SLAVE TO TWO MASTERS - 1

This story originally appeared in the Bound & Gagged online edition, No. 13 (April, 2000).

My First Weekend

It started by chance on a Friday night when I saw two hot guys, unfamiliar to me, in a local leather bar in the city. I had recently turned twenty five. I was relatively new in town, with few friends or connections, dressed that night in comfortable clothes, worn, tight jeans, black Converse Chuck Taylor high-tops, white sweat socks, white T-shirt, my well-worn black leather jacket. After we all exchanged glances and they spent some time talking quietly together as they kept their eyes on me, they signaled me to approach them, which I did without hesitation. They were older than I, both tall, dark, attractive and imposing, dressed in leather and denim. They introduced themselves as Bob and Jim. Bob was an attorney and Jim did free-lance computer programming and design of Internet web sites.

Bob had a military-style crew cut. When I admired it—my very attractive boss at work had very short hair, too—Bob told me to rub my hand over his head, which I did, timorously. Jim said I’d look good with my hair cropped like Bob’s. I’d never seriously thought of getting a crew cut but I was suddenly very tempted by the idea and told him that I just might do it—I was scheduled for a haircut next week, anyway.

Standing between Bob and Jim, feeling the stubble on Bob’s head, I was slightly intimidated but also overcome with sexual arousal, which they definitely sensed (and felt). Little by little our friendly introductory gestures turned into a hands-on assessment by them of me, with them feeling me all over while I pretty much stood still at their command; and our chat turned into an interview, with them asking all the questions. They asked me if I’d ever been tied up. Just the question made me harder than I already was, and I said that I had been, a number of times, and liked it a lot. They told me they were both “Tops” heavily into bondage and discipline; that they were looking for a new “slaveboy.” I didn’t know quite how to respond to that. I had never given much thought to the concept of a relationship based on the roles “Master” and “slave.” They went on to tell me they had had several long-term “slaves” and that I appeared a perfect fit with respect to their requirements: cute, small frame, good proportions and in shape, a “boy” they could easily imagine dominating physically, and perhaps capable of the mindset of a “slave” who wants to submit and please. They liked the idea that I had previous bondage experience. In the course of our interview I told them all about my other bondage encounters and fantasies, and I answered their intriguing and stimulating questions: Had I ever been left alone, overnight, in inescapable bondage? What was the longest period of time I had remained bound, and in what position? Was I gagged, too? Had I ever slept bound in a cage?

I remember during the discussion having an impression that their ideas on bondage and “slaveboys” were beyond anything I had ever considered. I was doubtful that such a situation could be real, afraid to involve myself in it if it was, and yet turned on to such an extent that my heart pounded and I desperately wanted to play with my dick. Eventually, I found myself persuading them I could take whatever they had in mind, without thinking through what that meant. I heard myself telling them that I had no plans for the weekend and no need to be back in the city until work on Monday morning and eagerly agreeing to go with them to their place somewhere outside the city. They had some ground rules and impressed upon me the importance of adhering to them: bondage, often very strict, was their preference; they did not believe in “limits” and would determine what I was capable of by judging my reactions to specific situations; obeying and complying with instructions was expected without question; speaking except at their request was prohibited. If these terms for the weekend were not satisfactory, I was given the chance to change my mind before going with them. I was not to use their names but instead would be expected to address each of them as “Sir.”

Outside the bar, I followed them silently to their van. I was mesmerized by their physical presence, their seriousness, and the instructions and rules they described. My desire to talk to them was overridden by my desire to obey their command to remain silent. My erection throbbed stiffly in my pants. With all of us inside the back of their dimly lit van, I was told to remove my clothes and kneel on what I thought was a thick blanket but was actually a sleeping bag. With what I sensed as deliberate haste and roughness, they worked together quickly to handcuff my wrists behind my back and cinch my ankles tightly with rope while I remained as still and compliant as possible. Bob pulled over my head and then fastened in place a harness with a built-in rubber ball gag. I recall a vivid state of arousal: being naked, already helplessly bound, my mouth forced wide and fixed around the rubber ball, in the presence and under the control of two authoritative men I barely knew. When fully erect my cock has always been extremely rigid, almost painfully stiff at times. Freed from my pants, the erection stood straight up against my stomach.

Still on my knees, with my ankles tied and wrists cuffed, I was resting my butt on my ankles when Bob instructed me to straighten up (“kneel at attention”). I lurched forward and nearly lost my balance as Bob pulled my erect cock down almost between my legs. He released it and watched it snap back up and thump against my stomach. Then Jim flicked his middle finger against it and watched it sway from side to side. Smirking and making comments to each other, they continued alternating between slapping it down and flicking it back and forth, until they finally elicited a gagged groan from me, an involuntary warning that I might cum. While Bob was rooting around in the back of the van behind me, Jim explained that I was not permitted to cum unless they gave explicit permission. Bob came back into view with a jock made of hard leather and reinforced with metal. Jim pressed down on my cock and positioned it in place as Bob fastened the straps around my waist and between my legs. The interior was lined with sharp metal barbs and my cock was trapped in a pointed-down position as Bob tightened all of the straps. Jim pulled a leather hood, with nose holes only, over the head harness and zipped it closed. No longer able to see, I was helped to lie flat on my stomach and stretch out full length on the sleeping bag. While one of them started the van and began to drive, the other enclosed me up to my neck in the sleeping bag. I could feel rope being tied outside the bag at my ankles, knees, waist, and chest. Next, I sensed that the top of the sleeping bag was being pulled up around my head, and I was rolled onto my back as it was drawn closed. Considering the combination of the ball gag, leather hood and sleeping bag, I suddenly had a moment of suffocating panic and unintentionally started jerking my body around, making involuntary movements and inarticulate grunts. I heard a loud voice filter through, commanding me to settle down, telling me not to panic, I had plenty of air to breathe. Little by little I relaxed and found he was right, if I breathed slowly. Soon I was rolled back onto my stomach and I felt more rope being added to secure me to the floor of the van.

I would estimate that the drive to their place took about an hour. What I thought about during most of the trip is lost to me, except for a strong impression that my anxiety prevailed over the erotic effects of being bound. The reality of what I had consented to started to sink in. I remember wishing that my erection would subside, to relieve the painful effect of imprisonment in the leather jock.

After the van stopped, I felt Bob and Jim unfasten me from the floor. I was still tied in the sleeping bag as I felt them lift and remove me from the van, carry me between them down what I sensed was a stairway, put me on something, and then fasten me to it face down. In retrospect, I know now that they used leather belts over the sleeping bag to strap me to an army cot. They left me that way (probably alone), and after a while I began to test how much I could move around by trying to squirm. Needless to say, it was hopeless; freeing myself on my own was impossible and certainly not in the plan. My shoulders started to ache and I was overheated from struggling inside the sleeping bag. At that point, I remember being preoccupied with the pain in my cock (still unmercifully erect in the jock); worrying that I had managed to get myself into a situation that was heavier than I could handle; and fretting about how long I would have to stay in the sleeping bag, strapped in place, feeling suffocated. After a time, I sensed a restraint at my ankles loosening, followed by others. When they finished freeing me from the sleeping bag and finally removed the hood, I got a first glimpse of their facilities. I was in a basement equipped with what looked like a catalog's worth of bondage and confinement equipment. I remember feeling a rush, a combination of excitement and apprehension.

Working together, they removed the other restraints used during my transport and replaced them with a different head harness that included a large collar and muzzle with an oval mouth opening that framed my lips; fist mitts; a leather restraint that held my wrists behind and high against my back, connected to a D-ring in the collar; and rigid ankle irons that held my feet about 18 inches apart. Although the head harness partially obstructed my vision, with effort I could look down at my body. Freed from the leather jock, my red, bruised-looking cock sprang back to attention, stinging with the imprint of the metal points still on it. I was not gagged and remained silent as they had previously directed. On their instruction, I hobbled over to a vinyl exercise pad between two stools and kneeled between them as they sat on the stools. They had removed some of their clothes while I was bound to the cot. I noticed both were wearing black leather boots and chaps only; their chests and genital areas were exposed. Before I really had a chance to absorb the situation or adjust to the new restraints and give any thought to how hot Bob and Jim looked, they started giving me instructions, starting with “kneel at attention” and “bend at the waist and lean forward.” Jim, seated in front of me, guided my head using the D-rings on the collar of the head harness. He directed me to lick and suck. He would criticize my technique while Bob, seated behind me, would loudly tell me to raise my ass higher as he beat it with a paddle. They switched places a couple of times. My lips protruded through the opening of the muzzle, but the jaw restriction made it difficult to do a good job, especially with Bob’s cock, because of its width. At one point, Jim loosened the head harness muzzle straps so that I could open wider. Eventually, both were satisfied I had done my best, but warned me I would have to improve in the future.

Still kneeling on the vinyl pad, I was directed to straighten up and keep kneeling at attention, while Jim moved me around so that I was facing a mirror mounted on the basement wall. Bob came into view with a gag that looked similar to a black rubber butt plug, somewhat cone-shaped but also oblong and with a wider bulbous base attached to straps. On his instruction, I opened my mouth as much as the muzzle allowed while he inserted the tip of the gag into the muzzle opening and then worked the base through until the whole gag was in place in my mouth. He threaded the gag straps through parts of the head harness, fastened them securely at the back, and then tightened the muzzle straps. I remember thinking it was the most effective gagging I had ever experienced and realizing that the gag included a narrow channel in its center, an airway to breathe through my mouth. They attached clamps to my nipples, and used a leather ball stretcher/separator, adding a weight to its D-ring so that my cock stood straight out instead of up against my stomach. Jim added several clothespins along the top of my cock, and then Bob crouched to the side in front of me and began whipping the underside of it with a small, rigid leather stinger. Jim crouched down on my other side to talk into my ear and told me that I should cum while Bob was whipping my cock. He said I was sexier and kinkier than even I myself knew, that I would make a perfect “slaveboy,” and that I should let my cock think for me. Bob joined in with comments. They told me to look in the mirror and see my true self, a natural born “slave” who needed to be kept bound, gagged, humiliated and in captivity. They said my dick was a “slavecock” that existed only for their use and that it should be trained to cum only at their command. After a short time, some of the clothespins started to become dislodged, heightening the sensations, and I started squirming, moaning, and making reflexive movements with my arms, which increased the pressure of the collar around my neck. Jim grabbed me to prevent me from falling over as I had one of the most agonizing orgasms I had ever experienced. Uncontrollably, convulsively, I shot all over the place, with the weights and clothespins bobbing wildly and the arm straps pulling at my neck.

I zoned out for a few minutes after cumming. My awareness began to return after they had shuffled me off to the basement bathroom. They had removed the nipple clamps and all of the paraphernalia from my cock but left everything else in place, stood me over a toilet, and directed me to empty my bladder, which I was able to achieve after a few minutes of concentration. Bob then tried to fit my semi-erect cock into the cock cage of what I recognized as a chastity device, but my cock swelled again too large and he stopped mid-way through and took the device away. He returned with a different device that had a faucet-shaped tube attached to it. My cock had hardened but not to the point of inflexibility, and he was able to insert it into the tube after adding some lubrication. Somewhat ashamed, I nodded in the affirmative when Jim held a medium-sized butt plug at my face and asked if I needed to be cleaned out first. They used a Fleet enema, watched me evacuate my bowels, and cleaned me up with soap and water, all to my embarrassment. They pushed me to the floor into a kneeling position with my butt in the air. After just cumming, it was difficult for me to accommodate entry of the plug, but they managed to insert it slowly until only the base protruded. They stood me up and finished fastening the chastity belt in place, which they referred to as a “cock cuff” and which included a strap at the back over the butt plug. They shuffled me out of the bathroom over to a steel cage and worked together to get me “ready for bedtime,” as Jim said. The head harness and gag remained, but the fist mitts and wrist restraints were removed to put me into a leather straitjacket, with my arms crossed in front of me and belted together at the forearms. The straitjacket fit well, snug but not overly tight. Bob played with its many straps, securing and refastening them here and there, especially under my crotch. Jim replaced the rigid ankle irons with leather ankle restraints that were locked together. After he and Bob helped me sit on the floor and wiggle into the cage, they made a show of closing and locking it, and told me to try to get some sleep. I saw them walk away and heard them on the stairs, and all of the lights went off.

The floor of the cage was lined with a vinyl pad and there was a small pillow. I was too exhausted to question the situation and quickly fell deeply asleep. I remember dreaming about being restrained and not being able to use my hands and then waking up in a tangled sweat to find it was true. I started doubting my judgment. Were Jim and Bob right? Was I a slave? What kind of person would agree to be left alone, muzzled, gagged, in a straitjacket, locked in a cage in the basement of strangers? Instead of going soft, why did my cock strain against the metal tube, becoming as erect as the cock cuff would allow? With concentrated effort, I could only barely swallow my own saliva; my jaw began to ache from the tight muzzle and large gag; my sphincter muscles involuntarily clenched the butt plug; my arms felt cramped and my body uncomfortably hot and sweaty inside the straitjacket; and yet my cock wanted to be erect not in spite of all of the discomfort, but because of it. It felt like my cockhead was protruding outside the faucet-shaped tube, but the basement was too dark to see it.

I woke again to bright light from a ceiling light bulb and Jim standing in front of the cage. I noticed for the first time that daylight was visible in a few small, ceiling-level basement windows. I had the sense that it was very early, just after daybreak. Jim opened the cage, and then ordered and helped me to stand up, which was difficult while still bound. He was holding an empty plastic jug; he placed it under the opening at the bottom of the metal tube of the cock cuff. After a few minutes, with his encouragement and threats to punish me, I urinated into the plastic container. He held it under my nose and made me sniff it, then set it aside, grabbed one of my arms at the biceps, and instructed me to go with him. I had to hop alongside him because the leather restraints kept my ankles too close together for any other type of motion. I saw myself in one of the mirrors mounted on the walls, straitjacketed, muzzled, and hopping. I felt a mixture of excitement and embarrassment and recall my cock being hard against the cuff. Jim led me to a closet in the basement. A sort of visceral chill went through me, and my heart pounded, when I saw that the closet was heavily equipped for various methods of restraint and one of them was waiting for me. Jim positioned me in the center of some heavy canvas that had been laid out on the floor of the closet. He put me into in a tight sitting position, with my knees bent and drawn up to my chest as far as my arms (crossed in front of me in the straitjacket) would allow. He pulled the canvas and worked it around me to enclose me in the mailbag-style sack. The darkness and total enclosure increased as the sack closed and I felt myself being lifted slowly off the ground. The sack collapsed against my body and tightly enveloped me as it I became totally suspended within it. I felt Jim’s hands on my back, shoulders, and legs, as he turned the sack around, checking on my position within it. He had been silent most of the time except to give me instructions, but now that I was bound and suspended in the sack he started talking loudly, penetrating the enclosure of the sack, telling me that all real bondage “slaves” (that word again) fantasized about being left alone, all bound up and hanging suspended in a sack. He said that he and Bob needed to do a few errands before they could make breakfast and that he was sure I would enjoy myself while they were gone. I heard the closet door shut.

Looking back on it, I am still not sure they actually left me alone in their house that way. At that time, however, I thought I was alone, and it made me anxious to say the least. I guessed that, based on whatever I had told them the night before and my reactions up to that point, they thought I could handle it. Feeling abandoned, I hung there like a dead weight and contemplated the multiple levels of bondage and confinement. Jim’s parting comment had implied that I should be grateful for my predicament. I had experimented once before with a friend who suspended me in a mailbag, but that was for a short time and I wore no other restraints. Plus, my friend had not gone away and left me alone in it. This time, the straitjacket and other restraints intensified the restriction imposed by the mailbag and accentuated the feeling of being trapped and confined in a small, closed, hot space with restricted air. When I tried to shift my legs or upper body in any way, the bag would sway and my weight would pull me down further and make me feel wedged into the leather-lined bottom of the mailbag. The canvas was also reinforced with vertical leather straps, and there were air holes. In the darkness and heat of the bag, I waited for them to return, while my arms ached, sweat trickled down my chest under the leather straitjacket, my jaw felt dislocated, and my cock strained against the metal cuff. The doubled-up, wedged-in position I was in seemed to drive the butt plug further inside me. At one point, I tried to articulate the words “Please, Sir” through the muzzle and gag, but there was no response.

It seemed forever, but eventually I heard a door open and voices. I could not distinguish them, but when I heard one say that if I had not had enough, they could leave me alone for a few more hours, I moaned and started squirming and trying to kick within the bag. They continued to talk for a little while and taunted me with threats to punish me for making noise without being told by leaving me in the bag for the rest of the day. I stopped moving and quieted myself in response, and they lowered me to the floor and extricated me from the bag. A feeling of total abasement overwhelmed me while I was lying between their feet on the floor in the closet as they stood over me. Jim bent down, unfastened and removed the gag and muzzle/harness, and instructed me to lick Bob’s boots. The dryness in my mouth from being gagged all night made licking difficult, but I didn’t think twice about doing it, and the humiliation was certainly complete.

Bob and Jim lifted and carried me between them out of the closet and set me down in a sitting position on a vinyl exercise pad. They removed all the restraints but left the butt plug inside me. Bob used his foot to poke at my cock, which had betrayed me by pointing straight up as soon as the chastity device was removed. I sipped water from the straw of a large plastic jug that Jim had handed to me. They told me that my slavecock showed I enjoyed being treated like the bondage slave I truly was, and they promised to put me in the mailbag again soon.

They brought out and had me put on my sneakers and socks, and Bob locked a wide leather collar around my neck. Telling me I’d better make sure the butt plug stayed in place, they led me to an area in the basement with exercise equipment and instructed me to walk on a treadmill and sip water while they exercised with weights.

My semi-erect cock flopped in front of me while I walked briskly on the treadmill and enjoyed the freedom of movement, especially in my arms. After about 30 minutes, I was trying to pass gas silently around the butt plug, but it started to slip out. I reached back, caught it, and tried to reinsert it without stopping on the treadmill, but it slipped through my fingers, hit the treadmill, and dropped onto the floor. Jim told me I would be punished for that. Bob disappeared and returned holding various items. With Jim seated on an exercise bench, I had to lie across his lap while they quickly roped my wrists together and pulled them tightly, somewhat painfully, up my back as high as my arms and shoulders would allow, fastening them to the D-ring on the back of the leather collar. On my head, they used the combination head harness/ball gag (the one from the van) that I’d worn the night before. They lubricated my asshole and slowly began inserting a larger version of the butt plug I’d been wearing. It did not go in easily. Jim spanked my ass hard and ordered me to loosen up, or else. Finally, painfully, the plug went past the most prominent part and settled in. They stood me up, tied another doubled-over length of rope to my wrists, pulled the ends down my back tightly over the base of the plug through the crack of my ass to my crotch, and used the rest to bind my cock and balls, so that they were pulled down between my legs. Then they made me return to the treadmill and continue walking. Because of the way my arms were restrained, it was uncomfortable and difficult to keep my balance. If I accidentally moved my arms up or down, I would feel either like I was being strangled or like my cock and balls were being crushed between my legs. I had to walk bow-legged, with my legs bent slightly at the knees, to relieve the pain in my balls. Occasionally, Jim or Bob would come over to increase the pace of the treadmill and watch me sweat as I panted through my nose and around the ball gag.

After the exercise session, they untied me, removed the head harness, cuffed my wrists in front, and locked me in the cage, to watch me eat. They gave me scrambled eggs, cereal and fruit mixed with yogurt, and orange juice, all of which I spilled on myself and my sneakers because I had no experience eating with my hands cuffed. The butt plug reminded me of its presence as I sat cross-legged on the floor of the cage with my cock poking up at full attention. They ordered me out of the cage when I finished, recuffed my wrists behind my back, and took me to the bathroom. They removed my high-tops and socks, and then kept me in handcuffs while I was cleaned out and washed up. Having them control my bodily functions and hygiene was incredibly weird and embarrassing (Jim even brushed my teeth.) They seemed so serious about the roles, and I responded with such unquestioning submission to their authority, that it never occurred to me that I could object to anything they did. Any confusion I had over being afraid versus turned on always seemed to be clarified by my cock, which rigidly sustained its upright position and oozed precum.

The supreme moment of embarrassment was when they removed the butt plug: It felt like I was being uncorked. Keeping my hands always cuffed behind my back, they gave me repeated enemas until I was clean and empty. That done, Bob brought in a kitchen stool which they sat me down on. They roped my legs securely to the stool and used more rope to pull my cuffed wrists tightly down, passing the rope under the seat of the stool and tying it off around my cock and balls, so that every time I tried to move my arms the rope tugged on my genitals. Jim pulled out a pair of electric clippers and said that since I had shown such interest in Bob’s crew cut, and had even said I was considering getting one myself, he and Bob had decided this was the perfect time for it. He told me it was he who always cut Bob’s hair, if I was worried that he’d do a hatchet job on me. Bob told him to hold off a second, then looked at me seriously and told me that because I did not yet really belong to them, this was probably the one thing they would ask my opinion about all weekend, though they might not necessarily heed it, he added with a smile. Did I have a problem with Jim giving me a crew cut? They wanted to hear my answer.

“No, Sir,” I said to Bob, without any hesitation, and repeated “No, Sir,” to Jim.

My upright cock throbbed as I felt the clippers on my head and watched my hair fall down my body and onto the floor.

After the haircut they they put the head harness/ball gag back on, adding a blindfold attachment. There was no hurry for me to see what I looked like yet, they said. I should be content to know that they thought I looked very cute and hot. Feeling the harness against the shorter hair on my head compared to when I wore it earlier, it seemed to me they’d adjusted it to fit more tightly. My mouth was forced open wider and the rubber ball was driven deeper in than before. They then untied me from the stool, uncuffed my hands only to recuff them in front and put me in the shower stall, attaching my cuffed hands to a hook high above my head. My body was already pretty smooth, but they used the clippers on me from neck to toe, including my armpits, reducing what little body hair I had to stubble. Next, they smeared something I realized from their comments was a depilatory cream, over my entire body, including my balls and the root of my cock, and waited for its effect. They even turned me around to face the wall so they could rub the nasty smelling cream on my ass. The chill and burning sensation, especially around my balls, that resulted when they finally scrubbed the cream off and rinsed me under a full stream of cold shower water, made my cock completely limp for probably the first time since I’d met them.

Before I could think of getting hard they had fitted on me an intricate chastity device, the one that Bob had been unable to get me into the night before. I learned this later, since at the time I was only aware of them fitting something on me, after which I discovered I could no longer get hard. My cock and balls were worked through a thick metal ring that encircled them tightly. Attached to the ring by a hinge, a circular, convex metal cage was closed over my genitals and locked with a hex key wrench to the ring. My cock had been folded down against my balls and was trapped pointed down; with the limited space within the cage, my cock and balls were compressed together.

Jim and Bob patted me dry and bent me over to re-insert the butt plug. They led me out of the bathroom and, having unsnapped the blindfold, worked to finish fastening the chastity device into place. Besides the cock cage, it consisted of leather and metal straps around my waist, from the waist down the back and over the crack of my ass (and base of the butt plug) to the bottom of the cage, from the top of the cage up the center of my stomach to the waist, and from the back of my waist down the inside of and around my thighs. They had me assume several different positions, standing at attention, squatting, leaning forward, back to standing, to test the tightness of the straps and make appropriate adjustments before they installed a number of small padlocks at various points. It looked and felt so permanent. My cock had started to swell when the butt plug was re-inserted and then continued to attempt to become erect as they tightened all of the straps. Jim said that my dick was out of control and needed to be taught that a full erection was a privilege possible only when they decided to open its cage. It distended even more in response, the top of it visibly squeezing against the unyielding grate of the metal cage, and I realized how sadistic and uncomfortable the device was intended to be. Involuntarily, my knees buckled and a moan escaped around the gag. They both looked pleased, told me I would get used to it, and said if I continued to make noise without permission they would find a larger gag for me.

Now they led me to one of the walls with a mirror and made comments similar to the night before that encouraged me to look at my condition and consider what it meant: denuded, head cropped, handcuffed, gagged, plugged, balls and cock caged and constricted, under their control. I tried to suppress a moan and felt myself panting around the gag and through my nostrils. They replaced the handcuffs with two sets of rigid irons, one on my arms just above my elbows and the other at my wrists, which held them fixed and separated behind my back. They used a similar rigid iron restraint on my ankles and shuffled me over to a corner of the basement where I saw a large box made of wood. I had lost track of time, but from what I know looking back on the weekend as I write this, I would estimate that it was around 1 or 2:00 in the afternoon. My memory is that they made some comments at this point, having to do with needing to leave to tend to some business that would keep them out of the house until sometime that night. While they were gone, they wanted to be sure I was safe and secure. Jim lifted the lid of the box and they helped me to sit on an edge and then lift my legs over and into the box. It was full of Styrofoam peanuts and they had to work my feet and legs through the packing material until I could stand on the bottom. Jim pressed on my shoulders, guiding me down, while Bob shifted the Styrofoam around me, until I had reached a sitting position, which put my toes against the front of the box, my upper back against the back, my knees against my chest, and the top of my head level with the top of the box. They pulled a leather hood over my head, on top of the harness/gag, and tightened the laces. I could feel them adding more Styrofoam peanuts and pushing down to compress them. They instructed me to move around as much as I could (which was possible mostly with my upper body only) while remaining in the sitting position and then continued adding and compressing the packing material until I could no longer move my shoulders from side to side or forward and back. The Styrofoam filled the box to the level of my chin.

I need to break the chronology of the story here to provide a description of the box in greater detail. It was actually a packing crate, made of heavy wood, which Jim and Bob had modified for their purposes. They had two different lids for it. One was recessed, down to about a foot into the crate, and had an opening near the back through which the captive's head protruded; the other was solid and laid on top of the box to seal it completely. Both of the lids detached from the crate, lifting completely off, but when in place could be connected with padlocks that fastened each securely to the rest of the crate. They had added air holes on the sides in both the lower and upper compartments and on the upper lid. Being put in the box that day, even with the leather hood slightly diminishing my hearing, I remember the sound of wood scraping against metal and how I associated it with being closed and locked away. One of them (not sure who) locked the first lid in place, which further compressed the packing material and reduced the space in the box. I remember hearing another tormenting comment, something like only a real slave would end up in a situation like that, and then I felt the second lid of the box brush against the top of my hooded head as it was closed.

Initially, I directed my energy at trying to remain quiet and endure being left that way. At first I was overwhelmed by my heart pounding, the work required to breathe around the gag and through the small holes in the hood, to take in enough of the limited air available in the box, and the idea that they had left me alone in it for the entire afternoon. I was on the verge of panicking and had to resist giving in to my body’s natural reflexive movements to try to get free. Much time passed before I was able to calm myself and begin to accept the physical confines of being restrained, packed, and boxed. It was just large enough to contain me in the sitting position and, along with the Styrofoam peanuts, prevented any appreciable movement in any direction. Time passed slowly. I remember cramps in my calves periodically. I remember my legs feeling tingly and realizing they were falling asleep. My knees protested; my lower back and my arms ached for a change in position; the butt plug increased the feeling that I needed to piss; and I was too uncomfortable to relax in any way. I could rock my upper body slightly, and try to shift by flexing my muscles in an effort to relieve the discomfort, but with each small movement I felt (and heard) the resistance of the packing and restraints, felt the restriction around my neck of the small opening in the lower lid and the unyielding upper lid against the top of my head, and realized how trapped and truly immobile I was within the box. Irritated by the hair removal, my skin burned from the accumulating sweat, and I wondered if I was dehydrating. It seemed interminable. The only consolation was that the chastity device was more tolerable, because my dick had finally softened.

After what seemed like hours upon hours of time passing, I remember getting really mad, at Jim and Bob and at myself, and then uttering a long cry as loud as I could. Suddenly, I heard metal scraping against wood, the upper lid opened, and I felt hands roughly unlacing and pulling off the hood. My eyes came into focus slowly on Bob and Jim, dressed again similarly to the night before, in their leather boots and chaps only. I straightened my neck and head, and they removed the head harness and gag, but left me enclosed in the box. I was allowed to work my jaw to relieve the stiffness and sip water through a plastic straw connected to a container that Jim held. They told me that they had wanted me to think I was alone but that actually one or both of them had been nearby, that the “being packed away” had been a sort of test of my endurance, and that I had done very well: I had stayed in the box most of the afternoon without making any noise, which they said provided further evidence that I was a genuine slave. In spite of their obvious satisfaction with my behavior, they did not release me immediately. They each took turns straddling the crate, to sit in front of my face, while I licked and sucked as directed and listened to their threats to leave me packed up until the next morning if I did not please them.

Eventually they removed the lower lid, fished around in the packing and helped me unbend my stiff legs, stand up, and get out of the crate. It took a while for the tingling in my legs to subside as full circulation returned. They brushed off the clinging Styrofoam pieces and removed the rigid irons from my arms and ankles and handcuffed my wrists in front. The led me to the shower in the bathroom, and I had to piss messily down my legs through the cage of the chastity device. They ran the shower (warm this time), patted me dry with a towel, and re-adjusted and further tightened the straps of the chastity device, which had stretched and become looser (from the moisture of sweat and shower water, I guess). The butt plug remained in place, and they did not ask if I had any need to be cleaned out again. Back in the cage, I was given water and food, a bland mixture of rice and ground meat, which I had to eat slowly because of the handcuffs. While I finished the meal, I saw Jim and Bob laying out rubber and leather items on the exercise pad in front of the mirror, but I was so tired that I took little interest in what they were doing. I lay down in the cage with my head on the pillow, but they told me it was not bedtime yet. Out of the cage, they removed the handcuffs and, in a prone position on the pad, I was helped to wiggle into a heavy grade rubber sleepsack. It had internal sleeves and closed with a double zipper at the front. While it fit my body well lengthwise, it had limited flexibility and had obviously been made for one of their former boys whose frame was even narrower than mine. To allow them to get the top zipper closed over my shoulders and chest, I had to scrunch my shoulders together and exhale. With the zipper closed over my upper body, Jim repositioned my shoulders to straighten them within the sack. I was completely enclosed, my shoulders, upper arms, and chest compressed snugly. It felt wonderfully tight, and my excitement at being bound returned. I squirmed a bit, almost involuntarily, to try to adapt to the restriction. They adjusted the zippers to meet at my crotch but then left them open, and the cage of the chastity device protruded through the gap. They stood me up in view of the mirror and made comments, telling me I looked great in rubber, that I should be kept in the sleepsack often to stretch it to my size, and that maybe they should leave me in it for the rest of the weekend. Jim steadied me on my feet and held his hand over my mouth as Bob used the hex key wrench to open the cage of the chastity device. Feeling the total enclosure of the heavy rubber and seeing my shiny, black-encased, seal-like form in the mirror and Jim’s hand on my face, I could not avoid being incredibly turned on in spite of my exhaustion. My cock celebrated its release from the cage by quickly hardening straight up against my rubber-covered stomach and confirmed for Bob and Jim that it was enjoying my rubber imprisonment. They laid me back down on top of a second sleepsack, a leather one, enclosed me in it (while saying I needed to be “double-sacked” to satisfy my greedy slavecock), and then worked together on all of the fastenings: the zippers, laces, and straps were tightened but positioned to leave my erect cock exposed, with the chastity cage hanging by its hinge below. They stood me up again to look in the mirror, and the image I saw reminded me of bondage art, drawings and sketches I had seen in which the bondage victim looks hopelessly bound in some form of exaggerated restraint with his head and cock poking out of it.

They moved me into position with my back against one of the basement walls, standing opposite the mirror, and used strong bungee cords to attach the many D-rings of the leather sleepsack to multiple stationary rings mounted on the wall. Following their instructions, I straightened my posture and flattened my bound form against the wall as much as possible, tried to flex my feet to stand on my toes, leaned forward or slackened within the bonds when told, all to ensure they could adjust the bungee cords as securely as possible. When they were satisfied that I was completely immobile and could not shift in any way from the standing position, they bound my cock and balls elaborately, using a ball stretcher/splitter tied to a ring mount in the floor to pull them down as far as possible, and a leather pinprick-lined cock sheath that laced on and left only the head of my cock exposed. I could see my bound, squeezed, and stretched balls and erect cock, its purple head sticking out of the black leather sheath, clearly in the mirror.

As he further compressed the cock sheath by adjusting the laces, driving the sharp points into my cock, Jim warned me that if I were to cum without permission I would be punished severely. He smeared precum that leaked onto his hand on my face and made me lick his hand. Next, for some length of time, they experimented with different types of gags, some attached to hoods or harnesses. They told me they were testing me to determine the largest gag I could accommodate without choking or suffocating, and that if I faked any of my reactions, I would be sorry. In between gags, they gave me more water. They finally settled on using the following combination on my head: first, a heavy rubber hood with mouth and small nose and eye holes; then a large leather gag that filled my mouth and had a breathing tube; and last, a leather head harness and muzzle modified with an opening for the breathing tube of the gag. They played with the fastenings of the head harness for some time, to make the straps taut and fit with the multiple casings that met at my neck: the rubber sleepsack, leather sleepsack, rubber hood, and muzzle/head harness. Using a D-ring at the top of the head harness, they added one more bungee cord to attach it to another ring mounted on the wall just above my head. They told me to look in the mirror and consider my situation. The hood, harness, and how I was fastened against the wall limited my field of vision, but my reflection in the mirror was visible. Bob asked if I was bound securely enough to keep my slavecock happy and told me I would make a perfect “fetish slave.” At their command, I tried repeatedly to articulate the words, “Thank you for the tight bondage, Sirs,” but the gag and muzzle turned it into muffled, humiliating garble. They further embarrassed me with their comments, telling me that I was a “bondage pig” whose expertise was staying bound and gagged 24 hours a day, and they vowed to keep me “busy” in their basement for a long time. Jim squeezed the sheath and said my cock looked too comfortable, that they should have made it stay in its chastity cage. He walked out of my line of vision and then reappeared with a tube of Ben-Gay. He coated each of my exposed balls (sticking out from the ball stretcher) and the head of my cock (protruding from the sheath). They instructed me to think over how I felt after having spent my first 24 hours with them, said goodnight, and walked away. The light was left on, and as I became aware of the burning heat on my cockhead and balls, I continued to look at the only thing I could see, my sealed, bound form in the mirror.

As is apparent from these writings, many of the details from that weekend with them remain clear in my memory. However, the sequence and content of my thoughts during the second night are not as clear to me as I try to recreate them here. Sleepsack bondage was in the realm of my previous experience, and, in fact, was a major fantasy for me. Their version of it that night, which left me double-sacked in rubber and leather, tethered upright to a wall, and staring at my cocooned form in the mirror, was more extreme than any I had undergone. I noticed for the first time that a clock hung on the wall above the mirror. It said 11:30 and I knew it was nighttime. Within minutes of being left alone, I succumbed to the physical sensations: lack of any substantial mobility from head to toe; the pressure of the rubber against my skin, especially enclosing my head; the constriction of my arms and hands, plastered to my sides so tightly that I could not even make a fist; the restriction of the rubber compressing my chest when I inhaled; the distention of my mouth from the gag and my butthole from the plug; the tightening of all the restraints if I attempted to relieve the pressure on my feet or back by trying to hang from the cords instead of supporting my own weight. I could tense my muscles, flex them against the restraints as much they would allow, and make little squirming movements, all of which were imperceptible in the mirror. The only visible movement was in my sheathed cock, which moved slightly up and down when it throbbed and jerked in opposition to being pulled down by the ball stretcher anchored to the floor.

All of the restrictive sensations were transformed into kind of pre-orgasmic bondage rapture. The squirming increased. It became reflexive and involuntary and overpowered me. I lost control in a frenzy of writhing, stifled movements, and gasps and moans through the gag. My cock surged painfully larger against the sheath and was on the verge of climaxing. I remembered Jim’s warning about cumming without permission, and, after a while, eventually, slowly, I was able to calm myself. My breathing slowed. I could feel sweat under the rubber on my face and arms and between my legs, pressed together in the sleepsacks. The trapped body heat, increased by my struggling, added to my discomfort. My bound cock and balls burned. The clock above the mirror showed about 15 minutes had passed. It seemed so much longer. The clock had a second hand that paused quickly before each movement. I wondered if Bob and Jim really meant it when they said goodnight. I had a feeling of disbelief when I thought about how many seconds would go by before morning and how I could endure the position and the excessive restraint. My cock throbbed in response, and I started squirming again. Over the next hour, I repeated countless times the agonizing cycle of squirming in pleasure and pain but successfully regaining control and stopping myself when I was about to cum. The last time I remember seeing the clock, it was after 1:00 am. Finally, after an extended, torturous bout of wriggling against the restraints within the rubber and accumulated sweat, I lost the battle and had a grueling, mind-numbing orgasm. When I came, the force of my involuntary attempts at movement somehow shifted the head restraints, and afterward I could not see through the hood's eyeholes. I sagged in my bonds and went into a haze of half sleep that was interrupted at times by increasing pain in various areas. I remember wanting desperately to be released. My shoulders hurt more than anything, because the rubber sleepsack was too narrow for them. I was too tightly bound against the wall to bend my knees, which urgently needed a change in position. My mouth ached from being stuffed with such a wide gag. At one point I was aware that my cock started stinging when it retracted from the pinpricks of the sheath, and a while later I felt the sheath fall off. I remember a voice repeating louder and louder a command to piss, which at first did not penetrate either my dim awareness or the rubber of the hood.

My awareness returned fully when I was lying on the floor as Jim and Bob finished extracting me from the leather sleepsack. The head harness/muzzle, mouth stuffer gag, and rubber hood had been removed, but I was till in the rubber sleepsack, the zippers of which had been closed over the chastity device and joined with a padlock. After commanding me to piss, they had stuffed my cock and balls back into the chastity device, fastened it closed, and then adjusted the zippers of the rubber sleepsack to close it completely. I got a glimpse of the clock as Bob removed it from the wall; it gave the impression that it was just after 2:00 am, but then Bob held it in front of my face and grinned as he changed the time to read 12:00. I realized that they had hung the clock in my view to magnify in my mind the length of time I remained bound standing against the wall. It was still nighttime, but I did not know the actual time or how long I had been left in that position.

Bob sat in back of me to prop my head up in his lap while Jim instructed me to sip water through the plastic straw connected to the container he held. Lying between them, sweaty and tightly sealed in the sleepsack, drinking when instructed, I felt like a helpless little boy. I noticed the pain in my shoulders and constriction of the rubber seemed less severe in that position. About 10 to 15 minutes went by as I drank water intermittently and listened to their comments about whether I should be punished for cumming without permission. Jim talked about teaching me that there is a difference between deliberate and involuntary disobedience, but the concept was lost on me at that point. I was surprised when Bob leaned his head down, rubbed his face against mine, and kissed me deeply. He said I smelled like rubber and tasted like leather. Jim got up, walked away, and then returned with a leather device I did not recognize and a roll of duct tape, which he handed to Bob. Jim told me to shut my mouth and close my lips tight. Bob pulled tape over my mouth and one side of my face, continuing at the back of my head over the upper part of the back of my neck, and then completing the circle by covering my face on the other side. He proceeded to roll the tape around me, pulling it taught as he encircled my head below my nose with multiple layers that sealed my mouth. I could feel my cock re-awakening within the chastity cage. Over the tape, Jim installed a solid, rigid muzzle, attached to a head harness, one I had not worn before. He kept tugging at the vertical straps at the front to tighten them, which compressed my face, and in response, without meaning to, I snorted through my nostrils. Jim apparently enjoyed my reaction, because he made me repeat it while he told Bob to look at the muzzled “pigslave.” They lifted and carried me between them and placed me face down on the army cot. They used belts across the back of my legs just above the knees, lower back at the waist, and upper back below the shoulders to fasten me to the cot. For the second time that night, they told me “goodnight,” and I wondered again if they meant it. The light was turned off. With some effort exerted against the collar of the head harness, I was able to turn my head enough from side to side to rest it on the cot. Although the tape and muzzle clamped my mouth shut, and the muzzle was stiff and irritating, I was grateful that there was no gag. I could bend my legs slightly at the knee and wiggle my feet around within the sleepsack against the cot. Compared to how the night had started, I felt relatively comfortable, enough to fall asleep. But, that was interrupted, after an unknown time, apparently because I tried to turn in my sleep. The pain in my shoulders persisted but was not as bad as when I was fixed to the wall. I lay there in my rubber-induced sweat and heat and thought about Bob and Jim and what it would mean to be their “slave.” I considered what little I knew of their personalities. Bob seemed more accessible than Jim on an emotional level. I could imagine Bob assuming the bottom role for Jim, but not the reverse, and never to the extent that either of them would regard as being a “slave” (like me?). I wondered if having a slave was integral to the continuation of their relationship. Intermittently, as I turned my head restlessly during my thoughts, I was aware of the odor of rubber mixed with perspiration. My cock stirred within its cage, which was compressed under me, because the belts kept me too close to the cot to relieve the pressure. I wanted to get free, but my cock liked that I could not, that I had no choice but to wait until Jim or Bob decided to release me.

With early daylight apparent through the small basement windows, the morning activities started when Jim and Bob reappeared to release me from the cot and remove me from the sleepsack. The muzzle came off easily, followed by the slow peeling off of the tape from my head. I saw short hair from the back of my head adhering to the tape, and I noticed areas of my skin were puckered and white from being encased in my own sweat for so long. The air felt cold against my naked skin, and I hoped for a bathroom and exercise break. Instead, they pushed me to the door of the cage I had been in several times already that weekend, and they ordered me to back into it and sit with my hands and legs in front of me extending outside through the open door. Jim guided my wrists and ankles into a rigid iron restraint and fastened it closed. It was a combined, wrist-ankle, four-way restraint, sort of a metal stock, and a new experience for me. He pushed me to shimmy back further into the cage, until I was completely inside, including my arms and legs, to allow him to close and lock the door. A large container of water hung on the outside of the cage. It reminded me of a giant version of the kind of water bottle used for pet hamsters. The inverted spout was accessible to me inside the cage, and one of them (Bob, I think) instructed me to drink from it while they were gone and to contemplate the difference between involuntary and deliberate disobedience. For the next couple hours, I tongued the spout intermittently to release water into my mouth, and I rested. I found that the iron restraint was extremely inflexible, and, with my wrists held between my ankles, rigidly apart in front of me, I suppose it was awkward to move around or find a comfortable position in the cage. However, my memory is that I was relieved to be left in such a relatively simple and comparatively relaxed form of bondage. I do remember wishing I would be allowed to piss. I was no longer gagged or hooded, so I had a clear view of the basement and could see my image in a distant mirror mounted low on one of the walls: in a cage fastened into a sitting position; my legs bent and spread and my arms pulled down between them; ankles and wrists fixed in place, connected and immobile in a rigid line in front of me; naked and shaved, except for the short hair on my head. My cock swelled within the chastity device. With no rubber or leather insulating me, the temperature in the basement felt cold. Near one of the windows at the ceiling, I recognized a camera lens, the type used for video surveillance systems. I looked for other cameras and wondered how closely they had been observing me and whether there were microphones also, to monitor sound.

I remained in the cage in the four-way ankle-wrist restraint for the rest of the morning and most of afternoon. During that time, they took me out once in the late morning. They fed me a light meal and then helped me to waddle very slowly in a squatting position (still in the rigid restraint) toward the bathroom. About halfway there they picked me up and carried me, put me into the shower stall, set me on my feet, and made me “stand” by straightening my legs and sticking my butt up as far as the restraint would allow. They removed the leather and metal strap at the back that held the butt plug in place, removed the plug, gave me enemas, and made me evacuate and piss in the shower. It was another totally humiliating experience, with my head practically between my legs because of the position I was forced to maintain. They showered me clean, replaced the butt plug and back chastity strap, added the ball gag/head harness I had worn two or three times before (and to which I was actually becoming accustomed), and returned me to the area just outside the cage. Before putting me back in the cage, they removed the four-way ankle-wrist restraint to reverse my position. They had me lie on my stomach in the cage, and then fastened it on me by connecting my wrists and ankles behind my back within the restraint. I had to arch back slightly to accommodate the position, because the restraint held my wrists and ankles in a kind of rigid hog-tie at the level of the my mid- to lower butt. Jim had threaded rope through the top of the head harness. He pulled the ends of the rope back, which forced me to hold my head up and arch my back further, drew the rope under the iron restraint, and brought the ends up, out the top of the cage. He played with the tension before tying it off and closing the cage. They complimented me on my flexibility, said only one of their other boys had been able to be held in the four-way restraint in that position, and made more “slave” comments.

I remained that way while they worked out for an hour or so in the exercise area of the basement. During their workout, they took breaks to come over to the cage to tighten the rope further. One time, they both came over and rubbed their crotches and played with themselves while they took turns watching my reaction as the rope was pulled higher and tighter. I had to arch back more and more and raise the restraint further up toward the top of the cage. It quickly became a very uncomfortable position, but they obviously knew that, and I finally reached a point where I would have done anything to be released. I started begging through the gag, and they untied and removed the rope but otherwise left me as I was. They finished their workout and left the basement. The relief from the removal of the rope was wonderful, but the position was still uncomfortable, mainly because of the inflexible rigidity of the restraint. With a rope hog-tie, there is much more flexibility. Jim and Bob were right about my supple limbs and joints. I have always been more flexible than most guys, and in the past had enjoyed staying restrained in a hog-tie position for a prolonged period without much discomfort, if I could move around a bit on my stomach and shift from side to side. For the most part, the rigid restraint along with being confined within the cage prevented those kinds of movements. If I tried to shift my body weight from my upper to lower abdomen, the cock cage reminded me of its unyielding presence.

It seemed like a long afternoon. My mind wondered, unfettered, unlike my body. My thoughts encompassed a broad range of emotions, but eventually settled into a permanent state of sexual arousal. I thought about having no control over how long I would have to stay restrained. Whenever the position seemed unbearable, I would relieve the discomfort by imagining that Bob and Jim might be enjoying the sight of a caged, bound “slave” through the video monitor. My cock would respond, and I would rock my body from side to side or back and forth to rub the chastity device enclosing my cock and balls against the padded floor of the cage. In spite of the inability to have a full erection, I thought I might be able to cum, and I had become oblivious, intent on achieving it, when I suddenly realized that Bob was crouching at the front of the cage and talking to me. He said he had come down to put me into a more comfortable position, but that since I was enjoying myself so much, he would just let me be. The ball gag made it impossible to protest verbally in an understandable way, although I did my best, but he ignored me and walked away. I tried to stop making noise to hear if he would go back up the stairs, but my breathing was too heavy. I held my breath and waited, but he did not return.

Disgusted with myself for ruining my chance to be released, my cock shrank, I moaned in despair, and I felt tears at the corners of my eyes. I rocked from side to side and banged the restraint against the bars of the cage, but there was no response. After that, time really dragged. I tried to convince myself that I was enduring a worthwhile test, that I was up to the challenge, but it was difficult, and my cock never reawakened. When they finally returned, later in the afternoon, I was very grateful as they opened the cage, removed the iron restraint, and helped me unbend my legs and get out. I had trouble straightening up, and it took several minutes to unstiffen my lower back and legs.

Bob hugged me, praised me for my stamina, said I would make an “excellent slave,” and then worked with Jim to bind my arms behind my back in a leather restraint. I was grateful they were back and that I was the focus of their attention once again. The new restraint covered my arms from wrist to armpit and included straps to fix each wrist to the opposite elbow and join my forearms, one on top of the other, together behind my back. I was aware that Bob tried three or four different ankle restraints on me, including a regular pair of handcuffs that just fit over my ankles and joined them closely. I saw him unlock those and put them in a small, black leather gym bag. Jim checked the padlocks of the chastity device with a set of keys but left the device in place. They left the ball gag/head harness but added a wide posture collar over it around my neck. They led me to the bathroom and had me sit on the toilet to pee through the cock cage. After I finished, urine ran down one leg to my ankle when I stood up, but they ignored it. As they led me to their van, I was allowed to walk (and see) upstairs for the first time. We went through the kitchen to reach the attached garage. In the back of the van, I sat on the floor and they roped my ankles and knees tightly together. By this time I was losing track of which one of them was doing what to me. Bob (I think) pushed me onto my side, drew more rope between my knees as if cinching them with a slipknot perpendicular to the tied rope, but then used it to pull my knees up against my chest by drawing the rope through a D-ring on the posture collar. Jim (I guess) used a similar arrangement to pull my ankles as close to my butt as possible before drawing the connecting rope back to attach it to my forearms, bound behind me. My cock was crushing itself, hard again in the cramped cock cage in response to feeling how closely they were binding me. They told me they wanted me to enjoy the ride back to the city, and then slipped the leather hood (the one I had worn the first night) over my harnessed head and the posture collar. I moaned involuntarily and made futile attempts to squirm around, but I was tied into such a tight ball that I really could not move at all. Bob and Jim made no comments (that I heard) during the drive.

I could sense we were back in the city before the van stopped. Anticipating that I was about to be released, I struggled against the ropes one last time to savor the feeling of being so tightly restrained. They untied me and removed the arm binder, hood, collar, and gag/head harness, but left the chastity device. I put on the clothes I had been in when I met them Friday night, but my jeans would not zip over the cage of the chastity device. Bob gave me sweatpants to wear instead. The last thing I remember sensing before we left the van was the strong odor of my dried sweat on the athletic socks as I pulled them on and then tied my sneakers over them. We went to the bar where we met on Friday. On the way, I noticed that Bob was carrying the gym bag in which I had seen him put the handcuffs he’d tried on my ankles, along with some of the restraints I was wearing during the trip back to the city, and my jeans.

For about a half-hour at the bar, they bought me drinks and some food, and we sat and talked about whether I wanted to “continue my slave training,” as they described it. I felt strange being out of bondage in their presence, and I was struck by how attracted to them I was. I wanted to please them and I wanted their approval. I knew that I needed time to consider what had happened to me over the weekend and what it meant, but I also knew I wanted to be with them again. So, I found myself telling them I wanted to “continue my training,” without caring what it really meant. Bob showed me some paperwork to take with me, including a detailed list of instructions, which he said had information on how to send messages to him by e-mail. He added all of the paper work to the gym bag and gave it to me. He told me I was supposed to meet them back at the bar on the following Friday night at a specific time. Jim explained that the key to the padlocks for the chastity belt was included in the bag. He said the written instructions described when I was supposed to wear the belt during the week. Bob told me to report to them via daily e-mails on my “progress” with following their instructions. Bob pulled me to my feet and hugged me, rubbed his hand over my head, and then pushed me down into a kneeling position on the floor to kiss their boots before they left. Staring after them, I rose to my feet and then sat down again to open the bag and glance quickly at the contents: the posture collar, head harness/gag, leather hood, some other restraints I did not recognize, and two pairs of handcuffs with their keys. I skimmed the written materials. They included some kind of consent form that required a signature and instructions on how to administer self-bondage for each night of the coming week. I felt my cock press against the chastity cage, and I reached down to put my hand over it. I found the part of the instructions that described use of the chastity device. Basically, I was supposed to wear it all the time, except when I was at work. I was not supposed to jerk off unless they granted permission by e-mail. If I did cum, I was to send e-mail to them, describing how it happened and what I was thinking when I lost control. I started rubbing my hand against the sweatpants, to feel the cage imprisoning my cock, and realized that a guy across the bar was watching me. Clutching the sports bag, I got up quickly and left.

Comments

[male gaggedinhose]

Great story bob looking forward to reading the second one,thanks

[Bondagebuddy]

Excellent and extremely exciting story. Very well written. I was hard most of the time while reading it and can't wait to read part two. Congratulations to the author.

Bondagebuddy

[michael]

I downloaded the first episiode from 2000 - I thought a great story and easy to get into the part of the slave.
I was very happy to find the sequels.

By the time Im finished Ill be in a frenzy or a sexual coma.

Great work
warnock

[air jordans]

I hope you all have a blessed day

[Ben]

Great story. I love that a lot. How I wish to be that boy. The story make me hard all the time

[ideabovabiect]

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daarnaast: als kwekers blijven kweken met nog niet op de lijst staande paddo's,en die continu gaan kruizen ed, dan komt er steeds een neiuwe soort, als men (de kweker) hier heel handig in wordt en snel in wordt, is er iedere week wellicht een neiuwe soort, voordat die dan onderzocht is op daadwereklijke psychoactiviteit, duurt weer een poos, zo, eventueel kan de paddo verkoper zich nog redden?lijkt me geen makkie alhoewel.het is natuurlijk absurd om het zo te moeten doen.

[panteleeza]

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