Story – ‘Bondage Marathon’

staked-out

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.”

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Story – ‘Carpe Noctem’ (Sieze the Night) Part 3

The low groan of the forced release of sexual repression issued out from behind the gag as the spikes burrowed their blunt tips into my sensitive parts that were currently yearning to break past the cage’s embrace.

John just sat beside me, watching, observing. Every now and then he would reach out and stroke my head with his gloved hand. This only succeeded in kicking my clouded mind in to overdrive. The animalistic response was purely instinctual in nature, as I pushed back against his hand with my head; much like a cat would, in an attempt to show my appreciation for his attention.

Then all of a sudden, it ended as quickly as it began.

John stood up and took the filter with him, the fog in my head slowly lifted as I became increasingly aware of the burning fire in my crotch. I began to thrash around and complain in muffled grunts against my gag. John just chuckled to himself as he turned his attentions back to the mass of wires he had brought in earlier.

From sheer pleasure to burning pain… He controlled what I felt and how I felt it. This was beyond being restrained, being captured. I was beginning to see that being locked down to this bed in this cell was only the beginning of the trials I was to face that he only knew the end to… if such an end existed.

I craned my head to the side to watch my rubber clad captor work.

Every two wires that he pulled off the pile before him, he draped across my body. His attention was at his task. I was but prey within his trap, all but insignificant at the moment, for I as subdued, not going anywhere, a meal to be eaten at a later time.

Being the fact that I had never done anything more than read about this stuff online the thought of accepting the actuality of electrical jolts throughout my body seemed similar to a driver with only a learners permit attempting to pilot a vehicle upon the autobahn. In other words… Insane.

I grunted a vote of descent against John’s plan, and attempted to pull away, as he began to connect the wires to the suit. Straining against the straps as best as I could I started to form an assessment of the situation from within the limiting view of the lenses of the mask sealed upon my face. I began making note of all the areas over which the electrical connectors were visible: Biceps, Triceps, Deltoids, Quads, Pecs, and Abs… My mind halted in its tracks as I suddenly calculated exactly what I had just noticed… There were connections for the wires over my Pecs?… Over my heart?… Was he fucking crazy?

As he connected the wires above my pectorals I freaked and thrashed against the straps in a feudal attempt to stop him. John pulled out the remote box and hit my nuts with an electrical jolt, but this time even that did not deter me. I was kicked into a blind panic, for in my mind I was fighting for my life.

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Story – ‘Carpe Noctem’ (Sieze the Night) Part 2

I was left here alone, barely able to move, hooded, in pitch black, with only my thoughts, my own mind, to keep me company; I began to reassess all that I had been through. In less than a day my situation had been transformed from one form of captivity to another.

John had very calculatedly, one-by-one, taken away all of my defenses that I had built up against my own desires. Even now as I fought against my bonds I could feel every sob, every terrified whimper drop me deeper into the submission I have craved for so long.

I strained against the straps that held me tightly to the deep padding in the darkened corner of the cell. My only bearings upon anything but the darkness was a single air vent above the doorway that sent a stream of light across the room splashing against the floor only feet away from the shadowy corner that held me captive.

I had a very limited field of vision as the racing harness that held my shoulders down rendered me unable to lift my head too far off the bed, and the walls of the room being black made judging distances in the dark next to impossible. I did my best to get a survey of the room, to figure out what else resided in here besides me.

In the distance, beyond the foot of my bed, beyond even the beam of light, hung something I hadn’t noticed before. It appeared to be a harness of some sort like climbers wear, yet much more fortified, and something hung above it… I was not able to make it out through the darkness beyond the light, but it appeared to be a helmet of some sort, suspended in the air…


I spent a few more minutes straining my eyes, and tilting my head in all angles in an attempt to figure out what this contraption was. Finally with a high pitched growl I slammed my head back into the padding in frustration I drifted off in to the light, while chewing nervously on the gag in anticipation of John’s return. Continue reading

Story – ‘Carpe Noctem’ (Sieze the Night)

Dave had asked me to meet him at the airport; I had arrived In Philly 4 hours before he was scheduled to. This was the vacation that he had hounded me to go on for years. We were out here to meet his parents; he finally was going to introduce me to them as his lover. Our travel agent screwed things up so we ended up on two different flights, arriving at two different times.

By now you are saying ‘OK, we figured out who Dave is, but who are you?’ Well dear reader, my name is Joe: 24, 6’2” 168 slim, trim, fit…All right, so I am a twinkie, but beyond my outward appearance was a darker side that I never had the guts to tell Dave. I wanted to experience a new world full off control, and lack there of. I wanted to experience the feel of synthetics that escalated the very essence of my soul the very way that no normal sexual encounter could. To be held captive in layers of head to toe rubber, where my only connection to the outside world is the soft sting of the straps biting into my skin when I attempt to readjust my sore muscles. I had fantasized about this many times, but up until this point, I had never found the courage to try.

However, as they say, no guts no glory, and guts was an area I was severely deficient in. My online friends teased me about it all the time, flaunting their exploits in my face like waving food in front of a starving child. What was I doing about it? Nothing, a small collection of rubber gloves that I kept hidden in the shed out back, and every once in a while I would creep into Dave’s Shop and play with the Scott respirator that he used for heavy painting jobs. It was sad, Pitiful really. I mean I loved Dave, and knew that I could spend a Vanilla relationship with him for the rest of my life… However, before I did, I needed some chocolate.

John was just the person I needed, He said he had a lot of gear, but then again so did everyone else I chatted with online. He was different though, non-commanding, laid back, defiantly not your typical hardcore whip me spank me type that I had grown so tired of in the online chat rooms of late. John had said that his interest was keeping me in my gear, rather than stripping me out of it once he had me in his command like so many others that I had spoken with. That was about all I knew about him. I wanted it that way, and so did he. It added a level of pure intensity to the meeting.

We had discussed the plan in-depth online, up until the part where I would hand full control to him. John had no picture posted in his profile, only a shadowy picture of a corner of his playroom showing lots of rubber gear. Now one would think that this would send red flags waving violently, but this fact only made the fantasy more intense for me. I was about to have my dreams come true: Taken by someone I do not know, in a town I am not familiar with, and nobody knows where I am going. Oh yeah, and did I mention, I had not cum for two weeks because Dave had been very busy at work getting ready for the vacation. It was needless to say, my brain had long since slipped into my shorts.

I slipped the instruction sheet, which John had given me online, out of the pocket of my carryon, as I gathered up my bags in the airport. I headed over to the rental car counter and concentrated on keeping my hand from shaking as I handed the woman across the counter my visa card. The only thing she had left was a 1980’s two-tone ford rust-bucket. I told her that it really did not matter as she handed me the keys.

It took me fifteen minutes to locate the POS, and load my bags into the back. Driving through the unfamiliar streets I finally found what I was looking for. ‘Lets see’, I said to myself as I read my scrawled instructions off the sheet, ‘right at the corner of Pine and Blanchard, second house on the left. Park in the carport out back.’ I was finally here, pulling the car into the open space next to a black Ducati, I quickly scanned the rest of the instructions and stuffed the sheet back in the pocket of my backpack, and then I stuffed the bag out of sight on the passenger floor.

After I made sure that the car was locked, I slipped the keys into my pocket and headed towards the stairs leading up to the back door. I rang the buzzer quickly three times, per John’s instructions. I heard some banging around in the home for a minute or two, and then finally the door opened.

I was not prepared for the sight that awaited me behind the opened door. Here stood a head to toe skintight rubber that accentuated his heavily muscled frame. He wore black leather knee high boots that begged the shine that only saliva could bring. His head was covered in a hooded full-face respirator with tented lenses that completely obscured his identity. “Yes?” he said nonchalantly, like I was a neighbor just popping by to barrow a cup of sugar.
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Story – ‘How To Teach A Straight Boy A Lesson’ Part 1

I think the most important thing I could possibly tell you is that I’m straight.

The idea of anything involving my asshole or another guy’s cock repulses me beyond imagination. I like pussy, end of story. I’ve always been attracted to cute little blonde girls, and the more the let me walk all over them the better. Unfortunately, I seem to go through girlfriends faster than a roll of Charmin.

Anyways, one girl I dated for a while was named Maggie. She was about 5’2″ with bleach blonde hair and a nice rack, so basically my type. We met at the local bar, Twenty Two, one of my favorite haunts, and ended up going back to my place. Needless to say, it was a good night if you know what I mean. After that, we kept seeing each other for a while, but then I met Alexa — who had way better boobs and a smaller waist. I was pysched, Alexa was into me, right off the bat we started sleeping together, and Maggie was out of the picture.

Or so I thought.
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I was meeting Alexa at Twenty Two for drinks and hopefully taking her back to my apartment afterward. I had on a pair of nice, dark jeans, a light blue button-up with a white T-shirt underneath, and my most expensive brown leather shoes. My long, dark hair hung around my face in perfectly messy waves, and even in the low light of the bar my bright blue eyes stood out from my tanned skin. I knew I looked good, and Alexa obviously realized it too.

She was sitting up at the bar, sipping at some fruity cocktail that was inevitably going on my tab, looking smoking hot in this little black number I couldn’t even begin to describe. My cock nearly jumped for joy at the very sight of her. I got into the seat next to her, ordered some vodka on the rocks, and just when I was about to start sweet-talking her, she put her hand over mine.

“Seth,” she said quietly, a devious smile on her lips. “Let’s not waste our time here, alright? Come on. Let’s go back to your place.”

Magic words. I instantly leapt off my seat like my ass had been burned, grabbed her arm and steered her out the front door. We’d just passed the convenience store nearby when two pairs of arms reached out from a dark alley and pulled me in.

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I, obviously, shrieked in terror like a little girl as they threw me to the ground. A swift kick to the gut had me gasping for breath but successfully shut me up. One of the pairs of hands wrestled my arms behind my back and handcuffed them there. My panic only increased, my screams resuming.
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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.

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Story – ‘Tim, the Ticklish Skater Punk’

This story’s always worth a re-post…

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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.
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