he can’t free himself from a roped spreadeagle…

Watch more videos like this at https://vimeo.com/heavybondage

#suspended – a bondage movie – part 1 from Heavy Bondage on Vimeo.

Story – ‘Homecoming’

This story is taken from the website which was run by the late, great Ropejock…

As consciousness returned, I remembered what had happened and tried to sit up – I couldn’t. I found I could barely move a muscle. My arms were tied tightly behind me; I felt something tied tight around my ankles, my knees and even my thighs. My wrists were secured and my elbows were pulled painfully tight together in the small of my back. My head was enclosed in something, the smell was familiar, but I couldn’t place it. My mouth felt stuffed full of something soft, springy but tough and I could barely swallow. The contraption blindfolded me – it must have been a hood of some sort over my head.

As I grew more aware, I felt the strain of the bonds around my body, everything was painfully tight and my muscles ached from the strain of the unusual position my limbs were forced to adopt. I was lying on my side and couldn’t straighten my legs without pulling on my arms. I was hog-tied, I’d seen it before but I’d never thought that it could be this painful. My skin felt strange, I couldn’t work it out but I knew that every part of me was covered in some way. I must have the uniform on, but I knew how that felt and this didn’t feel the same, besides, I knew that the motorcycle boots were not on my feet – that much was clear.

I couldn’t help but try to relieve the strain on my limbs, I moved as best I could but could do nothing to relieve the pain. I realized that my arms were secured to my body and that bonds were secured around my chest and torso in some criss-cross fashion. I could feel them biting into my flesh and restricting all movement. I tried in vain to speak but couldn’t make myself understood, I heard gurgling and rasping and realized that it was me. Saliva was running from the side of my mouth and pooling at the side of my face and chin, held in place by the hood that was so tightly wrapped around my head. There was no light to relieve the darkness in which I was held. I didn’t know if it was day or night.

My body cried in pain. My 6’4″, muscular frame was not built for this type of punishment, and I could do nothing but try to move a little. My efforts paid off and I suddenly rolled onto my chest, pulling my legs up behind me still attached to my wrists as they were. As I settled into this new position, the pain eased slightly and I felt my cock and balls crushed under me, pinned between my body and the surface on which I lay. I sucked on the gag in my mouth as a sharp pain crashed through my body. I’d never been so aware of my equipment in this way, I wondered what those bastards had done to me.

Continue reading

Story – ‘Tim, the Ticklish Skater Punk’

This story’s always worth a re-post…

skateboarding-in-los-angeles-march-26-2013-garrett-clayton-35438202-933-1400

I’d been watching him for several weeks now. Gliding by with his buddies he’d be, in a white T-shirt and khaki shorts, baggy, coursing elegantly over the corporate cement. I’d be hangin’ out on Saturdays, reading a novel, smoking cigarettes in the late spring warmth, thoroughly enjoying these young studs’ skate stunts (until the goddamn corporation cracked down later that year and put up signs and more security to drive them off). Several were quite nice-looking, but one stood out. About five-nine, jet-black hair of average length, heavy-boned frame, and, around his neck, oddly, a very-seventies shark tooth on a black leather cord. The young hunk was broad-shouldered and clearly well-built; he distracted me often from my book.

As I had decided to be more bold with my interest in good-looking, athletic, cocky young men, specifically desiring to explore my paternal disciplinary instincts, and the possibility of persuading one of these smirky, arrogant skatepunks into bondage and boyish tortures, I determined to strike up a conversation with this guy. . .eventually.

Weekend after weekend, the skatepunks did their moves. I did nothing.

But today, I’d noticed him looking over at me a few times, with what appeared to be. . .interest. (Naw, impossible. . .)

Then. . .suddenly, there he was, rocketing his board my way. My favorite skatepunk. When he got within twenty feet, I saw his eyes were locked on mine. . .he glided up, snapped the board’s end down suddenly, snagged his chariot up and padded over the grass to me.
Continue reading