Part 2 of this story originally appeared in the Bound & Gagged online edition, No. 14 June 2000).
2
THE FOLLOWING WEEK
The walk home from the bar was not far and I have little memory of it from that Sunday night, other than an acute awareness of my swollen cock feeling squeezed by the chastity device as the butt plug, shifting slightly with each step, stimulated me. Home alone in my apartment, I immediately removed my clothes to inspect myself in a mirror. The haircut was severe, yet a definite turn-on, and I considered augmenting it by leaving some facial hair when I shaved. At the bridge of my nose, on my forehead, and at the corners of my mouth, faint reddish strapmarks from the head harness were apparent, and I saw rope marks on my ankles. I liked my hairless body and the look of the chastity device, with its small padlocks accentuating the metal-reinforced leather straps around my waist and thighs. I started replaying the weekend in my mind. The fingers of one of my hands rubbed my shaved nipples while the other hand cupped the cage that trapped my hardening cock. I had a strong, urgent need to jerk off. I tested the tightness of the leather straps that held the chastity device in place. The waist strap was thick and about two or three inches wide. Jim and Bob had fitted it high above my hipbones and tight around my waist. There was a small metal band that extended from under the cage almost to the beginning of my ass crack. It included slots through which three leather straps were threaded: one on each side attached to the thigh straps; plus one up the back, over the butt plug, and locked to the waist strap. Should I just remove the whole damned thing and jerk off? I picked up the gym bag to find the instructions Bob and Jim had included and read the following from the section describing use of the chastity device:
REMOVAL OF CHASTITY DEVICE IS NOT PERMITTED PRIOR TO 5 A.M. ON MONDAY MORNING. UNTIL THAT TIME, SLAVE MUST WEAR DEVICE AS FITTED BY MASTERS. NO ADJUSTMENTS FOR COMFORT PERMITTED. SLAVE MUST REINSTALL CHASTITY DEVICE, INCLUDING BUTT PLUG, EACH NIGHT IMMEDIATELY UPON RETURNING HOME FROM WORK AND MUST SLEEP IN IT UNTIL AT LEAST 5 A.M THE NEXT MORNING. SLAVE SHOULD LEARN TO HAVE BOWEL MOVEMENTS UPON REMOVAL OF BELT EACH MORNING. ENEMAS ARE PERMITTED FOR THIS PURPOSE.
There was more information in that section, but I stopped reading to lie on my bed. Was this for real? Should I follow their rules? I was tired of having my cock cooped up in a cage. I wanted to touch it and masturbate. Clenching the butt plug, my rectum felt tender, and I wanted to be able to fart without the effort the large plug required to pass gas around it. In the absence of Bob and Jim to enforce their orders, I had difficulty taking them seriously. On the one hand, I felt like a fool if I adhered to their instructions at the expense of my own personal comfort. On the other hand, I was so horny with the freshness of my total submission to them over the weekend that I was incredibly excited by the idea of continuing with it. My state of indecision prevailed as I cleaned myself up, showered, and had a snack. Eventually, I resumed reading their instructions, and I was fascinated by the elaborate self-bondage they directed me to carry out.
After conducting a practice “dry run” without a hood to ensure that I could release myself, I followed their self-bondage instructions for Sunday night: Sitting on my bed and wearing only the chastity device, I carefully placed the two handcuff keys in specific individual places on my night stand, along with the other restraints I was to use on my bed, where I could find everything by feel. My ankles were already cuffed together, with the handcuffs that Bob had tried on them for size earlier in the day, just before they brought me back to the city. The second pair of cuffs was attached by one cuff around my right wrist, with the other cuff open. I fastened the head harness/ball gag tightly as instructed and then pulled on and laced the nose-holes-only leather hood closed. In total darkness, I felt around on the bed for the posture collar and then buckled it in place firmly around my neck, over the bottom of the hood. With my left hand, I found and picked up a brown leather weight-lifting belt that Bob and Jim had included in the gym bag. The belt was strong, about 3 to 4 inches wide, had a huge metal buckle with two catches, and it was already joined together. I put my arms behind my back and drew both arms through the belt until it circled them at the lower biceps, above the elbows, and the buckle was positioned mid-way between my arms. By straining my arms apart against the belt and bending them at the elbows, I pulled until each forearm was extended against my lower ribs at each side. The doubled belt was flattened beneath my shoulder blades with a loop at each end that confined each arm just above the elbow. I had just enough slack to extend my forearms and press them against my stomach on each side, to reach the front of my waist with my hands and use my right hand to close the open cuff around my left wrist. My arms were held fast at my sides and my wrists were locked together against my stomach, at the level of the waist strap of the chastity belt. My elbows, connected together behind my back by the belt, were also restrained close to my sides, rubbing against the waist strap of the chastity belt. When I was finished my cock was uncomfortably erect and I was aware of breathing heavily with excitement around the ball gag and through the hood. It took a while to calm down and convince myself I should lie in bed as instructed until my radio alarm clock was set to wake me about eight hours later.
I tried to persuade myself that I was comfortable enough to fall asleep. I could lie on my back if I put up with my arms being pulled slightly closer to my sides as my weight compressed the belt. I could lie on my stomach if I put up with crushing my forearms, cuffed hands, and cock cage under me. I could lie on either side and roll easily. The problem was that I was too horny and stimulated by the bondage to sleep. I was used to jacking off at least twice daily, usually once before falling asleep, while I fantasized about bondage. Obsessed by thoughts of the weekend with Jim and Bob, I tossed and turned and my cock did not care that being erect in the cage caused so much discomfort. Lying on my stomach, with much effort it felt like I could press and strain enough against the cock cage to ejaculate, but the pain eventually stopped me short of cumming. Also, I was worried about being able to free myself. Trying to stimulate my cock, I noticed that grinding my crotch against the mattress had inadvertently tightened the handcuffs, because I had not doubled-locked them. When I practiced the bondage earlier without the hood taking away my sight, it had been difficult to maneuver my hands around to handle the key and unlock the cuffs. The belt and cuffs bound my arms and wrists so closely to my body that I could not extend them in any way. All I could do was move my fingers and rotate my hands at the wrists to a limited degree. Without being able to see, I knew it would be even more difficult to release myself than when I had practiced earlier, especially with the tighter fit of the cuffs.
After what I suppose was several sleepless hours, the self-imposed situation became too frustrating to endure. During the weekend with Bob and Jim, they had been successful in creating a mind set that I had no choice but to follow their orders, and the bondage had been totally inescapable. Bound in bed at my own hands, the contrast struck me and I berated myself for being so horny and stupidly following their instructions. I sat up in bed and awkwardly moved over until I was sitting at the edge with my cuffed feet on the floor and my stomach as close to the nightstand as possible. I felt around with the fingers of my right hand and found one of the keys. I realized that I could not remember how to distinguish the two keys (one for ankles, the other for wrists) and that I did not know whether I had locked the wrist cuffs with the release on the upper or lower side. I had to strain hard against the belt behind my back that held my elbows close to my sides, to pull my wrists toward each other and gain enough freedom to move them and explore the surface of the cuffs to find the release. Finally, I located one of them on the left cuff and floundered with the key for a long time before deciding that I needed the other key instead. I struggled against the restraints as I felt around blindly on the nightstand for the other key. I could not find it. My heart started racing, adrenaline kicked in, my fingers became nervous and jerky, and I thought that through the hood I heard the sound that a metal key would make if it fell on the floor. I panicked, stood up, and started flailing against the restraints. I think I shouted muffled curses through the ball gag and hood. I contracted my arms forcefully against the belt, to try to gain slack in any possible way: forward, back, up, down, from side to side. There was no usable freedom in any direction. I could make the belt move down slightly by pulling my arms back and compressing my cuffed wrists against my stomach, but the shift in position increased the constriction rather than relieving it. The handcuffs on my wrists were much more restrictive than when I had practiced releasing myself earlier. It was clear that Bob and Jim had devised an ingenious form of self-bondage for me. I was fucked. Unless I could release one of my wrists from its cuff, my arms and wrists were trapped and useless. In the dark panic and struggle, I tipped forward, almost fell, and quickly starting shuffling my bound feet to regain my balance.
I tried to calm down and slowly lowered myself to the floor with my back leaning against the bed. I bent my knees and pulled my ankles up, leaned forward, straining against the posture collar, and tried to touch the handcuffs on my ankles. By leaning and struggling, I made my fingertips graze the back of the ankle cuffs, but I could not reach the release, and I realized I had lost track of the first key anyway. I could do nothing without the key to the wrist cuffs. Everything I had used to bind myself was out of my reach. To see where the key had fallen, I needed to remove the hood, which was not possible without freeing my hands. The strong belt binding my arms and its buckle were inaccessible to my hands. At that moment, the drool from my mouth over the ball gag and my chin, the compression of my face from the hood, the restrictive posture collar, the weight belt holding my arms immobile, the cuffs on my wrists and ankles, all became unbearable. I slipped onto my side on the floor and squirmed around in panic and despair.
An unknown amount of time passed before I regained control of my thoughts. I had to concentrate on finding the key. I visualized the nightstand in my mind and likely places where the key could have landed. I turned my body to one side and attempted to search the floor with one hand. Because my wrists were joined together and held fixed against my stomach, the surface area I could feel on the floor was very limited. I decided to lie on my back and use my feet instead. With my knees bent, I set my feet flat on the floor and slowly moved them around. I used my toes to try to sense objects. I covered the area within reach of my legs, held together at the ankles by the cuffs, and then would slide on my back to move to another area. I pushed the nightstand a few inches in one direction with my feet and rubbed them over what I thought was the newly exposed area. Moving them along the bed, my feet inspected the limited area under the bed that they could reach.
The search continued for a long time with no result. Lying on my back compressed the belt and eventually started to cut off circulation in my arms. I turned on my side, into the fetal position, to mitigate the pressure on my arms, and considered other options. I could get to a phone and press keys to dial, but I would only be able to make muffled sounds through the gag and hood. The keys to my apartment were in a high bureau drawer. If I could get to them, maybe using a chair, I could probably maneuver myself out of my apartment into the hallway and seek attention from a neighbor, but my desperation was not enough to accept the humiliation of being seen in such an embarrassing and perverted predicament. I felt exhausted and lost my focus.
Not until I heard my radio alarm stop playing did I realize I had fallen asleep and that the music had been going for some time. Disorientation gave way to discomfort. Over the weekend, wearing the ball gag for extended periods, I had learned that I could swallow occasionally while ball-gagged with much effort. I tried to duplicate that effort and choked on the dryness of my mouth. My throat was sore and my nose very itchy. I rubbed my head against the floor and wished the hood would come off. Following their instructions the night before, I had buckled the head harness very closely, tightened the hood laces to stretch the leather taut over my face and head, and sealed off access to the interlacing when I fastened the wide posture collar around my neck. Spending all night like that had given me a bad headache. My hands tingled when I moved them and flexed against the cuffs. My shoulders and elbows hurt. My cock insisted on attempting a morning erection in its cage.
I rolled onto my back to resume my search for the key and continued exploring the floor with my feet. More time passed. I heard my phone ring and the answering machine pick up, but the hood prevented me from recognizing the voice leaving a message. I needed to piss. The door to the bathroom was not far from the nightstand beside my bed. I sat up and tried to feel the entrance with my feet as I shifted across the floor on my butt. I found the wall and bathroom door. Then, with one foot, I tread on what felt like a cold metal key just inside the entrance on the bathroom floor. I leaned carefully over until I was lying on my side and could touch the floor with my right hand.
It took several anxious minutes of squirming around to locate and grasp the key, and several more to fit it into the release on the left cuff. It clicked open and I got my left hand free. No longer joined at the wrists, I pulled my arms behind my back and the weight belt came off. In a frenzy, I tore at the collar, removed it, then the hood and harness/gag. Breathing deeply, I removed the cuff from my right hand, worked my jaw and tried to swallow, and blinked my eyes into focus. It was almost 11:30 am. On the bed, I found the other key, removed the ankle cuffs, and retrieved the gym bag Bob and Jim had given me. With agitated, fumbling movements, I unlocked the padlocks on the chastity belt and pulled the whole contraption over my hips and down until all the straps hung from the cock cage. I used the hex key wrench to open the cage and then tried unsuccessfully to work my swollen balls and cock out the back of the cage, through the cockring-like metal device encircling them. I gave up and sat on the bedroom floor. I pulled at my sore cock until it exploded across the floor. I lay there in a stupor for a while, until the urge to urinate returned. Finally, I was able to extract my shrinking cock and balls from the cage device.
In the bathroom, I removed the butt plug and pissed. Then I got the phone and called out sick from work. I spent most of the afternoon eating, sleeping and masturbating intermittently, furiously, and eventually lost track of the number of times I came. I knew the slave instructions from Bob and Jim prohibited jerking off, but, intentionally, I decided not to look at them. I did not want to know the details. Late in the afternoon, I visited my gym, where my workout was dominated by sporadic erections and thoughts of the weekend and my overnight predicament. In retrospect, the idea of being trapped temporarily in self-bondage devised by Jim and Bob made my cock painfully hard.
Unwilling to expose my shaved body and hard cock at the gym, I had to return home for a shower. When I was finished showering, I realized that it was around the time I would normally arrive home from work, and that if I were following their instructions, I would be re-installing the chastity belt. Naked and stroking my cock with one hand, I sat in my reading chair and reviewed more of the instructions:
SLAVE IS NOT PERMITTED TO TOUCH COCK EXCEPT TO (1) WASH IT WHEN SLAVE SHOWERS EACH MORNING, (2) AIM IT AT URINAL WHEN SLAVE PISSES AT WORK DURING DAY, AND (3) FIT IT INTO AND REMOVE IT FROM CHASTITY CAGE. AT HOME, SLAVE MUST URINATE BY SITTING ON TOILET WITHOUT TOUCHING COCK. SEE INSTRUCTIONS ABOVE REGARDING USE OF CHASTITY DEVICE. SLAVE’S COCK MUST REMAIN CAGED AS INSTRUCTED ABOVE. EXCEPTIONS TO THESE THREE RULES MAY ONLY BE MADE IF MASTERS GRANT PERMISSION.
I walked into my bedroom, retrieved the chastity belt, and attempted to insert my cock and balls through the ring of the cage, but my erection made it impossible to accomplish. I put it aside, sat on the bed, and rubbed my cock. I could not believe that I wanted to jerk off again. I went back to the lounge chair in the other room and read more:
INTENTIONAL JERKING OFF IS PROHIBITED AND VIOLATION OF THIS RULE MAY CONSTITUTE GROUNDS FOR TERMINATION OF TRAINING. IF SLAVE CUMS INADVERTENTLY, SLAVE MUST E-MAIL MASTERS ASAP TO EXPLAIN CIRCUMSTANCES AND APOLOGIZE FOR LOSS OF CONTROL.
A feeling of dismay came over me. My first thoughts were that I had already violated this rule more times than I could remember and therefore “failed” my training. Then I started doubting that I was supposed to follow all the instructions. Who would seriously do that? What was there to be afraid of? This was just a sexual game, right? I was uncertain about what to do. Was the “game” over because I had violated the “no jerking off” rule? Should I tell them I had disobeyed? Did I want to continue trying to follow my “instructions” for the week? I dressed quickly and left to meet a friend for dinner. During the meal he told me I seemed distracted. I was.
Back in my apartment after dinner, I was horny, but not uncontrollably. I considered jerking off. Instead, I sat at my computer, rubbing my crotch, and began writing an e-mail to Bob and Jim. I started with a sentence asking to be forgiven for jerking off on purpose. I was surprised at how much just writing that sentence excited me, and I rubbed my crotch harder. I explained that had I erred in not fully reviewing the instructions when I returned home Sunday night. I described in detail how I became trapped in the self-bondage for more than 12 hours and had to call out sick from work; how my cock ached from being stuffed in the chastity cage for so long; how, once I removed the chastity device, I masturbated repeatedly through the afternoon. I told them I had not realized that jerking off constituted such a serious violation of the rules. I explained that my erect cock would not fit through the entrance to the chastity cage. I asked them not to terminate my training. I said that I was starting to realize they were right, I was a true slave, and I wanted an opportunity to prove it to them by continuing my training and serving them.
By the time I finished the e-mail, I had opened my pants and was pumping my cock. After I clicked on the “Send” button, I lost control. I thought my cum would be practically non-existent, all used up, but the build-up all evening must have had an effect, because it spurted up over the keyboard. I immediately regretted sending the e-mail. I wished I could delete it, but their e-mail address was connected with a different Internet service than I used. I could not retract it.
Finally, my horniness satisfied, I went to bed free of bondage, in both the literal and figurative senses. Feeling as though I had had enough bondage to gratify my greedy cock for the rest of its life, I did not review the self-bondage instructions for that night. I slept soundly, and woke up very late. Fleeting thoughts of Bob and Jim and their instructions were pushed aside by rushing to get ready and make it to work. Before leaving my apartment, I looked at my computer for a moment, but decided against turning it on and logging in to see if they had responded to my message. I left for work, seemingly unchanged by the last three days, except for a new haircut.
But, I was not unchanged. Work on Tuesday would have been routine, writing computer code as usual, except that, soon after I arrived, I became obsessed by thoughts of Bob and Jim. I started to regret that I had not followed their instructions for Monday night. I considered all of the disobeyed rules: I had jerked off again, even as I wrote to them and asked to be forgiven for previous violations! I completely forgot I was not allowed to touch my cock. I had not even tried to re-install the chastity belt when my dick finally softened. I had not looked at the self-bondage plan for Monday night, let alone carried it out. Within an hour of arriving at work, I ended up in the restroom, masturbating to get relief. It cleared my mind, but only temporarily. Throughout the day, I visited the restroom four times to get rid of my erection, my thoughts about the previous weekend, and my fantasies about future weekends. I was slow in getting work on my programs done. My horniness subsided late in the afternoon, and I stayed late and then went to the gym on my way home. Mid-way through my workout, I could barely contain my miraculously restored erection. I wanted to get home and check my e-mail!
At home soon after, rubbing my forbidden cock through my workout clothes, I logged on anxiously. Bob and Jim’s response filled my computer screen with capital letters. I started reading and rubbing my cock more frantically:
SLAVE, WE HAVE HARDONS FROM READING ABOUT HOW YOU BECAME TRAPPED IN SELF-BONDAGE. TOO BAD, SINCE YOU MISSED WORK ANYWAY, THAT YOU ESCAPED SO EARLY IN THE DAY. WE LOVE THE IDEA OF YOU BOUND, HOODED, GAGGED, TRAPPED ALONE IN YOUR APARTMENT, SO TIGHTLY RESTRAINED THAT ONLY YOUR TOES CAN BE USED TO BLINDLY SEARCH EVERY INCH OF THE FLOOR FOR THE KEY TO RELEASE YOURSELF.
FOR YOUR SAFETY AND OUR CONTROL, ANY FUTURE SELF-BONDAGE SESSIONS UNDER OUR DIRECTION WILL BE MONITORED—MORE ON THIS LATER, IF APPROPRIATE.
WHILE YOUR EXISTENCE AS OUR SLAVE IS ENTIRELY DEPENDENT ON ABSOLUTE OBEDIENCE AND ADHERENCE TO OUR COMMANDS, WE MUST NEVER FORGET THAT SEXUAL SLAVERY IS A VOLUNTARY THING. OBVIOUSLY, SUCH A LIFESTYLE IS NOT FOR EVERYONE. PERHAPS IT IS NOT FOR YOU. WHILE WE WOULD LIKE TO KEEP YOU TIGHTLY BOUND AND GAGGED ON A FULL-TIME, 24/7 BASIS...
Pressing my palm hard into my crotch against my erect cock, I was too excited to continue, and I ejaculated into my jock strap. I zoned out for a bit, in disbelief that merely reading a message from them would cause such a reaction. Shortly, I continued reading:
...WHILE WE WOULD LIKE TO KEEP YOU TIGHTLY BOUND AND GAGGED ON A FULL-TIME, 24/7 BASIS, SO THAT YOU HAVE NO CHOICE (AND, AS OUR FULL-TIME SLAVE, YOU WOULD BE IN BONDAGE MUCH OF THE TIME), IN REALITY THIS IS NOT POSSIBLE. THEREFORE, YOU NEED TO LEARN TO OBEY US WITHOUT QUESTION EVEN IN SITUATIONS WHERE YOU HAVE FREEDOM OF ACTION. WE REALIZE YOU ARE IN A LEARNING PERIOD, BUT THE INSTRUCTIONS REGARDING YOUR SLAVECOCK WERE EXTREMELY CLEAR. YOU HAVE DELIBERATELY DISOBEYED US, AND WE ARE DISPLEASED. YOUR TRAINING IS HEREBY SUSPENDED FOR THE REST OF THE WEEK. USE THIS TIME TO THINK ABOUT WHAT IT MEANS TO OBEY OUR COMMANDS AND TO CONSIDER WHETHER YOU REALLY WANT TO BE TRAINED AS OUR SLAVE. WE WILL ALSO USE THE TIME TO REFLECT ON WHETHER CONTINUING YOUR TRAINING IS WORTH IT FOR US. WE WILL NOTIFY YOU OF OUR DECISION FRIDAY EVENING. TO BE CONSIDERED FOR FURTHER TRAINING, YOU MUST BE HOME BY 6 P.M. ON FRIDAY.
I logged off. I was drained by my ejaculation. Also, I was disappointed, but my mind would not articulate why. The night progressed, and I tried to make it normal by doing errands, watching television, talking on the phone, and washing laundry, but I felt empty and sad. Now that I was allowed to touch it, my cock seemed dead. I went to bed and slept poorly at first. Sometime after midnight, I woke up in the midst of a vivid sex dream, in which I had been hog-tied by Bob. In the dream, I was lying in bed, face down, with each wrist roped to the ankle of the same side but not to each other. My arms and legs were splayed open as Bob held them down and fucked me. I tried to go back to sleep. I wanted to go back into the dream, but my cock was painfully hard. I had to make it go down, it was so uncomfortable, and it seemed to take forever for it to cum. I pulled hard, using increasing friction, until it gave in, and then I fell into an exhausted sleep.
The ensuing three days at work were similar to Tuesday, in that I had to jerk off in the men's room multiple times to clear my mind. The pattern became apparent to me: I wanted to be their slave when I was horny, and I was horny most of time. When I succeeded in overcoming my horniness, after breathlessly, silently, squeezing out all the semen I could extract in several rounds of pumping my overworked cock quietly in the restroom, then, finally, my interest in a Master-slave relationship with Bob and Jim would dissipate, at least for a while. At the gym, I could barely contain my erections. At home, I caressed my nipples and rubbed my dick almost incessantly as my mind reviewed the previous weekend over and over. On Thursday night, I canceled plans with a guy I had dated a few times. Instead of the date, I stayed home to browse the Internet for information on bondage and slavery and to jack off. I looked in the gym bag they had given me, reviewed the self-bondage instructions and handled the restraints, and then masturbated repeatedly. My dick became red and irritated and my right arm tired. My cum became scant, to the point that I had dry orgasms. I thought about the details of the previous weekend and replayed them: the bondage and the images of myself in the mirrors in their basement; how they had taunted and controlled me; their notion that I should be kept bound and gagged as their slave, ignored and left in tight restraints in a cage until they wanted to use me; the way I had serviced them without question; the denial of access to my own dick.
By Friday afternoon, I was in a state of mental anguish. The day had passed slowly, but eventually I finished my work and left. I entered my apartment around 5:30 p.m. that evening in a state of indecision, carrying a small, curious package I found, along with an unassembled cardboard carton, both left at my door. After removing the outer wrapping on the package, I saw a handwritten note, written in large letters using black magic marker, on the small, sealed box, on which was also written an address unfamiliar to me:
CHECK E-MAIL BEFORE OPENING
There was also what looked like an address and telephone number written on the box. I put it on my desk next to the computer. The system was slow and it took several attempts to connect. I had one new message, and I knew before opening it where it was from.
HERE ARE YOUR OPTIONS. THEY ARE MUTUALLY EXCLUSIVE:
YOUR TRAINING IS TERMINATED. ASSEMBLE THE CARTON, PACK UP ALL OF OUR GEAR, INCLUDING THE UNOPENED BOX, AND LEAVE THE CARTON OUTSIDE YOUR DOOR.
- OR –
SIGN OFF AND OPEN THE SMALL BOX IMMEDIATELY. YOUR TRAINING RESUMES AS YOU OPEN IT. SIMPLE INSTRUCTIONS ARE INCLUDED. YOU MUST FOLLOW THEM ABOSULTELY, TO THE LETTER, WITHOUT QUESTION.
I signed off and shut down my computer. I stared at the small package and marveled at myself, in disbelief, that looking at a box could make my dick swell. I opened it slowly and started reading:
SLAVE, LOOK AT THE TIME. YOU HAVE UNTIL 7:00 P.M. TO GET YOUR COCK AND BALLS INTO THIS NEW CHASTITY DEVICE. AFTER YOU HAVE CLOSED AND PADLOCKED THE DEVICE, TELEPHONE THE NUMBER WRITTEN ON THE BOX AND IDENTIFY YOURSELF AS OUR SLAVE. IF YOU TELEPHONE TOO LATE, YOUR TRAINING IS TERMINATED.
Besides their instructions and the device, there were also instructions showing how to install it, an Allen wrench, and a padlock. I got undressed and started to work on getting my dick into it. It was complex and I had difficulty, because my dick insisted on becoming erect. I was tempted to jerk off, but I knew if I did that, I would temporarily lose interest, maybe not go through with it, and then have regrets when my horniness returned. I resisted the urge and concentrated on the clinical aspects of getting my cock and balls inside.
The device was a pod-shaped, hinged metal sphere. It opened into two halves, connected by a hinge. The bottom half had a small, cock-ring-sized hole in it, and the first step was like putting on a cock ring. I struggled to work my cock and balls through the hole. Eventually, I fit them through and pulled them into that half of the pod, which they filled. The top half of the pod had no opening and hung from its hinge below my balls. A narrow leather band was riveted on the bottom half, clearly intended to wrap around the cock and balls and hold them in place by means of a velcro closure. Despite my swelling cock, the band did its job. The next step was to swivel the top half up—quickly, since I was getting harder fast—and seal the pod closed. This was tough because my balls were swollen and spilled over outside, preventing the edges from meeting. Holding the pod together, I got a credit card from my wallet and used it around the circumference, where the edges pinched me painfully, to push the skin of my balls inside. I had to try to focus on non-sexual thoughts to get my swollen cock to go down, and though I feared for a moment that that would never happen, all at once it softened for an instant, enough time for the pod to close fast with a light metallic sound over my cock and balls.
Hinged at the bottom, the pod had an interlocking tube device on top, which fastened using an Allen Wrench (included in the package) on an internal screw. I turned the Allen wrench until the screw stopped moving. That was when I noticed a pea-sized hole at the bottom, to piss through.
I pulled at the pod, to test whether I could dislodge it. Not being able to get inside to maneuver my cock and balls apart would make it impossible to get off. Inside the top part of the pod, there was a curved metal band that closed down over the genitals. It increased the constriction just a bit and ensured that there was no way I could touch myself.
The last step was to slip a padlock through a hole on the side of the top tube, where the Allen wrench would enter, to ensure the pod could not be opened by anyone who didn’t have the key. I paused to examine the padlock and look for its key just as I noticed that I had used almost all the time I had available. There was no key, and I had no time left to think about the implications of that. I had a rush of adrenaline, felt my face flush and my cock stab the pod, as I inserted the padlock and snapped it shut. I could feel my cock and balls, as they filled with blood, trying to pull up against the bottom part of the leather band inside the pod, which felt snug, heavy, and a little uncomfortable as my cock and balls enlarged and encountered the unyielding metal. The pod protruded less than the cock cage had when I wore the other chastity device, and, not surprisingly, it seemed to compress and seal off my cock and balls more than the cage had.
It was exactly 7:00 as I dialed the phone number. An unfamiliar male voice said hello. I hesitated, and then said, “This is Jim and Bob’s slave.”
“My name is Master Tom, I’m a colleague of your Masters. Is the chastity pod on?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Padlock in place?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Good. I take it you have a spare key to your apartment?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Bring it to me. My address is on the box, I live quite close. The walk should take you approximately 20 minutes, I’ll expect you at 7:30 sharp.” He gave me a few quick directions, then hung up.
I pulled on sweatpants, grabbed a T-shirt, put on my sneaks, found my spare key, and ran out the door. In a daze, I had already gone about three blocks before I realized I had left Master Tom’s address behind, and had to return to my apartment for it. On my way again, I started running, in a panic that I might get lost. I was embarrassingly aware of the heaviness between my legs, bobbing against the sweats as I ran. It felt nice and snug, but I was sure that every passer-by on the street was staring at my crotch.
Master Tom opened the door to his elegant town house himself, “You’re late, boy, you kept me waiting,” he said, as he admitted me inside.
I was perspiring and breathless. “Sorry, Sir. I’m new in town and wasn’t sure of my way. I’m very sorry, Sir.”
“Sorry, even ‘very’ sorry, doesn’t cut it, boy. ‘You’re late’ is a statement of fact, to be acknowledged by, if anything, ‘Yes, Sir.’ ”
“Yes, Sir,” I murmured.
He was wearing a leather shirt, leather pants and engineer boots. He was older than Bob and Jim and not someone I would previously have considered attractive. However, he exuded a sense of absolute authority, which made me realize that Bob and Jim had awakened in me a desire to be submissive to dominant men.
“Never keep me waiting again. Where’s the key?”
I reached in my pocket and placed the spare key to my apartment in his open hand.
“Drop your pants.”
I did so. He inspected the chastity device, pulled at the padlock to check that it was truly locked, then stood back and snapped his fingers. I looked around, expecting someone to come into the room, but no one did. He snapped his fingers again.
“When I snap my fingers you drop to your knees, boy.”
He snapped his fingers a third time, and I sank to my knees.
“Bow your head. Put your hands behind your back. Always keep your head down and your hands behind your back in a Master’s presence unless he tells you otherwise.”
I bowed my head. He snapped his fingers again. I knew he expected something, but had no idea what.
“Eyes down, boy. When you’re on your knees and a Master snaps his fingers, you kiss his boots.” He snapped his fingers and I lowered my lips to touch a boot he thrust forward.
“When you’re kissing a Master’s boot and he snaps his fingers, you stick your tongue out as far as it can go and start licking that boot, boy.”
He snapped a finger and I started to lick for all I was worth.
“Stick your butt in the air, boy. Higher. As high as you can. Higher.”
A hard hand came down sharply on my ass.
“Nice butt, boy. I could find myself tempted to keep you here tonight, but your Masters may have other plans for you. Get up, boy, pull up your pants, go home and read your e-mail.”
I walked home slowly, doubting my sanity once again, this time for having given the key to my apartment to a total stranger, even if I had liked him. I wondered whether I was still supposed to meet Jim and Bob at the bar, as had been originally planned before I disobeyed them.
I bought a sandwich on my way home and began eating it as I brought up the newest message on my computer from Bob and Jim:
SLAVE, DO NOT COME TO THE BAR TONIGHT. YOU NEED MORE OBEDIENCE TRAINING TO EARN THE PRIVILEGE OF SPENDING TIME WITH US. INSERT YOUR BUTT PLUG AND THEN FOLLOW THE WEDNESDAY NIGHT SELF-BONDAGE INSTRUCTIONS. MAKE SURE YOUR APARTMENT DOOR IS LOCKED BUT ACCESSIBLE WITH THE KEY YOU GAVE MASTER TOM.
Signing off, I had mixed feelings. I felt better about having given my key to “Master Tom.” It all made sense. Bob and Jim wanted to ensure that I was safe. Master Tom would be a back-up if I got stuck in self-bondage. On the other hand, I was disappointed that I would not be seeing Bob and Jim. How many nights alone, in self-bondage, would I have to endure before being permitted to be with them again? My cock and balls swelled against the metal enclosure, and I knew it was in response to the anticipation of sleeping in bondage.
Suddenly, I was anxious to get myself into whatever my Masters had devised for me. First, I sat on the toilet and pissed, a new and slightly messy but not unpleasant experience with the restriction and drainage through the chastity device. It was strange not being able to touch and direct my cock. My piss welled up around my genitals before draining through the hole in the pod, which was not aligned exactly with my pisshole. Urine continued to drip from it well after I thought I was finished. I shook out as much urine as I could, and after cleaning up the few drops of piss that leaked onto the floor when I stood, I lubricated my ass and inserted the butt plug. That caused as much of an erection as the pod would allow, which felt unpleasant, but not excruciating. There was very little room for a hard cock and absolutely no access to my cock and balls. I had a moment of acute frustration while I thought that I probably would never be able to cum while wearing it. Obviously, Bob and Jim had the unique key to the padlock. The uncertainty of when I would see them again started to have a different meaning. It was true that at any point I could go to a hardware store and buy a bolt cutter to cut the padlock off, but such an act of disobedience would never be tolerated, it would mean the end of any chance of our Master-slave relationship.
The gym bag contained two items with which I had not played during the week, and the self-bondage I was supposed to follow involved them: a rubber hood with a gag inside it and a rubber sleepsack. It looked like the sleepsack had never been used; inside it, I found a piece of paper containing a small promotional piece: “You can use it by yourself with a little extra effort. Made from 20-gauge latex, you stretch the neck open and slide yourself in. It closes back tightly around you. No zipper or other holes makes this sleepsack a waterproof enclosure. It can be so stimulating once you're inside, you may cum before you want to. No inner sleeves, so your arms can move all over. Squirm, stretch, bend and struggle. It won't break and you can wear yourself out. Safe play, because you can escape when you finally need to, but you will have to work to get free, and you may not want to get out!” I wanted to rub my dick just reading the description. I knew I would not be cumming in the sleepsack, not as long as my dick was cramped inside the metal pod. I anticipated the perspiration it would cause by drinking a large glass of water before I put myself into it.
Some time later, I woke up in my bed in a state of confusion. My reflexes took over for an instant, and I found myself fighting to move my arms and legs and to breathe before I realized why I felt so constrained. I was surprised that I had fallen asleep and wondered how much time had passed. The hood was very severe. I could breathe solely through the only openings it had, small nose holes. An attached, large rubber gag filled my mouth. Viewing it as a challenge, I had liked the hood a lot when I first put it on. An unknown time later, lying there on my side after waking up in it, I realized how claustrophobic it made me feel. It was going to be difficult to remain in bed, encased in rubber, at my own volition. I could feel my cock trying to penetrate the metal pod, and it hurt. Either my bladder was full, or the butt plug felt like it had enlarged. I wanted to cum or piss, I wasn’t sure which.
I rolled carefully from my back onto my stomach to hump the bed but stopped quickly when the pain in my cock increased. It was at that point that I sensed (actually smelled) the presence of someone else in my bedroom. Frightened and on the verge of panic, I started squirming, moving around randomly in the bed, and grunting as much as the gag allowed. My arms were at my sides, my hands at thigh level, and I began to move them up within the sleepsack and to pull down on the rubber encasing me. Initially, I resisted when I felt my arms being pushed down, but then stopped when I heard a loud command in an unrecognizable voice, “Stop that.” The increasing pressure around my arms at the level of my elbows forced them closer to my body, and I realized some bindings (rope? straps?) were being tightened around them. The pressure stopped with my arms flattened against my sides and held fast. At the same time, I felt something being tightened around my ankles and a wide collar being buckled closed as I was forced to raise my chin. The simultaneous addition of what I decided were straps and the collar suggested that more than one other person was present. That was proven when I felt myself being lifted off the bed and set down on the floor. I lay still and tried to listen to what was happening next, but I could hear nothing except the sounds of my heart pounding and my breathing through the nostril holes in the hood.
Several minutes passed before a vision appeared in my mind: Bob and Jim, comfortably resting in my bed, with me, their slave, lying on the floor next to them, encased in rubber, bound and gagged. More time passed, giving me a chance to consider that scenario. I liked it. I began to relax, and I could feel my cock push against the pod in response to the idea that they might be in my bed. Lying on my back, I remained still on the floor for what seemed like at least an hour, but nothing happened. I could no longer sense the presence of anyone else. I could not determine the amount of time I had spent sleeping, and that made it impossible to figure out how long I had been in the sleepsack. There were signs that much time had passed: I could feel heavy, accumulated perspiration against the rubber; my arms and legs were restless and needed a change in position; I was thirsty; I needed to piss. How long?
Periodically holding my breath, I kept straining to stay absolutely still and quiet. I wanted to hear or feel something, wanted to somehow sense anything that would reassure me that they were in my apartment. I could hear no sound. Eventually, so much time seemed to pass that I started to have doubts. Had they left my apartment? Was I alone? Was it even Bob and Jim who had been there? I shifted carefully on to one side and felt the constriction of the straps that had been added outside the sleepsack. I squirmed, tried to stretch, inadvertently turned over onto my stomach, and moaned loudly through the gag. I tried to call them quietly, “thirs?” No response. “hees?” I waited, but nothing happened. Would they really leave me? Maybe it had not been Bob and Jim. Was it Master Tom, and if so, who was he with? Were they still in my apartment? What was I supposed to do?
Attempting to be more comfortable, I turned back onto my right side. The collar kept my head upright, but I could rest it on the floor by leaning my chest forward. I would just have to wait it out. I tried to calm down. I tried to convince myself that not as much time had passed as I imagined and that I wasn’t that uncomfortable. The hood wasn’t all that terrible, I told myself. More time passed. Eventually, I couldn’t hold back anymore, and gave in to the discomfort caused by my full bladder. I felt the warm piss slowly spread over the bottom of my crotch, my thighs, and onto my hands. I thought I could smell the acrid urine, but I wasn’t sure of my senses anymore. I liked the rubber sleepsack, but being encased in it for so long that it became a container for my sweat and piss to coat my body had never been something I imagined. Suddenly, I thought I heard the faint sound of music filter through the hood, but I wasn’t sure. Was it from my radio alarm clock? Around 10:00 the night before, I had set the alarm for 10 hours later. Bob and Jim’s instructions had required eight hours in the sleepsack, but my anticipation of slithering into it had made me so excited, I had decided to add two extra hours. Hearing the music could mean it was at least 8:00 a.m.
Gradually, over an uncertain period that probably lasted just a few minutes after I thought I heard the music, I started to panic. I couldn’t control my thoughts any longer and surrendered to what I thought was the frightening reality that I had been left alone. I shifted around on the floor, tried to sit up and move my arms, and started moaning loudly. To my great relief, I felt hands on my shoulders and heard the words, “No you don’t, not yet. You’d better calm down.” A hand ran up and down my body soothingly, and ultimately I did grow calm. But no sooner had I done so than I was flipped over onto my belly and the person, whoever it was (I didn’t know the voice) sat on my back.
He fitted something over my head and I sensed fastenings and buckles being worked into place over the rubber hood. Then he lifted himself off me, and bent my legs back at the knees as far as the sleepsack would allow. A moment later, my head was forced back. Some sort of binding connected the top of my head with my ankles.
The voice said, "Try to move now." When I tried to straighten my legs, my head was pulled back, when I tried to rest my chin on the floor, my legs were pulled forward.
The voice said, "Don’t worry, I won't leave you alone. I'll be right here," and a hand carressed my ass.
I had no idea to whom the voice belonged, but I didn't care. I was just glad that I was not alone, and didn’t even mind, for a while, that I had been forced into such an uncomfortable, bowed back position.
I remained as still as possible and concentrated on my breathing, but it was difficult to adjust to the increased restraint of the head harness over the rubber hood, combining with the effect of the mouth-filling rubber gag. The straps that had been placed over the sleepsack seemed to have become tighter. I had trouble imagining I could endure the position for long. After a few minutes, in a reflexive movement, I forgot my ankles were connected to the harness and unintentionally pulled my head back with a hard jerk. I started snorting through my nose and grunting around the gag and through the hood.
Almost immediately, I felt the harness being unfastened and removed. My legs straightened, a wonderful feeling, and I was rolled onto my back. Hands fiddled with the collar at my neck and then the rubber hood was peeled off my sweaty face, the gag was extracted from my mouth. Sweat stung my eyes, which I kept tightly shut.
My captor wiped my face with a towel and when I opened my eyes, in the dimness of the early morning light filtering through the shades over my bedroom windows, I found myself looking into the dark eyes of a totally naked stranger who was squatting beside me.
"Okay, I’ll take off the hood. But you’re staying in that sack at least three more hours.”
He was about my age, maybe a year or two older, and very handsome, with dark, thick, short-cropped hair. His cock dangled near my face; it was a nice cock, large, and semi-erect, accentuated by the wide, black leather straps of a cock and ball harness. In the faint light, his skin looked olive, or very tan.
He raised himself up and swiveled around, looking for something. There were red streaks on his buttocks.
He was kneeling beside me again, with a thick gray sock in one hand and a roll of duct tape in the other. As he rolled up the sock I noticed he had a prominent tattoo of an eagle on one biceps.
“I don’t know who you are,” I said.
““My name is Mike,” he said with a smile. “I belong to Master Tom.” He straddled my chest. “You’re a boy who needs to be gagged,” he said. “Open wide.”
I was suddenly very embarrassed. He seemed so attractive and cool. His body was perfect. His voice was sexy. He looked so clean and appealing. In contrast, I imagined that I looked like a sweat-drenched rubber bondage freak and wondered if he could smell the sweat and piss in the sleepsack.
He inserted the sock slowly, deliberately filling my mouth and eventually getting the whole sock inside before clamping my mouth closed around it and wrapping my lower jaw with tape, from right beneath my nose to underneath my chin. I sensed a locker room odor, and my self-consciousness increased as I realized and hoped I was probably smelling and tasting his own dirty sock. He was silent and intent on his work as he pulled and layered the tape to seal my mouth.
He was rough, and I got the impression he was relatively inexperienced. Long after my mouth had been totally sealed shut he continued tightly wrapping the tape. I inadvertently groaned as he finished. He smiled down at me, shifted his position slightly, and started rubbing his cock and balls over my nose, eyes, and taped mouth. Powerless and overwhelmed, unable to see or smell anything but his genitals, I blinked my eyes and inhaled his odor through my nose. He shifted forward, burying my face in his buttocks and pressing the crack of his ass over my nose.
The aroma was musty but clean and I could feel the stubble of shaved hair against my nose and cheeks. He shifted back, his cock, more erect now, came back into view, and he used his hand to grab it and slap my face with it a few times. Then he straightened up and said, “You’re pretty much mine for the weekend, you know. And I think I’m going to have a very good time.”
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