Story – ‘Bondage Marathon’

OREGON. My reason for writing is that I am obliged to tell you my story as part of my payment for services rendered. I’ll begin by telling you about my companion, Clifford. Cliff and I have lived together for about five years, and we very much enjoy each other. I am thirty-two, Cliff is twenty-seven. We both play at active sports and hobbies and I teach physical education in a local high school. Although it is not a problem, I have harbored a fantasy for some years, and up until now Cliff has protested that he was either unable or unwilling to fulfill it. He, however, offered to help find someone who might do the job. We asked around discreetly and after a year or so, through a friend where he works, Cliff learned about a man who also lives in this part of the city. The man, whom I’ll call Adam, is a professional architect who, as a hobby, apparently enjoys being a bondage top; something that I understand is unusual as most like to be the bottom. Both Cliff and I do. But that’s his reputation as we heard it. If he finds a subject or proposition for a scene interesting, he will undertake to execute it. Much in demand, as you can imagine, he is quite choosy.

I called Adam, explained how I had learned about him, and told him that I hoped he would be willing to help me. Reluctantly, after explaining that he had all of the subjects he really wanted, he suggested that we meet the following Friday at an upscale restaurant for dessert and conversation. I agreed. He described himself, and I did likewise. We had no trouble identifying each other, and he was better looking than he admitted; about five-ten with dark hair, beginning to thin at the temples with a touch of gray; probably about forty. Well built, he complemented his clothes. But most of all I noticed his soft brown eyes and his very mild manner. I had trouble imagining such a reserved man being much of a bondage aficionado. After some small talk, he asked what I wanted.

“My fantasy is prolonged bondage,” I began. “I want to spend a minimum of forty-eight hours tied up and gagged. Not just tied up, but strictly tied up and effectively gagged.”

“Oh,” he sighed. He explained at length that most let their fantasies outrun their real ability to endure strict bondage, or any bondage at all. “So many people think they want an all night session, or even more, but most are demanding release after two or three hours. Are you sure about this?”

“I am,” I explained. “Cliff and I play bondage games now and then. He’s good tied up for an hour or so—no more, and I respect his wishes. When I look uncomfortable or squirm a bit, he turns me loose, which is usually what I want. But at the same time, I desperately wish he wouldn’t. I want someone who will tie me up and not give in, no matter how much I complain. I want real bondage—that is, to be a prisoner without possibility of escape. I want to know what it feels like—At least once in my life.” I had to reach down and adjust my pants. “I’m sorry, just thinking about it gives me a roaring hard on,” I quietly explained. “I want someone who will tie me up and not release me no matter what, no matter how much I complain.”

“I see,” he smiled. “A minimum of forty-eight hours in bondage. And you want to be both tied up and gagged the entire time. Any special positions?”

“No,” I said. “As long as I’m securely tied so that I cannot get free, and effectively gagged, but not hurt, I’ll be happy. And forty-eight hours is the minimum. The duration is up to you, if you’ll do the scene. How much would you charge for this service?”

“I don’t charge, ever,” he said emphatically. “What I do, I do for my amusement and pleasure. If there isn’t fun and pleasure in the activity, I am not interested. I’m not into pain, torture or any hard-core S&M other than pure bondage. And I am not for hire.”

He sat and thought things over for awhile. “Your fantasy calls for some careful consideration,” he said. “It presents some danger and some difficult problems for me. I’m intrigued as I’ve never done anything like it before. Everyone always wants release so quickly despite what they say. But you demand to remain tied no matter what. Somehow, I think you mean it. Let me think it over for a week and I’ll get back to you. Meet me here again next Friday.”

We talked about the weather and local sports, then parted. I was back right on time one week later and Adam was already there, waiting. “I’ll do it,” he said after preliminary small talk. “You look like a good healthy subject, with a nice body, and I want to see if we can pull it off. But for my protection, just in case something unexpected happens, I want you to sign this release. It explains what you have requested and absolves me in case of accident. I’ll do everything I can to see that you are safe, but I need some protection.” He asked about any allergies, or other breathing problems that I might have and I assured him that I have none that I know about.

“When can we do it?” I said as I quickly signed.

“When do you have a week or so free?”

“I’m a teacher so I have the summer off. Any time in the next six weeks.”

“Six weeks to play with,” he mumbled. “If I enjoy it, you could be tied up a long time. Here’s my address. Be there next Friday night at 6:30 PM. You can take me out for dinner, and when we return, we’ll get started. See that nobody will be looking for you for a while. I don’t want problems. Tell your partner where to find you in case of emergency. Okay?” I agreed. He took my address and phone number, in case he had to contact me, then we left.

One week later I showed up at his door at 6:30, right on time, and we went to a nearby restaurant, ate dinner, and returned to his house. It was a large turn-of-the-century building with perhaps three or four bedrooms, an upstairs, and a small third floor. On the inside, the living room was appointed modestly and tastefully with furniture that nicely matched the wood of the interior. The home had been modernized but retained the original Victorian flavor. Adam apparently lived alone as I saw no sign of anyone else around. We sat and talked for a few minutes longer, then he led me down a hall and into an unusually large bedroom. There was a king-sized bed without blankets but with a white pad. The room had exercise equipment along one side, a few chairs, a table, and a door leading to a bathroom. There were two windows, but they were covered with shades and curtains so that no light came in from outside. Despite the furniture, the room was spacious and uncluttered.

“Take off all of your clothes,” Adam said softly, “put them in that chest of drawers, go in there, go to the bathroom, and then wait back here for me.” He left. I stripped, folded my clothes, and put them in a drawer which I shut. I went to the bathroom, urinated as much as I could, and returned. I stood for about five minutes, hoping that my now roaring hard-on wasn’t going to ruin anything.

“I see you’re still happily anticipating this,” said Adam when he returned. “If you can, put this on.” It was a small garment made of nylon which had little give. It was one of those things that body builders wear in competition; just a small tight pouch in front, and a partial seat, very narrow at the waist. My buns hung out, and my hard- on stuck up over the top of the waist band. It was a bit small for me, but I struggled into it. “Now, lie down on the bed,” Adam commanded.

He put mitt-like things on my hands, secured them with straps and buckles, and put little locks in place to hold them. He added padded leather cuffs to my wrists and then my ankles, buckled and locked them too. The cuffs had steel rings fastened into the leather. He had me lie down on my back in the classic spread-eagle position. With rope he fastened the leg cuffs to the bottom corners of the bed, both to the side and the bottom. Then he did the same with my arms, keeping all knots far out of reach, but in all cases, he left considerable slack. This disappointed me as I had hoped for strict bondage, but I didn’t complain. Then he picked up a harness-like thing and turned to me. “This is your first gag. Once I put it on, there is no return. No matter what, I will not free you until I want to, and that can be as many hours or days as I wish. From time to time I will need to remove whatever gag you are wearing in order to give you food and water. You may shout or say whatever you wish while gagged, but if you say so much as one word during the brief moments when the gag is off, you will miss the next meal. And no matter how much you demand, insist or beg, I will not free you. Is that clear?”

I nodded agreement. “This is your last chance to back out,” he said. “Are you sure you want to do this?” I nodded that I did and said aloud that I did. I indicated my stiff dick and said, “He wants it too.” Adam put the plug of the gag into my mouth and began fastening the straps and buckles behind my head, around my nose, over my head, under my chin. The bulge filled my mouth, holding it open, but not so far as to be terribly uncomfortable. The leather cover fit solidly against my lips, pressing firmly around my lower face. The straps kept my mouth securely clamped around the plug. “Is that all right?” he asked. “Mmmm,” I said, nodding yes. “Is there anything else you want tonight?” he smiled. “Mm-mmmuummmm-mm,” I said, trying to indicate no, nothing else. He laughed, said, “You’re one crazy teacher. What would your students say if they could see you now? I’ll bet some of them would like to get you in this position.” Then he turned, and as he walked out of the room, he said, “Have a nice night.”

That startled me. All night! Suddenly it seemed like a long time. I had not anticipated being left alone nor had I thought about spending a prolonged period in one position. I began exploring what I had gotten myself into. I could easily move my arms and legs for some distance and I could roll my body from side to side a bit. But I soon found that stretching to my left as far as I could, I could not touch my face or any other part of my body with my right arm. Adam had left me slack enough to move around, but not enough to touch my gag, and with the mitts on, I could do little even if I did. I could reach the rope that held my arms, but none of the secure knots. For a while I enjoyed the sensation, looking down at my hard dick that still stuck up over the top of the posing brief. I discovered that there were no clocks in the room, and that I suddenly had little sense of time. Had five minutes gone by, or ten? This was maddening. And I had an itch on my nose. Nothing to do but endure that as I couldn’t turn my head enough to scratch it. I tried calling out through the gag, but that produced no result. I thought Adam would be nearby and would rush in to see if I was in trouble. Nothing. I lay there for what seemed like a long time. And after a while, as I anticipated, I wanted to be free. “What have I done?” I said to myself. My hard-on withdrew and I became a bit afraid.

Some time later, maybe an hour or even two, without warning, the door opened, and Adam entered the room, moved quickly to the side of the bed, reached down, and shoved my now soft penis completely into the posing brief, turning it downward so that now I couldn’t produce a full erection. “Mmmmmm,” I moaned into the gag, indicating that this was not something I wanted. “Mmmmmmm!!” He laughed and said, “No more hard dicks for a few days.” But my dick had already responded, jumping inside the restraining material, arching up in a massive indecent bulge, aching to get free. He patted my swollen trapped member, and said, “No more freedom for him. If you’re tied up, he’s tied up too. It’s only fair.” He stroked my dick, making it worse, he fondled my balls, and then he left. “Mmmmmmm mmm mmm,” I called out after him, wanting to tell him that I had already changed my mind about all of this. But he closed the door and was gone.

Time drug on, minutes or hours—I had no idea. It was so quiet, and the lamps which burned brightly on either side of the room made strange shadows all around. I didn’t think I could endure it. I called out, but nothing. He had taken me at my word, and I remained his prisoner. Actually, as I thought about it, I remained my own prisoner. I had done this to myself. How long I would be tied up I could only guess. What Adam might do, only he knew. The night seemed endless. I squirmed, struggled, and strained. Nothing gave. I had my fantasy. I was bound, gagged, and not going to be released. I managed to sleep a little off and on, probably more than I realized.

After what seemed like forever and longer, the door opened, and Adam walked into the room. He was wearing a snug pair of Calvin Klein briefs that set off his nicely muscled body perfectly and presented an inviting basket up front. His hair was mussed, and he looked sleepy. I was turned on by the sight of him, and my semi-hard dick tried to jump to attention. I called out through the gag, pulled at the rope, and tried my best to indicate that it was all over. “Release me,” I demanded, but only “Mmmmmuuumm-mmm” came out. He laughed. “The first night’s not even over yet,” he said softly, “and you sound like you might like to be untied.” I nodded vigorously, yes. I must be untied. Now. Not much intelligible came out.

“Well,” he said, “not for a long, long time. Now you know what it’s like to be a prisoner in bondage. Before it’s over, you will know what it’s like to be a long-term prisoner. But now, let’s let you take a leak.” He pulled down the pouch of the briefs and held my now almost soft dick in a bottle, careful to hold it down and bent so it wouldn’t become erect. I urinated, which was difficult under the circumstances, but which felt good. He pulled the pouch back up, after making sure my arching cock was pointing down, and left the room. Another long period passed—minutes, maybe an hour. I couldn’t tell.

When Adam returned, he was wearing only a jock strap and he looked delicious but somehow evil. “Time for exercise,” he chirped. He took off the mitts and undid the ropes that held my arms, but was strong enough to force them behind my back where he secured the cuffs to each other. Then he undid my legs. All the time I was mumbling into the gag about turning me loose, but he ignored me. He walked me over to the rowing machine that sat in the corner of the room, and had me sit on the seat. He took my legs, put them on the foot pads, and secured them with white tape. Then he undid my arms and put them on the handles of the machine, securing them with tape also—lots of tape. “We don’t want you to come free while exercising,” he smiled. Now I could move the machine’s handles, slide forth and back in the seat, and row. “It’s time for a new gag,” he said. “Remember the rule. One word while the gag is off, and you miss your next meal. Think it over carefully.” He undid the straps and the bulb came out of my mouth. I exercised my jaw which was stiff, and saw that he was immediately ready to put something back in my mouth. “I really want this to end,” I said. He grabbed my jaw, squeezed, and shoved a firm rubber round thing—like a short tube about an inch long—inside past my lips and teeth. It held my mouth open quite wide and he buckled the straps behind my head with again other straps up on either side of my nose and straps under my chin. The rubber face plate covered me from chin to nose. “Ahhhhh-ahhh-ahhh,” I said. It was quite uncomfortable.

“Yes,” he said, “it’s called a piss gag. It holds your mouth open. He reached his fingers through the opening into my mouth and played with my tongue. “But I won’t piss in it. It’s so you can breathe while you exercise. Now go to it. You have thirty minutes to row, and if you stop, I’ll add another ten minutes.” So I rowed, moving forth and back, eventually working up a sweat. The movement felt good after being so long on the bed. Adam rode the stationary bicycle next to me, humming, seeming to enjoy himself, occasionally looking at his watch. The thirty minutes went quickly enough, but then I was wringing wet with sweat. “We need a bath,” he said.

Adam first undid my hands, securing them behind me with locks on the cuffs. Then he took the tape from my feet, had me stand, and led me to the bathroom. I sat in the tub where he tied my feet at the ankles and knees. He took another rope from my ankles and threaded it under me, through the crack in my buns, and up to my hands where he tied it off to the cuffs. I protested through the piss gag, but he went about his business. I had no choice now but to sit there. He pulled the shower curtain, then stuck in his head and arm, and turned on the water—one tap only—the cold one. I yelled through the large opening in the gag, gasping for air, finally getting used to the cold deluge that I could only endure, squirming as much as the rope and restraints allowed. Adam disappeared. I must have sat there for ten or fifteen minutes. When he returned, he turned off the water, untied the rope that held my hands to my feet, and made me stand. He dried me off, pulling down the new wet posing brief, leaving me nude. He untied my feet and had me step out of the brief and the tub.

He sat me on the toilet so that I could relieve myself, and then he cleaned me up, which I found somewhat embarrassing. He had me step into a jock strap like his, and he pulled it on, adjusting me inside the pouch. “Thirsty?” he asked. “Ahh-ahhh,” I answered, nodding yes. He led me into the bedroom, and had me lie back on the bed, which was uncomfortable on the cuffed hands behind my back. “Just a minute and I’ll fix that,” he said, seeing me wince and squirm, but first he stretched out my feet in the spread-eagle position again, only this time, very tight and secure—there was no slack. Then he had me sit up, he freed my hands, and tied them to the corners of the bed the same way—very tight, stretched as taut as I could stand.

“You’ve had it easy up until now,” he said. “It’s time for that hard bondage you wanted, but first we need to lubricate you. He produced a large round rubber object and shoved it into the circle of the piss gag. It filled the opening, completely sealing my mouth. There was a tube running into the stopper, and I now noticed a large bag hanging from a hook above me. From it descended a small rubber hose, which he ran past my hand, and to the stopper where he inserted it in a rod that stuck out of the middle of the tube. “Squeeze your hand on the hose,” he said. Then he released a clamp on the hose near the bag. “Now, any time you want water, release the hose a little at a time, and it will run into your mouth. Don’t choke. Experiment for a while. You were supposed to get breakfast too, but you said something when the gag was out, so only water. Sorry about that, but it’s the rule you agreed to abide by.” He left the room. I tried the tube, and let in some water. Soon I got the hang of it, and I drank quite a bit, careful not to choke.

When Adam returned, perhaps an hour or more later, he was wearing Levi’s but no shirt, and I would have killed to see him in them under different circumstances. He had the perfect body for Levi’s. “Would we like to sit up and listen to some music?” he asked. “Mmmm-mmm-mm,” I said, nodding yes. He took down the bottle, unplugged the tube to the stopper, and then removed the stopper. “Ahhh-hhh-hh,” I offered. “I’m sure,” he laughed. “You’re saying you enjoy this and wish you could stay in bondage for the rest of the summer.” “No,” I shouted, but it came out “Ahhhh.”

Adam then pulled down my jock strap, took out a small piece of equipment, a harness-like affair which he fastened around my cock and balls. It took a while to complete all the little straps which circled my cock almost completely from base to tip. Other straps separated and highlighted my balls. Then he pulled the jock up over the entire package. “No getting a hard-on today,” he said, “or it will hurt.” He had put me into a leather cock cage, and he fastened it on tightly. My cock swelled, pushing out the jock at odd angles, and it immediately hurt, which ended my erection, although I had to suffer the thing off and on for quite a while. He replaced the mitts, locked them in place, then undid my arms, leaving the cuffs and putting my arms through a black garment which turned out to be a nylon straitjacket. “Ahhh-ahhhh-ahhh,” I protested. He cinched up the arm straps with my arms folded securely in front of me with little room for movement. Then he undid my legs, and had me stand while he cinched the two crotch straps on either side of my encumbered genitals, pulling the jacket down firmly in front and in back. Then he moved me to one of the large arm chairs in the room, had me sit, and went to work tying me very securely to the chair. Ankles, knees, upper legs, and body were strapped to the chair. “Now,” he warned, “I’m going to take this gag out for a moment. You’ve already lost one meal. Don’t lose another as they don’t come too often. Being tied up and hungry is no fun.”

I decided to stay quiet this time while he unfastened the piss gag and substituted a red rubber-like ball gag that just fit into my mouth. He fastened the strap behind my head. Then he brought out a leather hood which he fitted over my head and pulled into place. All of my head was encased except my nose and small holes for my eyes. He laced up the hood securely—almost too tight, and then checked the other ropes and the straitjacket. He moved across the room to shelves that held a stereo unit, put disks into the carrier of the CD player, turned on some heavy classical music—Wagner, I think—and then he turned to me. “It plays for six hours without repeating,” he said. “Have a nice day.” Then he left the room.

I struggled with the straitjacket, without gaining any slack. It was there to stay. The ball gag and hood reduced me to nothing but minimal moans. Now I had what I had really asked for—strict bondage—and I was again having more than second thoughts. When the gag was out, I should have demanded release. The music played on, switching to Verdi mixed with Puccini. I listened. What else was possible?

After who knows how long, the door opened and Adam came in pushing a wheel chair. As he came closer, I saw that there was someone in it. The body was bound in black leather that covered large areas of his body. Like myself, the person was hooded with only small eye and nose holes. His arms were fastened in a leather arm binder that covered him from his wrists well up above his elbows and the encumbered arms hung over the back of the chair. Rope around his wrists led down to something under the chair, further holding his arms in place. His legs were also in a tight leg binder that covered him from ankles to upper thighs. He wore a large black leather cod piece. His upper body was wrapped with an elaborate leather harness that had rings highlighting his nipples, and covered much of his chest. More leather held him fast to the chair both over his legs and around his chest. He squirmed what little he could in the chair and moaned into the gag that must have been under the hood.

“I thought you would like some company,” Adam offered. “I have to run some errands and do some shopping, and I hate to leave alone someone who’s all tied up. So I’ll be gone for three or four hours. You two have a good chat. If you need anything, you can tell each other.” We both moaned loudly together, a chorus of protest which Adam ignored as he left, closing the door. We looked at each other, nodded, and offered “Mmmmmuumm’s” of acknowledgment. It was really a turn on looking at him, knowing there was nothing I could do about the situation but sit and endure. How long we sat there I have no idea but it became very uncomfortable for me, and must have been more so for my new friend who was more strictly encased than I was. The music droned on, and I suspected that I was hearing the same thing for the second time, but couldn’t remember.

It seemed to me that an eternity passed before the door opened and Adam returned. “You two could probably swap stories and bondage jokes all day about being tied up,” he chirped. “But it’s time for you (he pointed to me) to exercise again, and your new friend here gets to watch.” Adam released my arms and tied them behind my back, then he took off all of the other restraints. He pulled down the jock and took off the harness, then returned the jock. When I was unfettered, he walked me over to the stationary bicycle and taped me to it as he had to the rowing machine earlier, then he removed the hood and the ball gag, replacing it with the piss gag. I spent the next half hour riding, moving the handles forward and back, feeling relief from being bound so firmly for so long. The wheelchair-bound figure sat and watched. When Adam returned, we repeated the bathroom and shower procedure. He gave me as much water as I wished, then replaced the piss gag. At no time then, or ever during the bathroom routine, was I entirely untied. Always my arms, or my legs were trussed up in some way. And the moments without a gag were as brief as possible.

Adam took me back to the bedroom with only my hands still secure behind my back. I stood in front of the bed. He removed the now wet jock strap, saw to it that I was dry, and then he pulled out a roll of plastic wrap and a role of two-inch wide cellophane tape—the kind used by the post office on packages. He pulled off a piece of plastic wrap about two feet long, held it up behind my back, and stuck the end of the tape to my side, pulling it over the plastic wrap, half on the wrap, half on my skin, as he unrolled it across my back to the other side. Then he reached between my legs and pulled up the plastic over my cock and balls, seeing that my cock pointed down, folding the plastic so that it just captured my manly bulge. Then he continued with the tape around the front, holding the plastic in place securely to my body. It became a secure transparent jock of sorts. He took a scissors and cut away the excess plastic and did one more wrap of the tape. Then he had me step into a small plastic bag which he pulled up around my feet and he secured it there with tape wrapped around my ankles. Then he began wrapping plastic wrap around my legs up from my ankles slowly circling my body rising to about crotch level. He then unfastened my arms and hung them down at my sides, securing them with a wrap of tape at the wrists and upper arms. Then he continued wrapping with the plastic until he reached my neck where he stopped. He took more tape and secured me again at the ankles, the thighs, the wrists and upper arms. I became a plastic mummy. He removed the piss gag, and gave me some cookies to eat along with more water. I was hungry, so I kept quiet and ate. He gave me an apple and with him holding it, I ate half. It was good. After I had swallowed and cleared my mouth, and after a little more water, he put a plastic mouth guard (the kind football players or boxers use) into my mouth, closed my lips, and put two pieces of tape criss-crossed over my mouth. Then he put a clear plastic bag over my head, down to my neck, squeezed out the air, and made a small hole over my nose. Then he wrapped my head below my nose with the tape, adding additional strips under my chin and over my head. I was now fully bound and gagged again. The plastic distorted my vision, but I could see what was going on in the room. Adam stepped back and looked at his work, seemed pleased, then carefully lowered me onto my back on the bed. I squirmed around, and weakened the binding plastic here and there. Adam immediately reinforced the tie with the tape, using it liberally.

“This is what I call transparent bondage,” he said. “nobody has been in it for more than an hour, so we’re going for a record here. And by the way, since your time here is unlimited, I’m writing to The Guinness Book of World Records to see if there is a record for someone in endurance bondage. We should have an answer in a week or so. You’re not going anywhere, so be patient. It would be fun to break that record, too.”

Now I really protested, moaning and squirming. There was enough sincerity in his voice to make me believe that Adam might mean it, and considering what he had done so far, I was ready to believe just about anything. But Adam just laughed and said, ”You’re really getting what you wanted, aren’t you? And you’ve only just begun. There’s so much more coming over the next few weeks. I have six weeks to work with you, remember.” Then he walked behind the wheel chair and pushed it out of the room, closing the door behind him. The music, dimmer now through the plastic, continued, switching from disk to disk. If each disk played for an hour, I guessed I squirmed there for at least three hours—probably more. I sweated heavily so that I eventually squirmed in a lake of my own making. I screamed into the gag, but got nowhere. I could inch around the bed, moving from side to side, but didn’t go too far for fear of falling off the bed.

Adam returned, dressed now in snug nylon running shorts and Nikes. He sat by the bed and talked to me, at the same time running his hand over my bound body, paying great attention to the plastic wrapped mound between my legs. This immediately caused my encased and now damp prick to swell again, trapped in its transparent pouch. “You are really enjoying this, aren’t you?” he asked. I moaned loudly and shook my head “No,” which came out “Mmm.” “I thought so,” he smiled, digging into my balls a bit harder. “Everyone who experiences the transparent tie-up loves it. Of course, you’ll be in it almost as long as all the others before you put together. I’ll bet it’s soggy in there.” I nodded “yes,” which came out “Mmm.” “Well,” he said, “a while longer, and then we’ll feed you, because you’ve been good, and then we’ll put you into something you can handle long term since the next step is going to be of considerable duration.” He left again, but returned after only what seemed a relatively short time. Since my ability to tell time was now quite distorted, I have no idea if it was thirty minutes or over an hour.

With a scissors, he cut through the plastic tape, freeing my legs first and walking me into the bathroom. As he freed my hands he tied them behind my back, then he moved on to my upper body and head. The tape over my mouth tugged as he pulled it away because I had now grown something of a starter beard. He gave me lots of water, let me use the toilet, and then regagged me with a simple plug gag. Then I showered, which I needed badly. When dry, he put me into a fresh jock strap.

Back in the bedroom, Adam removed the gag, so now my only bondage was my hands tied behind my back. I sat at the table and he fed me a hamburger, some fries, lots of Coca Cola, and a small salad. Then he returned the plug gag. Back in the bathroom he removed the jock and I relieved myself again. More water and then back to the bedroom with the jock returned to its former position over my bent penis. This time it was my turn to sit in the wheel chair which sat there empty and waiting for me. Adam replaced the cuffs on my wrists and ankles. He tied twine to my little toes and stretched the other end to the sides of the chair, so that I could move my legs about within limits. One piece of heavy string with about a foot of slack provided a surprisingly effective restraint. My wrists were more heavily secured to the arms of the chair, but I could also move them almost a foot in any direction. He put a leather harness around my upper body, and from its rings ropes fastened me to the chair but allowed me to move my upper body, although not too far. I could stand a bit, raising my butt about six or eight inches above the seat. “How’s that?” he asked. “Now you have the freedom of the room.” And I did, as my hands reached the wheels of the chair. I found I could move about the room at will. “You’re set for a long time,” he said. “Enjoy.” Then he left.

I immediately headed for the door to follow him, and discovered that it was locked. I had the freedom of the room, but could not leave it. I cried out into the gag, which was only moderately effective so the noise was louder than before. I continued to bellow. Finally Adam returned carrying a large Ace bandage. He wrapped it around my head, over the gag, firmly, from front to back and under my chin, over the top of my head. It effectively reduced me to subdued grunts and moans. Then he left. Helpless, I explored the room, moved in the chair, listened to the music which now must have been at least in its fifth or sixth replay. Whenever I hear one of the pieces now, I recall my bondage and get an instant hard on. It may have altered my feelings for some classical music forever.

How long I rolled around the room I have no idea, but it seemed like an entire night or longer. Truly it was “the all-time endurance session.” I slept off and on, again probably more than I realized. When Adam reentered the room, he undid me from the chair, let me use the bathroom, gave me food and water, and then using plain rope, tied me up on the bed. My hands were behind my back and my upper arms were tied, my knees and ankles were bound, and I was hog tied with my ankles secured to the rope that held my upper arms. I still wore the jock strap and the gag and Ace bandage which he replaced after I was fed. He played with the pouch of the jock for a while, driving me wild and making me as firm as the jock allowed. Then he left.

After at least an hour, and probably longer, Adam returned leading a young man. He was average, not especially good looking, with very short black hair. His arms were bound like mine, and Adam put him on the bed next to me, tied his legs, and hog tied him. He was also gagged with the elaborate gag like the one I wore the first night. Without saying anything, Adam left us. We squirmed around on the bed together, moaning through our gags. In time, he moved closer to me, finally touching me, pushing his jock encased prick against mine, and bumping and rubbing it as firmly as his bondage allowed. I enjoyed the sensation, and returned the favor. Neither of us came, but I was close a few times. Perhaps two or three hours later Adam came back into the room and saw what was going on, and immediately left for a few minutes. He came back and roughly rolled me over while pushing an athletic protector cup down into my jock. He did the same to the young man. “None of that,” he said. Then he left. The two of us spent the next few hours on the bed together, moaning, moving about, inhibited by the rope, the gags, and most of all by the cups. It wasn’t so much fun any more.

Adam returned after another long spell and took the young man away, then he untied me except my arms and we did the bathroom and food routine again. When I was finished he gagged me with the plug gag and Ace bandage and again tied me securely to the wooden chair, exactly as he had done before, and then he left. After an hour or so, I guessed, in came someone dressed in a long coat, his face covered with a ski mask, pushing the wheel chair with a man in it. The man was encased in leather just as the man in the wheel chair had been before. The man pushing the chair left it beside me, and walked quickly out of the room. The bound man, who might have been the same one as before for all I could tell, moaned, and nodded at me. I returned the muffled greeting. We sat there for a long time, listening to the music. Maybe two days had passed, maybe only one, I had no idea. It seemed like a very long time indeed. I ached all over, my jaw, my mouth, my arms, my legs—every part of me.

Finally the disguised figure returned and wheeled my bound friend out of the room. I stayed put, squirming, restless, wondering what next. I had all but stopped protesting into the various gags as it obviously did no good. Adam had taken my instructions completely to heart, Time dragged on as the music continued, over and over, switching from disk to disk. I lost count. I slept a little but I was exhausted and sorer than ever when Adam returned. “That was a good hour for you,” he said. An hour! It must have been five or six or more, I had no idea how long I had slept. Had I lost track of time that badly? I couldn’t believe it. We did the bathroom, exercise, shower, and feeding routine again. The exercise period felt wonderful. Lots of water, I was really thirsty. Back went the plug gag, but no Ace bandage this time. When we returned to the bedroom, Adam put a fancy leather codpiece-thing on me. It had a lubricated plug that he inserted in my anus, and it fastened firmly around my waist, holding in place a rigid pouch that just barely contained my genitals. I protested, but it did no good. Then Adam had me sit on the edge of the bed, and he replaced the simple plug gag with the more elaborate and formidable one I had worn the first night, so long ago. He untied my hands from behind my back and tied them at the wrists securely in front of me, then he replaced the mitts and locks. He had me sit up on the bed, toward the center. He pulled my legs up so that my ankles were close to my buttocks, and then put my bound hands down in front of my lower legs just above the ankles. He then inserted a long rod under my knees and over the bend in my elbows, making it impossible for me to move my hands, and locking me in the folded position. He then tied my arms and legs around the pole so that it would not slip away. He put a rubber swim hat on my head, then wrapped the gag and my head with shiny black tape, so that my head was securely bound. More rope from my ankles under me and up the back held my legs firmly in place. Rope around my head over my eyes and then fastened to my wrists pulled my head down and held it there. It was the fiercest bondage yet, I could hardly move anything. Surprisingly, it turned me on, and my prick tried to swell in its leather trap. I had no idea how long I could endure such fierce confinement. Adam checked me over, then used ropes fastened to my arms, legs and trunk to secure me to the top, bottom, and sides of the bed, so that no amount of squirming would move me from my position in the middle. The ropes running from the bed to my body must have made me look like an oddly shaped circus tent being held in place. Blessedly, Adam put a new set of disks in the CD player, then left the room.

I squirmed, struggled, shouted into the gag, which was the most brutal yet with the tape holding it so firmly, and tried my best to free myself. At this point I really did want to be freed. I got nowhere. So there I sat as the music played. This time Adam changed the player so that it altered disks after each cut so I had no way of telling time. But it seemed that I sat there forever and my body ached. No words can describe how badly I wanted out of this situation. My prick struggled to become erect, and that hurt. My mouth ached from the gag. The rod hurt my legs and arms. I was ecstatic and miserable at the same time. I tried to change position and fall over, but the ropes held me firmly upright and in place. There was no escape. Adam had really done it to me this time.

When he finally returned, he sat on the bed, between the ropes, and asked, “How are we doing?” “Mmmmmuummm-mmm-mmm” I shouted in the gag, unable to raise my head and look directly at him. “You want more?” he laughed. “NO” I screamed, but it came out the same “Mmmm.” “Yes?” he said with mock surprise. “I thought this would be too severe for anything very long, but if you want more, so be it. After all, you said there was no limit. I have to admire a man who can take it.” And with me protesting for all I was worth, he left the room. And so maybe another hour or two—an eternity—passed. Who knows? I was truly sore and miserable.

When Adam came back he released me, finally, and we went through the exercise, shower, food, and water routine. I came to look forward to the exercise, and wanted it to continue as long as possible. I had learned to take the transitions without saying anything when ungagged, as I disliked being hungry and I now realized that it wouldn’t get me anywhere. This time, he put me back in the snug posing trunk and tied me to the bed exactly as he had the first night with the same gag, but no tape. It was a relief to be able to move about a little, and I slept off and on.

The next time Adam entered the room, he was fully dressed in his Levi’s and a nice shirt. He turned off the stereo, and came over to the bed, sat down, and asked, “Are you ready to be set free?” I nodded, yes. “Too bad,” he said. “There’s much more.” I sighed. We did the bathroom and water routine, but no exercise. Regagged, in another new jock strap, and tied hand and foot, he had me hop to the table which he bent me over. My hands were behind my back, tied at the wrists. He untied and spread my legs and secured them to the table legs. Straps over my back lashed me down with my stomach and chest firmly pressed against the table top. Two ropes from my hands went past my head on either side and to the top of the legs on the far side, pulling my arms up slightly but not too uncomfortably. I looked up at Adam with the saddest eyes I could muster, but he only reached between my legs from behind me and patted my jock pouch which was vulnerable, he massaged my cock for a while and went away. This proved to be uncomfortable after a while, but I was becoming inured to pain. Time floated. Maybe I was there forever.

On his next visit, the bathroom, water, and back on the bed in another repeat of the first night except this time the spread-eagle position was strict and there was no room for movement. I just lay there, telling myself over and over that I was even more crazy than I had realized and that this would end eventually.

When Adam returned, he sat on the bed and again asked if I was ready to be freed. Again I nodded, “Yes.” “Okay,” he said, and he removed the gag. “You can talk now. How long do you think you have been here?” he asked. “I have no idea—for sure two days,” I guessed. “No,” he said. “This is Tuesday noon. You’ve been here since Friday evening. You’ve been here almost four days. You can have more if you want it.” “Thanks,” I said. “But this will do.” “To get entirely free,” he said, “there is one thing you must agree to do.” “What?” I asked. “You must write up this experience completely, with details, for BOUND & GAGGED and we will send it to them.” I thought about it for a while and agreed.

He freed me entirely, and we walked out into his living room, me forgetting that I was wearing only the posing trunk in which I had started my bondage adventure. There I saw Clifford and the other man who had spent time tied up with me. He was introduced as Fred, one of Adam’s regulars. We sat on the couch in the front room and talked. What had I liked and disliked. I explained how fierce the bondage with the rod had been. He showed me a photograph in BOUND & GAGGED of a Japanese man done up almost the same way. “I’ve been anxious to try it on someone ever since I saw this,” he said happily. “You did well.” We laughed about the letter to The Guinness Book of World Records which was Adam’s joke. “Did you worry when I threatened to keep you here for weeks?” he asked. “Yes,” I admitted. “And it would have been my own fault if you had,” I added.

Then he asked if I knew either of the two men who had been in the wheel chair. I confessed that I did not. “Well,” he said, “the first was your friend Clifford.” That surprised me as Clifford has not liked long term bondage that much. “The second was me. Rarely, but now and then I like to be on the receiving end, although I prefer to do the tying.” He asked if it seemed that I sat in the chair very long the second time. “An eternity,” I answered. “You stayed a long time, and I was there alone for a long time.” “There’s a reason,” he explained. “Clifford and Fred decided that I was being too easy on you, so they kept me bound and gagged for a few hours longer—way beyond our arranged time. They refused to release me but just sat here and laughed at me, teased me and made jokes at my expense.” Finally, he explained, they had let Adam go, and he tended to me. After that, neither Cliff nor Fred would let Adam tie them up again. But Fred was a regular, and I fear that his next scene with Adam might be considerably longer than he anticipates.

“Let’s go have a late lunch,” Adam said. I agreed, went to the bedroom, retrieved and put on my clothes. We had a quick meal. Back at the house Adam showed me a video tape, put it in his player, turned on his TV, and we watched—ME! He had a hidden camera in the bedroom, and had recorded my entire scene—almost fifteen tapes. “You can watch these whenever you want,” he said. “They’re yours. They get a bit boring after a while, when there’s no activity. You might want to edit this down to one or two good productions.” He also gave me the ten soiled jock straps I had worn over the four days. He and Fred and Cliff had taken turns watching me through the entire time, so that if anything happened, they could rush to the room and free me. Adam had taken every precaution, just as he had promised. The only glitch came when Cliff and Fred kept Adam tied up beyond the plan. And Adam didn’t seem to mind that too much.

Cliff and I went home. I was tired and anxious for a good long unencumbered night’s sleep. Right after dinner I crawled into the large bed that I shared with Cliff, and fell into a hard deep sleep. Thrilled that my fantasy had been fulfilled, I was content. I stirred a little when Cliff arrived, we had sex, which I badly needed, then I immediately fell back to sleep for the night. About a week later I woke as it was beginning to get light, feeling movement in the bed. It took a while for me to comprehend what was happening as I can be a heavy sleeper. Cliff was busy tying my hands behind my back. As I became fully awake, he moved to my legs, and as I began to protest that the rope marks from my long session hadn’t entirely gone away yet, he shoved the plug gag into my mouth. “So you like being tied up for a long time?” he sneered. “Well sir, don’t plan to go anywhere today.” And that started another scene that I might write about later. Since then Cliff and I have explored more bondage positions and long term scenes. I love them and am happy that now he is willing. I won’t need to bother Adam anymore, I think. It has been a summer of exciting scenes for both of us as Cliff has gained a much better appreciation of bondage and my needs.

That was my summer. My experience is not something I would recommend to others. I was fortunate to find Adam. During the four days I was often miserable, and I could have found myself in deep trouble. I was lucky that everything turned out alright.

One thought on “Story – ‘Bondage Marathon’

  1. Pingback: Bondage night | Leatherandlace

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s