This hot story originally appeared in Issue 41 [Jan/Feb 1997], during the early days of internet hookups. We published it under the following title:
STRAIGHT MAN TURNED INTO BONDAGE FUCKBOY BY HANDSOME SADIST
BOSTON, MA. If a consequence of the evolving information superhighway is that men worldwide will get connected with other men for bondage experiences as good as I’ve had in the last couple weeks, then it can’t possibly be completed fast enough.
My bondage experience had been pretty mild, and I knew I was in store for something a lot different when I responded to Wayne’s posting on the net. It was clear that he was knowledgeable, exclusively a top, and interested in pushing my limits. Boy, did he.
Both of us travel a lot for business, and it took twelve days for us to find ourselves in New York at the same time, but it seemed like months. I liked the fact that he seemed quite eager to indulge my gag fantasies and to enjoy my pleading looks and moans. He seemed to like the fact that I’m straight (or as straight as I can be and still enjoy having a man tie me up). I abstained from climaxing for three days, set aside a night, and prepared for it to be a long one (as he wrote, “I would be honored to allow you to sleep bound at my feet. I am a light sleeper and would enjoy having a toy to play with whenever I awoke.”).
I showed up at the door of his huge suite in a New York hotel. He looked terrific—a stern military-looking guy, 35 and taller than me at 6’2", long legs, short black hair, white T-shirt, jeans, and black harness-type biker boots. I still had my suit and tie on but quickly got changed into a T-shirt, jeans and worn black work boots. I’m a stocky 5'9-1/2" and 190, smooth face, very hairy body, with a muscular build. As the scene began he was all over me with his hands. I played the straightguy role as expected, squirming away from him and complaining until he got my arms behind my back and handcuffed me. After groping me briefly and pinching at my nipples while I squirmed on the couch, Wayne started tossing cushions off the sofa, exposing the hinges of the foldout bed, strapped padded leather restraints very tightly on my wrists and went to work with the rope.
With my back against the sofa and my legs on the floor, my arms were stretched wide and tied to the folded hinges. For the first of several times that night, Wayne lay back in an armchair, watching me struggle, calling me his fuck boy, and taunting me to get loose. Each time he left some end of rope potentially within my reach, but either I would find it, and he’d just step on the rope stopping my escape, or I wouldn’t find it and he’d point it out, taunt me and tighten my restraint.
One time I decided to fight his tightening of the ropes and got one of my arms in front of me. I am strong enough that Wayne had trouble getting my arm straightened out again (told you I was muscular) and responded by dropping at full weight onto my chest with his knees and forcing my arm into place while I was startled.
That was the last time I tried to overpower him. This left Wayne free to grab at my arms, pinch my sensitive nipples, and yank my jeans down, exposing my jockstrap-bound crotch.
When I protested too loudly, he came over and wrestled a red ball gag into my mouth as I tried to shake my head away. I wasn’t going to make it that easy, so I worked it out of my mouth and kept cursing him and demanding to be released.
All this time in plain view was an awe-inspiring collection of all manner of leather restraints and straps. When I spit out the ball gag he went to the pile, found a front-buckling padded black leather gag with a big padded plug, drilled his fingers into my cheeks to get me to open my mouth, jammed it in and pulled the strap as tight as he could. The gag felt great and smelled wonderfully of leather, and I was in fuck boy heaven.
He continued to work on restraining me, and even my screams were just muffled roars as he strapped big heavy leather stirrups over my work boots and fastened them tight. Next Wayne came back with a spreader bar and clipped each end to my ankles. He ripped open my T-shirt and put clamps on my nipples. I’d never even had my tits played with before, so I thrashed and pulled something fierce as he approached with them and put them on. It was no use. My wrists were still pulled far apart, my spread legs could do nothing but awkwardly bang on the floor, and the leather plug was keeping my mouth tightly gagged.
After pulling my jeans down and ripping off my jock, he came over with an imposing-looking set of heavy chrome pincers, clamped them around my cock and balls and lay back with a soda and a fiendish grin to watch me moan and struggle.
Going into the scene I knew that I don’t instinctively turn on to pain. But what I had hoped for was happening: the pain and the situation were motivating me to use all my strength in a frantic attempt to get loose. And Wayne had tied me so well that even using all the arm strength I could muster to get at the ropes and free myself, I remained completely tied up. I felt completely helpless, and hard as a rock.
Wayne continued to make minor adjustments on me, changing clamps on my nipples, demonstrating for certain that they do hurt a lot more coming off. Each time he would stand over me, asking if I was ready to beg him to fuck me. He would take the gag out, and I would say, “No fucking way!” through clenched teeth, only to have him gag me again and tighten my restraints. After a while, with me still failing to get loose or making any headway in freeing myself from the restraints or the gag, he detached me from the sofa and went to work tying me in a new way, still managing fiendishly never to allow me any option for escape, always securing my arms as he moved me so I never had any time to get loose
Looping rope across my shoulders, behind my back, jamming it in my ass crack and tying it around my waist, Wayne set about tying each of my arms into an elaborate and diabolical net of rope, crisscrossing the arm at three- to four-inch intervals, feeling snug all along the arm without cutting off my circulation. He hoisted my arms ‘way up high so they were crossed wrist to elbow and somehow tied them to ropes around my shoulders and neck. I was still gagged. This made me feel very helpless but I couldn’t endure it long as the pressure on my neck seemed to be restricting my breathing. Wayne picked up on my distress very quickly, and modified the binding by taking the ropes off my shoulder, strapping a wide leather slave belt tightly around my waist and securing my still-bound arms to it. I could move my arms some at this point, but couldn’t really get loose.
Also, Wayne had figured out that I could get the gag out of my mouth if I had time and was really determined, so he found a black leather muzzle in his massive pile of leather gear, took the strap off the gag, shoved it in my mouth and fit the harness over it. He viciously tightened it until it had the gag completely sealed into my mouth. It wasn’t going anywhere now.
At this point my arms were secured but not immobile, and my mouth was gagged and held in tight by the leather muzzle. I had wide padded leather restraints buckled around my thighs and clipped together. I could still hobble around the room but there was little opportunity to get loose.
Wayne set me on the floor and came at me with a new set of especially vicious clamps connected by a chain. He applied them to my nipples, and sat back to watch me struggle to get them off. After a while, with some mobility in my arms, I managed to reach the chain and was about to work on freeing my poor tits, when Wayne came over and seethed at me, “You want them off? Here!” and yanked the chain hard, pulling them off completely. It was excruciating, and I howled into the gag.
The phone rang, and it was one of Wayne’s friends checking on plans for the evening. As if to demonstrate that he was busy, he pulled me over and shoved the receiver in my face. Wayne pinched one of my (now very sore) nipples, and I roared with the pain. “That’s with a gag,” he told his friend, with smug delight in his voice. The pain was starting to get to me. I was exhausted and sore, but the whole situation was amazingly erotic for me.
The real pain was about to begin. We had discussed wax in advance. My arms still each bound in the rope mesh, he secured the wrist end to my thigh restraints, leaving me loosely doubled over, and headed off to the bathroom to prepare.
I have (or should I say, “had”) a very hairy back, and I was only partially prepared for how it would feel as Wayne came back and stood over me, spreading a warm substance over my upper left shoulder. Then it came—RIP! Yeeeoww! I couldn’t remember anything hurting so much. I screamed into the gag and began whimpering continuously. As he continued with applications of the wax, I screamed each time, clenched my fists, and doubled over lower and lower.
Finally I was prone on the floor, on my knees, head down and sobbing. I don’t know what I would have done if he hadn’t mercifully done about half my back in one huge application to finish it off. At that point the faster it was over the better.
He left me a broken mess on the floor, bound, gagged and crying, as he groused about all the sticky wax he had to clean off his hands. “How do you suppose it felt on me?” I thought to myself silently.
Wayne then came back, dragged me over to the sofa again, leaned me up against it, straddled me and jacked off ‘til he shot his load all over my harnessed face. I was too tired even to squirm in resistance. After cumming, Wayne set about unbuckling and untying me for a break in the festivities.
Over a room service dinner with him in jeans and me still naked on the couch, we talked about how the episode felt. I had loved the bondage, and even enjoyed the pain somewhat, but it had been too intense for me to think about repeating right away. He had really enjoyed my resistance, especially my screams and my clenched fists as I panted in pain at the wax. Seemingly taking a cue from how exhausted I was, when we resumed for the night he changed gears a little, focusing more on the bondage and immobility than on the pain.
From his pile of black leather treasures he pulled two long sleeves of soft leather, like a straitjacket but without the body. Each sleeve was closed at the hand end, and had buckles all along it allowing to be tightened snugly. There were D-rings every few inches allowing the arms to be tied together, or to something else.
Wayne had described these to me in advance, but it was still an incredible charge as he pulled them onto each arm. They came up over my biceps, and he strapped them tight along the arm’s length. My hands were trapped in the leather and useless, with only metal rings outside the sleeves at the tip.
With each arm wrapped tightly, he positioned my arms in front of me, folded them wrist to elbow, and started threading rope through the rings and around the arms to bind them tightly together. He used extra rope to flatten each hand snugly against the opposite elbow, and looped rope around my now-bare back, hugging the whole package tightly to my torso, forcing my pecs together. He put the thigh restraints back on and tightened padded restraints on my ankles. The padded gag came back, still damp from my straining at it earlier, and was strapped into my mouth.
Those moments being bound, watching Wayne strain to pull the buckles tighter, even breaking into a sweat, with his grins and chuckles to himself as I moaned through the gag, and the creaking of the leather as I was bound more tightly, those moments were mind-blowingly terrific for me. “Comfortable?” he kept asking in response to my gagged moans, and with a mischievous gloat in his voice.
I wasn’t going to get off entirely pain-free, however. Wayne attached my legs again to a spreader bar and came back with a plastic plate to which he applied some sort of cream from a tube and then buckled onto my exposed balls. I had a vague dread of what might be happening, and it was confirmed when Wayne brought back a black box with dials, lamps, and two wires which he attached to the plate. If he dug the fear showing in my gagged face, then he was certainly seeing it now.
During our advance correspondence, I had ruled out electric play. Yet from the beginning he had said, “of course your limits will be respected, sort of.” This was to be the only breach. But by this point I had got through one brief period of distress safely and felt an eerie trust for this handsome sadist, so I didn’t do more than the usual writhing and thrashing as he teased me to watch the red light and started giving me little charges of electricity.
He really was quite sparing with the shock. But I was so sensitized at that point that even the faint tickle under my testicles had me rolling and moaning, trying uselessly through the gag to beg him to stop. After a brief period of this, even though he was clearly enjoying it, he pulled off the apparatus and gave me a brief respite.
It was getting very late, and we had business commitments that meant a 7:30am departure, so it was getting close for both of us to need sleep. I was so exhausted by the trials of the evening that I was really ready.
But Wayne didn’t untie me. I was going to sleep on the floor, “bound at his feet,” as promised. He removed the spreader bar, clipped my legs together, folded my knees and tied my ankle restraints to the back of my thighs. I also had a wide studded collar on by then, and a rope ran from the collar down the middle of my chest to rings on my thigh restraints.
But before I got to doze, Wayne was smearing a cold gel on my cock. I was fearful of more shock, but it was just water-based lube. I felt fantastic, struggled against the restraints and fucked his hand frantically. After abstaining for days, I climaxed fast, so fast that I scarcely realized it.
Wayne threw me a pillow and put a blanket over me, left me on the floor, got into bed and said goodnight.
Trying to settle into a good sleeping position was a little hard, but this bondage was much more comfortable than I had been most of the evening. It was now about 1am. I did feel a little anxious about leaving the gag in my mouth and trying to sleep, so I worked the plug out of my mouth and slid it down my neck. When Wayne checked on me for the first of several times that night, he noticed the gag and the collar pinching my skin together, mercifully removed the gag and lay it beside me.
I slept fitfully, my arms inescapably strapped and tied into restraining sleeves, crossed and roped tightly around my torso, my legs joined with tight padded restraints at the thighs and ankles, and folded up behind me. I could sleep only on one side or the other, and laboriously turned myself over several times during the night.
Each time I woke up or tried to turn over, the tight leather binding me would make a wonderful creaking noise. This sound, the smell of the fragrant leather, and the restrictive tightness of my bondage would give me a powerful hard-on each moment I was awake, which included about 70% of the short night.
Regularly, with me groggy with sleep yet tightly bound and aroused, Wayne got up, put on a light, came over and sat next to me on the floor just to watch me struggle for a few minutes, then stroked me, checked all my restraints and went back to bed.
The second time he did this, it brought us to the most powerful moment of the whole session. I turned over—it must have been 3am—started struggling gently, and the creaking leather sound woke Wayne up again. My eyes must have been half closed as I writhed in ecstasy, and I felt Wayne’s lubed hand on my cock. This time, after the first hasty orgasm, tired yet unspeakably turned on, I was ready to enjoy every moment. As he started jacking me off I knew I was going to moan uncontrollably. In rhythm with my breathing I begged him softly, “oh ... gag me ... pleeease!”
Wayne didn’t need to be asked twice. He reached over for the gag, jammed it in my mouth, and strapped it extra tight in front. Again the fragrant leather smelled and tasted wonderful. I felt incredible. Something about begging to be gagged made the whole moment even hotter.
He went back to work on my cock, and every thrust of my cock pulled at my bound legs and leather-encased arms as I hit the limits of my restraint. Each time I thrust, I was flexing as hard as I could, and accomplished only a wonderful creaking sound as the leather pulled unyieldingly.
I climaxed in an explosive moan, and he kept pumping my cock, nearly driving me insane in my hypersensitized state. He relaxed and backed off, patted me and went back to bed.
At what must have been 4am he woke up to the sound of my struggles and did it again. This time he didn’t need to be asked—in went the gag. I pulled and struggled as he jacked me off a third time, and came in another fit of ecstasy.
At about 5, the wake-up call came. I was still in heaven, laying there moaning. Wayne didn’t get up right away, he listened for the creaking leather and said quietly, “from the sound of things, you’re still bound.” Was I ever. I hadn’t loosened anything, yet aside from a few rubs of rope in the middle of my smooth back, I was completely comfortable. Wayne jacked me off a final time, and then lay back on the floor next to my bound and gagged body as he jacked himself off while watching me writhe and struggle again.
What a fantastic experience. We were both completely exhausted. He left me bound while he took a shower. Not willing to let the experience pass without seeing what I looked like, I inched myself laboriously across the carpet and propped myself against the wall across from the mirrored closet door. I loved what I saw. I was hugging my body with black leather arms tightly crisscrossed with rope, and wide leather restraints were strapped tightly into the ankles and thighs of my folded-up legs. A sweaty, exhausted face framed a mouth obscured by a huge black leather gag.
Wayne was amused to see me right there as he emerged from the bathroom. “Waiting in line for the shower?” he said, and laughed.
He then began a part of the process he seems to enjoy a great deal—loosening the restraint in little ways to see how ingenious I could be at freeing myself. He did this over the course of almost an hour (me making precious little progress) until I had finally worked my right arm all the way out of those dastardly sleeves.
We had only a little time for me to shower, have breakfast, and say a hasty goodbye. I was muscle-sore all over, completely tired, and destined to find bits of wax I had to peel off painfully over the next day or so. Yet my back had an amazing new sensitivity and my mind was racing through replays of the previous 14 hours, nearly all of which I had spent bound and gagged. It was an incredible and unprecedented feeling. I slept like a corpse the minute I hit the seat on my flight home that afternoon, and slept through the alarm for the next few days before I felt normal again.
Needless to say, I was plenty eager to have Wayne tie me up again, but knew I wasn’t ready to live through such intense pain as I had had early in the evening. It was all fantasy fodder, but a even a big tuff fuck boy can only take so much, ya know?
Delightfully, as we discovered when we got back in touch by e-mail, Wayne had enjoyed the bondage part even without the intense pain. What good news for me—I could hardly wait to see him again.
Well, I’ve certainly gone on and on ... I got to nearly 3500 words without even starting on our second encounter, never mind the third. ... Perhaps in a future letter?
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