Nine Circles (M/M) - *COMPLETE*

[blackbound]

Part of me hopes that these VIPs exit via the guillotine room, cut down to size. Not a very sustainable business model, I guess.

[Straitjacketed]

Nine Circles - part 13

(Co-written with [mention]DeeperThanRed[/mention])

Richard:
“I am - but why don’t you still make me?”

"Oh-ho!" I exclaim, surprised and impressed. Hands bound behind, cock in chastity, nipples rubbed raw, and you still want to fight me!

I flash back to upstairs and perceiving you as True Neutral. Hard to believe when you’re manifesting Big Chaotic Energy right here!

I sink into my own preferred wrestling stance, a lowered level of crouch with waist and knees bent, the latter close to the ground. My elbows are tucked in, right leg leading for what I hope will be a slide and basic penetration shot.

Not my usual wrestling costume, for sure, but at least the relative bagginess at the tops of my breeches allows for movement. If I'd worn tight leather jeans, I'd be in a lot more trouble.

"Bring it on, then, boy."

My plan is to get low and close, sliding in so my head is to the side of your hip, evading your defences enough to grasp you around the waist. I'm not going to attempt any kind of takedown (I don't want to risk cracking the back of your - or my - head on the floor) but, once I've got you in a firm enough hold, I'll extend my knees, rising to an upright position and, hopefully, using my bulk and centre of gravity to lift you up and off your feet.

Your legs - your only free limbs - are going to be the primary issue here and I anticipate a kick or two, especially if I don't manage to take you at the first pass. I'm robust enough to absorb those and will, if necessary, allow you to tire yourself out with fancy footwork while I stay low and await the next opportunity.

Secondary issue: the plug up my arse and the ring(s) around my cock. As distractions go, they're tolerable but I've got to stay side-on, not allowing you any chance to kick out in that direction.

With your wrists bound behind, you won't be able to put up resistance that way so, when I finally succeed in my waist-hold I should be able to hoist you, either upright or face-down over my shoulder, toward the wheel and pin you there until I can fasten the thickest strap, the wide, almost corset-like safety belt.

Once that's in place, the rest should be easy: I can concentrate on strapping each limb in turn, ankles first (staying to the side, out of range of your kicking feet) and, only when they're safely secured, unfastening your own belt and levering each arm toward its waiting attachment. You're already locked in wrist-cuffs and there are fasteners dangling, so I can just clip you into position rather than strapping cuffs over cuffs.

We circle warily then close in on one another.

My wider stance pulls my jacket tighter and the tiny rectangular control of your chastity device digs in, reminding me of its presence. I shouldn't need it but if you turn out to be a martial arts expert and I'm at serious risk of losing to you, I'm not above pressing that button.

Lance:
To give you credit, you don’t try and order me around but go straight for giving me exactly what I want - proving that your dominant facade (and muscles) is not just for show.

When you take your fighting stance, my previous hesitance melts away. Bound and locked into sex toys as I might be, I relish in a good brawl and improvisation has never been an issue for me. It seems like not only we can match each other in our kinky approach to relationships, but from your practiced movement, I can tell we also have a similar amount of experience in fighting - although in widely different shapes.

I don’t know much about wrestling but your form seems textbook perfect while I’ll have to do without my hands and despite my formal training, most of my victories were in bars and alleyways.

Currently, my biggest tool of offense and defence is my legs, which means they’re also appealing targets for you to knock me out fast. However, that’s also my biggest advantage as I have a good idea about where you’ll go first.

Without my arms, I'll need to take extra care to maintain my balance. Not to mention I can’t turn my upper body as much as I’d like to due to that damn belt and while it’s mostly an annoyance, I predict that my chastity device can hinder me, as well.

We carefully walk around each other and from the corner of my thought, I can see some customers turning their attention from the mirror to our competition. Now that’s a show I'd rather put on for them.

"Bring it on, then, boy."

You’re taunting me because my making the first move will give you an advantage but it’s not my style to wait for the first hit to land. I duck my head and make a dash to you - starting what might be the kinkiest fighting match Berlin has ever seen.

I don’t know if you were expecting me to attack you with my kicks first but my tackle goes through your defences. Your hands grab at my shoulder but my head still connects with your chest. Unfortunately, you’re squatted low enough that the impact of my attack doesn’t knock you off balance as I hoped.

Feeling your arms making a move to grab my torso, I immediately straighten my back - headbutting you on the chin in the process.

I must have pulled a knot or something because the rope around my chest nearly burns my skin from the sudden movement but the pang only inspirits me further. You take a step back and press a hand on your jaw, leaving you wide open.

It’s tempting to dive in right on. I raise my left leg and right as you lift your corresponding arm to block the attack, I spin on my right boot, using my momentum to slam my heel into your unprotected shoulder with a reverse roundhouse kick.

“Don’t try to bite down more than you chew, old man,” I finally answer back. However, I might have spoken too soon.

Still only standing on one leg, I’m in an extremely vulnerable position and you’re as durable as you look if not more.

I try to bring my leg for a follow-up kick but you manage to push it away with your blocking arm. This normally wouldn’t phase me but without my arms, I can’t keep myself upright any longer.

Shit, I think. This is going to hurt. As l fall, I brace myself for the impact… that never comes.

Not from the floor at least. Your strong arms catch me right away and wrap around me as I literally fall right into your lap. Not unlike fifteen minutes ago, I’m held tight in your embrace, although now I have a reason to want to escape.

However, I can hardly push you away and when I feel you raising me off my feet, I realize that making you drop me would not be a smart thing to do. You let out a grunt of effort and I sympathize. I’m not the lightest guy with my muscles and you lift me without your preferred position. Still, you manage to keep me off the ground the entire way to the wheel as I can do nothing but wriggle uselessly. Again, I’m not going to try and kick you while this can injure us both seriously.

My plan was to wait for you to drop me before fighting back but this backfired when you release me from your bearhug hold by slamming me into the wheel. Even with the padding, the blunt force disorients me and gives me all the time you need to strap a wide leather belt.

It glues my lower torso flat against the device and I quickly realize that I can’t move my upper body at all with my arms tied. If you get to my legs, it’s all over. As a final attack, right as you try and move sideways to avoid my kicks, I just do what you were trying to avoid: I reach with my right foot, and right when you get out of my reach - I hit you on the ass.

I didn’t (and couldn’t at that angle) apply all that much strength but the effect is instantaneous. My boot pushed the plug deeper into your ass - and probably hitting somewhere sensitive on its way.

You double over from the intense stimulation and I take my chance. Using the slackness waist strap as leverage, I manage to kick down and lift both of my legs off the ground at the same time. Right as you stumble near me.

I hook my hams around your neck and lock my booted feet under your chin to draw you in. While I don’t intend to hurt you, I also can’t let you win. My strong thighs envelop your face on both sides and I grunt with the effort to keep you there. The back of your head digs painfully at my crotch and I don’t think I can hold this position for long. But it doesn’t matter! I just need to endure longer than you.

Slick with sweat, I try to hold your struggling form. “Throw! The! Ugh…Towel! Old man!”

Right when I think I have a chance to win, I feel an intrusive buzz shaking my dick. “Oh, fuck!”

I moan and loosen my hold on you, writhing against my bonds to try and get at the damn thing! The vibration around my member is maddening by itself but worse, it causes blood to rush to my cock, making the hard confines and spikes of the chastity device remind me about their existence in the most painful way possible.

Distracted as I am, I can’t do anything to prevent you from strapping my feet down, the leather bands keeping my legs open feel more like a distant event.

You then untie my belt but I’m in no position to do anything about it. Before long, I’m securely attached to the wheel spreadeagle with my wrist cuffs attached to it by themselves. Hopefully, by that point, you have mercy on me and turn the buzzing off but I don’t know if I’m so lucky.

Defeated, tied up, and humiliated, my head hangs low and I can only look at you through hooded eyes. “You cheated,” I force a smile.

But I know you won fair and square - as I also took advantage of your toy. Bad news, this probably means that you won’t let me get away with just the straps around my limbs.

Good news, nothing gets me going like a good brawl and I’m already itching to use all the energy I built up. As you look at me with an (angry? impressed? mocking?) expression, I feel like a gladiator defeated and now at the mercy of his owner.

At this point, I wouldn’t change the punishment you’ll give me for the world.

“So… what are you going to do to me?”

To be continued...

[Guardianbound]

And a ooop... things are getting spicy in these rooms Why do I feel that someone is going to put Richard in his place soon.

[Straitjacketed]

And a ooop... things are getting spicy in these rooms Why do I feel that someone is going to put Richard in his place soon.

Well, this particular scenario came very close to that! Richard did not expect Mortal Kombat!

[gag1195]

Even though it was mostly doomed from the start, I still applaud Lance's efforts! And now he can happily accept his deserved punishment! Oh to be a patron in the VIP room watching that wrestling match!

[Straitjacketed]

Nine Circles - part 14

(Co-written with [mention]DeeperThanRed[/mention])

Richard:
"You cheated."

Still recovering from my adrenaline high, I scowl at you.

I feared your uppercut head-butt had caused me to bite my tongue and am relieved to find it intact, with all teeth present and correct. My chest and shoulder are starting to throb, however, and the pressure of your legs around my neck has burst a tiny vessel in my eye, reddening the white around the blue and giving me a half-demonic glare.

And my prostate is suing me for assault, battery and emotional distress.

"Cheated, did I? Tell that to my fucking arse."

You smile and any residual anger melts away. I snicker, then start to laugh.

"Look at me, I'm a state..." I exclaim, between bouts of chuckling.

It's true: my hair and beard are in disarray, my tie is wildly askew, one jacket lapel has come unfastened and is sticking up while the other side bears the dusty print of your boot. As does the seat of my breeches.

"... but that has to be the most fun I have ever had in this room."

I look around, finally thinking to check for any carnage we might have left in our wake. There is reassuringly little: nothing is broken, the staff are unperturbed (if anything, they seem to have pointed an additional spotlight or two in our direction) and there is even a faint pattering of applause from the shadows.

"You do realise," I say, straightening my jacket and running my fingers through my hair, "that in any other city - maybe any other club - we would now be thrown out? Here, they'll probably offer us a residency."

Ah, Berlin: legendarily unshockable. On my very first visit to Deubel's, I didn't realise there was any more to it than the upstairs bar but I still saw someone fisted on a pool table while, around him, the game carried on.

"None of which means, you little shit, that I am not going to punish you."

First, I switch off the vibrator control. Preserve those batteries!

Second, I check your bonds, tightening waist and ankle straps (the wrist cuffs are my own; I'm satisfied that they're secure) and fastening more, across your shoulders, biceps, thighs and above and below your knees.

“So… what are you going to do to me?”

"This."

A quick tug and my tie is off (the top two press-studs opened on my shirt, revealing the uppermost tuft of ginger chest fur atop tendrils of black ink). I roll and wad it up, pushing it past your lips and teeth (warning you, with my eyes, not to try biting my gloved fingers). I retrieve your belt from the floor, wrap it around your head a couple of times at mouth level and buckle it tight, securing the makeshift gag.

"And this."

From an inside pocket of my jacket, I produce a pair of nipple clamps on a silver chain. Unlike Ker's magnetic pinchers, these are crossbar style, miniature vices that screw closed. I take pleasure in applying each without mercy.

"And this."

I release the brake holding the wheel still and haul on it with all the strength I can muster.

"And then, my boy, when you stop spinning," I lean in to stage-whisper, "I am going to fuck you to within an inch of your life."

“Isn’t this nice.”

It’s a statement, not a question, spoken in English but enunciated with clipped Germanic precision in a tone that is immediately familiar to me, instantly evoking a complex mix of emotions.

I turn.

The speaker is distinctive, even striking, a tall gentleman of medium (but not in the least slender) build with an upright posture and impeccably trimmed snowy-white beard. Somehow, with his imposing outward appearance and general bearing manage the trick of reflecting his seven decades without conveying even a trace of frailty: one of those men who harden rather than soften with age.

“Rolf,” I say, nonplussed.

“The same. You two gave quite a show.”

There may be a few more lines and a lot less melanin but, otherwise, the Berliner has changed little since the last time we met. His gaze is as icily penetrating as I remember it.

“Rolf, this is, er, Lance.”

He acknowledges your slowly rotating form with the curtest of nods.

Like myself, Rolf has opted for head-to-toe leather this evening but if my outfit’s original influence – its style DNA – is Motorcycle, his would be Military. I know, immediately, that the silver buttons on his tunic will be inscribed with his personal crest, his breeches made to measure, even his boots custom-made. The tie is perfectly knotted, the angle at which his leather garrison cap sits atop his cropped white hair just-so.

He now carries a cane: short, black, topped with a silver... is that what I think it is?! I blink.

“So, you return to Berlin.” Rolf always had a habit of talking in non-questions.

“I…” I begin, “I meant to let you know, but…”

“But you did not.”

He shrugs and turns on his heel, walking off into the shadows with a swiftness not associated with septuagenarians.

“Oh shit,” I say, “fuck.”

I glance between you and the retreating leatherman, torn and momentarily helpless.

“Fuck. Look, sorry Lance, I have to go after him. I’ll just be a minute, less than a minute. I promise. Sorry.”

I dash after Rolf.

Lance:
"Cheated, did I? Tell that to my fucking arse."

Despite my harsh defeat and the intolerable buzzing around my dick and balls, I can’t bring myself to get mopey about it when you start chuckling, and not too soon after, I join you. We must really be one hell of a sight, a supposedly submissive “boy” and his dom beating the shit out of each other and then laughing it off.

"Look at me, I'm a state...but that has to be the most fun I have ever had in this room."

“If it’s gonna make you feel better,” My eyes wander to your body. “Being disheveled looks good on you.” I don’t know how these clubs usually work but I just about expect that this one is an exception when you point out that our little stunt wouldn’t fly elsewhere.

"None of which means, you little shit, that I am not going to punish you."

I proved that I’m not easy prey and you showed that you have what it takes to… I guess, “taming” me sounds good. Now that I feel more content in my bondage, I easily rest my head on the comfy leather padding and wait for you to inflict your punishment. “Do your worst… old man.”

Even though our age difference is not that high, my mocking nickname for you stuck. It’s hard to say whether you like it or not but if you don’t, you’ll have to do something about it.

Thank fuck the vibrator stops next, giving me a small relief. The additional straps are not much of an issue - I’m already secured for good and they feel more secure. Though, the sense of being encased is surprisingly comforting.

When you remove your tie and push it against my lips, I panic for a second. If I’m gagged, I won’t be able to tell you off in case you go too far. Well, I can’t do anything when I’m tied up like this, anyway. And I feel like the other customers would enjoy it if I were to protest about it loudly.

But your eyes look dark with not only intimidation but also promise: you may give me hell but nothing I didn’t bargain for, just like our duel. I feel better when I comply and let you stuff my mouth with the bizarre, almost oily taste of leather. It’s not pleasant but the texture is smooth and oddly feels nice to chew on.

The belt bites on my skin a little but is a lot more preferable to a hood. I make out a few huffs to test it and nope, the gag silences me pretty well.

But of course you’re not done. My nipples can’t get a break. I wish I picked gentler clamps but the pain around them goes directly into my cock - which of course can’t get hard. Shit.

I start to wriggle against the wheel for real, just as you spin it. It’s not too fast but the disorientation is enough to make me feel like I’m on a crazy rollercoaster. Thankfully, I don’t get sick easily but the contrast shift of gravitational vectors makes the bonds around my body keep pulling my limbs in different directions.

"I am going to fuck you to within an inch of your life."

If I wasn’t gagged, I’d ask you to promise.

But as my vision spins faster than I can digest, I close my eyes and for the first time, since we get near this wheel, I hear someone talking directly to me.

It takes a few minutes for the wheel to slow down and for me to finally understand what’s going around me for good and I saw you talking to an older guy, a GILF in a weirdly militaristic set of clothes. Why do you know Colonel Santa, I try to ask before recalling the makeshift leather gag in my mouth.

He looks down on me as if I’m the new and not purebred enough dog of an acquaintance of his. Even as I’m upside down, I flip him off with my cuffed hands.

I don’t see why you look so nervous around him. Is he an old friend? Lover? The situation looks like you disappointed him somehow but I don’t have any context clues.

When the elderly fart walks away, I try to get your attention. “HHHnnngguuhh! MMmmgggnn pphhhh pphhhggg uuunnnhh!” Who cares about that geriatric grouch? Untie me and we can talk about what the hell is his problem.

“Fuck. Look, sorry Lance, I have to go after him. I’ll just be a minute, less than a minute. I promise. Sorry.”

No! As the wheel crawls to a stop, I thrash against the belts and straps keeping me immobile when you turn your back and run! Come back! “HHHNNGGMM!” I bite the belt but my voice hardly reaches you. I have no idea why this guy has such an effect on you but I don’t like seeing you as helpless and lost like this.

You also left me right when I stop upside down. Perfect.

I groan and angrily pull my cuffs, more to vent than anything. Then, I hear a voice behind me.

“Now, people should know better than to leave their toys unattended.” A tall, pale man with an expensive-looking leather cop uniform and a mask approaches me. He must be one of the VIP customers. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep his muscle slave company until he returns.”

I remember that our fight attracted a lot of attention but I wasn’t expecting to get a crazed fan so soon. My struggles mean nothing as I feel possessive hands grabbing my ass through the opening in the wheel and starting to tear my briefs off.

Those were my favorite pair! I grit my teeth, trying to buck the pervert off but this only seems to encourage him further. Richard, you better return here quickly or the next fight I’ll be involved in WILL get us kicked out.

To be continued...

[blackbound]

Well! This seems like a bad idea. I guess even an experienced dom is not immune to a moment of weakness.

[gag1195]

From bad to worse for Lance! And of course, I don't trust Rolf. Things may be ending quite poorly for both of our protagonists soon! Here's hoping Richard comes to his senses quickly!

[Straitjacketed]

Nine Circles - part 15

(Co-written with [mention]DeeperThanRed[/mention])

Richard:
Despite my promise, I’m away more than a minute, maybe three, four.

I return to the sight of you (inverted) and your assailant (perverted). Immediately, my temper flares.

“GET THE FUCK OFF OF HIM, YOU CUNT!”

(The angrier I get, the broader my accent becomes - and the unreconstructed Celt emerges, hungry for blood.)

My warning is ineffective because, by the time it leaves my lips, my fist is already in his face. Specifically, I’ve thrown a bare knuckle punch the way I was originally taught, the way I practised so many times it became instinctive: I lead with index and middle finger knuckles, everything lined up for maximum impact through fist and forearm. I’m not amateur enough to swing wide and I don't aim for the jaw; it's a targeted, focused jab to the vulnerable soft spot where nose meets lip, where I know there are plenty of nerve endings with potential for maximum pain.

My punch hits home and passion lends me more power than intended.

I’m happy to ignore your erstwhile assailant's distress but he stumbles into a table of champagne flutes, knocking them in all directions. Alerted by the sound of breaking glass (and, quite possibly, a broken nose), the staff start to turn in our direction, and I fear the VIP area's tolerance of the pair of us is fast evaporating.

I have to get us out, and quickly.

I haul once, hard, on the wheel to get you upright and, with feverish fingers, unstrap you, starting with wrists (so you can help with the unbuckling), moving to ankles, then waist belt.

“Lance,” I say, urgently, “we need to get out of here, tout de suite!"

I grab your hand (making no attempt to free you from gag and nipple clamps – you can manage those yourself) and pull you off the wheel and away to the right, following the curve of the gallery away from the door in the mirror-wall.

Thankfully, I remember enough about the layout to locate the nearest curtained exit, hurrying through a door that clicks shut behind us.

We emerge into a dimly lit corridor, a busier thoroughfare than the sunken opera house we just escaped.

A brace of men passes us, laughing: one is gimped up in full latex, features concealed behind an Israeli military respirator, snout-like with big round lenses; the other is bare-faced but outfitted head-to-toe in what looks like a rainsuit in dark green PVC complete with gloves and boots, apparently attached.

“Ah,” I say, falling into step behind them, “it looks like this is a special event night, perfect to catch our breath and lie low for a bit. Come on.”

The rubber-and-PVC couple push through a pair of double doors at the end of the corridor and I hasten us along in their wake.

“Have you ever been to a foam party? This is Deubel’s version of that.”

Lance:
I was so focused on trying to mouth off the creepy groping my ass that I didn’t even notice someone approaching until I saw a fist coming out of nowhere connecting with his face and toppling him over.

“GET THE FUCK OFF OF HIM, YOU CUNT!”

I don’t know which one is hotter: your accent or the sheer anger in your voice. Still gagged as I am, I merely cheer you from where I’m tied up with a muffled “Gggmmm Dddnnnhh!”

Your punch creates a commotion around the room and even from my position, I can see people scattering around and asking for security. I grin through the belt in my mouth. It was about time someone brought some liveliness to this place.

As you turn me so that blood stops rushing to my head, I calm down a little and help you unbuckle me. Your meticulousness in binding me means that it takes us both nearly a minute to get me off the wheel completely.

I almost forget how angry I was at the guy molesting me but when I saw him trying and failing to get up from the mess of champagne and broken glass that you left him in, my fists clench. If it was up to me, I’d start a bar fight just to see how it would fly here but you grab my hand and haul me out of there fast.

When I try to catch up to your run, I briefly wonder whether this is our first proper handholding or not. If it is, I can’t think of a more appropriate reason for it given how wild this day was so far.

I tug the belt around my head with one hand as we run but it’s not easy to get it off while we’re making a mad dash to presumably the next circle. So, I just keep running - my bare ass bouncing freely through the seat of my ripped briefs, the clamps on my chest biting at every jiggle of my pecs, the chastity device stinging as my thighs hit at it and I'm still gagged.

I must be one hell of a sight.

Only as we stop and a couple of guys with some post-apocalyptic-looking gear pass by us merrily, I find time to stop and untie the belt over my mouth. I fish the soggy leather tie from my mouth with my fingers and pass it over to you.

“Ah, it looks like this is a special event night, perfect to catch our breath and lie low for a bit. Come on.”

Special event? I check out the outfits of the men once more. They’re… nice. Shiny in a good way. The gloss of their uniforms makes me wonder how the material would feel against my skin. “Maybe we can find me something to wear there, then.” I wipe the drool on my chin and check the sorry state of my underwear. “I’m a show-off but not sure if I want to get buck-ass naked if I bend over too hard.”

“Have you ever been to a foam party? This is Deubel’s version of that.”

I shake my head. “I know what they are but they’re not really my style.” What would a gay kink club even use instead of foam? At least it won’t be too much of a challenge after what we have just been through.

Deciding to change the subject, I ask “Richard, you don’t have to answer but who was that guy? He seemed to shock you hard. I’m not mad at you for leaving but I’d like to know what was up with you two.” I’ll just drop the subject and focus on where we’re going if you don’t want to talk about it. I've had my share of bad exes too and it’s not always easy to open up to people about them.

Richard:
"Richard, you don’t have to answer but who was that guy? He seemed to shock you hard. I’m not mad at you for leaving but I’d like to know what was up with you two.”

I stop, slump against the wall, look at the belt and crumpled leather tie in my hands as if they're the answer, give a long exhalation and look you in the eye.

I left you to go after him. Of course you have a right to know.

"Rolf," I say, "he was... my master."

I explain. I met Rolf on my first trip to Berlin, almost three decades ago - he was part of my reason for returning to the city and spending so much time here. No Colonel Santa white hairs back then; he was not only commanding but dark and lupine, with an air of danger I found irresistible.

"It wasn't just the leather; I was drawn to his whole... certainty. He exuded that, sometimes to a fault. Still does."

As I talk, I'm rolling the drool-damp tie up between my fingers. I slip it into a pocket.

"It wasn't just that he gave me a stability I needed but didn't know I needed. He was kind and patient and all kinds of resourceful, he helped me out of a hole I'd got myself into... and he taught me a massive amount. I owe him."

Obviously, I'm not without insight into my own daddy issues - and those of, what, three quarters of the clientele of Deubel's? - and it's true that my relationship with Rolf and the age gap between us (not unlike the age gap between me and you) hit a load of those buttons.

"Things shifted. As I grew, what had seemed an attractive decisiveness started to feel like control freakery, possessiveness. Heh, most of the time I spent in that damned VIP aquarium I was his literal possession."

My decision to take you there was part spur-of-the-moment and part test: I'd wondered whether your exhibitionism came with any kind of voyeuristic counterbalance and the Fourth Circle had seemed a good place to explore that. I'd forgotten the extent of my own history with and mixed feelings about the place. As it happens, your reaction there - starting an oddly refreshing brawl - has served to blow away some of the mental cobwebs.

"Inevitably, we went our separate ways. I guess I outgrew him, and Rolf was actually really good about that. As exes go, I've had much worse. These days, he's kind of a grumpy old man, still as obsessed with form and tradition and detail as he ever was, but his bark's worse than his bite."

As I talk, I coil and uncoil your belt in my hands. Ridiculously, given that you have almost no other form of clothing, I find myself buckling it around your narrow waist, so it sits on your hips, above the chastity device.

"It's all pretty amicable. All he asks is that I let him know when I'm in Berlin, pay him a courtesy visit. It's like having a third parent, an extra round of guilt-tripping."

I sigh.

"This time, the trip was last-minute, I didn't get in touch and the first he's seen of me in years was our little Mortal Kombat moment back there. I fucked up and I had to go fix it. I'm only sorry I left you, uh, hanging."

And the way things escalated from there: I came early to Wrath. My gloves provided a little padding, but the leading knuckle of my right hand is still stinging. Well, I reflect, at least I can still throw a punch.

"Aaanyway. It doesn't sound like they're coming after us but let's steer clear of the main club for now."

We push through the swing doors.

To be continued...

[gag1195]

Contrary to Lance's thoughts, I think he's fine to continue au naturale! However, I think it's only fair if Richard joins him and loses the leather trousers! To show solidarity with his sub!

[Straitjacketed]

Nine Circles - part 16

(Co-written with [mention]DeeperThanRed[/mention])

WRATH

Richard:
And find ourselves in another wet room. It's like a much larger version of Ker’s realm off the Second Circle: an expanse of white tiling, lit with purplish spotlights and lined on either side with stalls, sinks and cubicles but with a central open space recessed a few steps into the floor, like an enormous, wall-to-wall version of one of the foot baths found in old-fashioned swimming pools.

“That’s where we’re going,” I point to a door at the other side, “but it isn't usually filled up with water.”

‘Water’ doesn’t quite do justice to the scene before you. Lounging, wading, frolicking and, well, fucking in the thigh-high liquid are at least a dozen men. A couple are naked or mostly naked, but the majority are clothed in rubber, PVC or heavy oilskin. One guy is stomping around in a deep red diving drysuit, mask and kit, complete with oxygen cylinder, while others are suited up in waterproofs reminiscent of the valiant seamen of 'The Deadliest Catch'.

Most of the faces are obscured by latex hoods or masks. Not so the genitals, at least some of them. The couple we followed in here - Green and Black - have wasted no time. Black is half-submerged, Green fumbles at his flies and an arc of urine streams forth, dousing his companion's latex face and splashing across the lenses of his gas mask.

The whole is one part orgy, one part fishing trawler and one part kids' pool party.

I hesitate on the edge of the pool, feeling like the one guest who got the dress code wrong.

"Why," I mutter, "didn't I check?"

I'm torn, not wanting to fit the stereotype of the prissy leatherman afraid of getting his leathers wet but acutely conscious of the fact that these Dehner boots cost me a month's wages, the breeches not a lot less and the water (and God knows what else) is not going to do them any favours.

Then, through the throng, comes unexpected salvation, a Yellow Knight in shining oilskin, glistening black waders and shoulder-length rubber gauntlets to match. His head is covered by the hood of his sunshine-coloured rainsuit and, beneath it, a respirator with mirrored face panel.

He's striding through the pool towards us, pushing ahead of him an actual bath, presumably mounted on wheels somewhere beneath the murky surface. The only time I saw this room used, in the past, it was not itself filled with water but various of these mobile baths were available for use.

The one pushed by the Yellow Knight has, it seems, had its plughole stopped up because, inside, it is entirely dry.

When he reaches us, stops and straightens up to his full height, the Knight stands an inch or two taller than both of us, and what can be glimpsed of his physique beneath the bulky waterproofs is impressive.

Silently, he gestures toward the bath, a faceless Sir Raleigh doffing his cloak for the Queen.

"Remember when I mentioned paying the ferryman?" I murmur to you, "I was wrong: this is the ferryman."

Lance:
I have a lot to say about the story you tell: I understand what you went through, you don’t owe Rolf anything and I’m here for you now. But the words ring hollow to my ears before I even say anything, and I force myself to let you finish speaking.

Because I can’t say I quite sympathize with you, not that I lack compassion but experience. At least, the emotional attachment that comes from the intense power play is familiar to me - in the underground, artificial light shifts of Deubel's, I lost my sense of time but it already feels like we know each other for longer than a day. It’s hard for me to think how strong you must feel after being in a long-term relationship with someone who looked to be in control even in his old age.

Now that I know that you were once in my position, the easy-going but not overly gentle approach you have toward me makes a lot of sense. You learned from experience what it’s like to be in a submissive’s shoes and I don’t think I’d be having such a good time if you didn’t have that background.

I imagine you going through what I went through tonight - stripped, tied up, played with, and displayed. It’s arousing, of course, but it’s also comforting. As much as I enjoy you telling me what to do, I wonder if I can switch roles in the future. I sure as hell can treat you better than Rolf. I don’t want to possess you, really - my own wayward side is too strong to do that - but for the first time I realize I’d like to meet you again after today.

I let you put my belt back on and tug my briefs uncomfortably. My tattered undies seem like less of a problem now but I’d still like to look for something to wear in the next rooms. Though, knowing that you’d have to pay for it, I better settle for something small.

"This time, the trip was last-minute, I didn't get in touch and the first he's seen me in years was our little Mortal Kombat moment back there. I fucked up and I had to go fix it. I'm only sorry I left you, uh, hanging."

“No, it’s alright,” I answer, almost too quickly. “He made you rush after him by being all snide like that. Fuck him. And it takes more to bring me down than some asshole not keeping his hands to himself.”

It’s at least a reminder that you can’t be too careful around these clubs. Hell, despite its aesthetic Deubel's is actually a lot nicer and safer than most places I visit around Europe. I check up on the rope harness that surprisingly holds tight and after that, I loosen the clamps around my nipples a little. The sensation of pinching on my chest is hot but I feel like they cut the circulation after a while.

"Aaanyway. It doesn't sound like they're coming after us but let's steer clear of the club for now."

“I don’t know,” I chuckle, glad to see you feel good enough to laugh about that place. “I wouldn’t mind seeing what the security here is made of.” Probably I don’t. For all I know, we might be locked into gimp suits and forced to entertain the VIP for disobedience.

I follow you inside the next room, which is definitely… something.

There’s almost not a single soul who is dressed in an imitation of actual clothes. Rather, they seem to wear a wide variety of waterproof clothing that’s made for the purpose but modified or cut to hide their faces and let their privates open if necessary.

The amount of fucking, frotting, and uh, pissing going on is obscene. I hear the water before I can see it from the mass of writhing bodies, the constant splashing of various liquids that echo in this enclosed space is almost as overbearing as the view in front of me. There’s a muffled but sharp stench in the air and I can’t say if it’s the chemicals, the material of the customers’ gear, or something else that is causing it.

The enthusiasm of the couple who passed by us is infectious as I spot them diving into the pool to engage in their play but a single glance is enough to confirm that I’d rather keep myself dry for now.

“Into a black sulkiness that can find no joy in God or man or the universe…” my eyes look for a way to pass across the dark reservoir of debauchery in front of us but there are no sidewalks or bridges in sight.

“That’s where we’re going, but it isn't usually filled up with water.”

“Yeah, I can tell.” I very much doubt they kept this place wet after the theme nights.

I pat you on the shoulder. “If it helps, I’m also not in the mood for a swim.” A comical image of us hopping across the way by jumping on the heads of the kinksters is like a pair of video game frogs. Before I can offer to look for another way, a bizarre figure approaches us. Despite his cheery coloring, his (assuming that they’re a “he”) large stature and uncanny movement put me on the edge.

He Who Is Not to be Named points to the bathtub he’s pushing. “If he’s a ferryman,” I whisper back at you, “does that mean we’re supposed to pay him?” I don’t have anything I can give to him if we have to do that but I can pay with my body if he wants us to run errands for him or something.

If we can just help ourselves, I’ll go ahead and sit crosslegged in the tub. If not, I’m also open to changing into something that can make me go from one end of the room to the other and see how that feels.

“By the way, do you think I’m due for a wardrobe change?” I gesture my ruined cotton briefs. “Maybe not a full-body rain cloak but I’m taking suggestions.”

To be continued...

[blackbound]

Goodness. I can't blame them for wanting out of this particular space as quickly as possible.

[KidnappedCowboy]

Just catching up with this tale. It has so much to offer: a battle of wills, playfulness, and plain old eroticism!

[gag1195]

Fully on board with them trying to avoid this room, too! But I do love each of them becoming more and more smitten with each other as their descent continues!

[Straitjacketed]

Nine Circles - part 17

(Co-written with [mention]DeeperThanRed[/mention])

Richard:
“If he’s a ferryman, does that mean we’re supposed to pay him?”

Your guess is as good as mine.

The Yellow Knight (the name is stuck in my head now) doesn’t appear to be asking for anything, so I climb into the bathtub, and you follow.

I remember these from previous club events in this room – typically, there would be a line of them filled to the brim, for “water sports” devotees – and the tubs themselves were big enough to accommodate two or three at a time. This one is easily large enough for you and I to either sit or stand and I choose to do the latter.

There’s something truly surreal about our mini voyage across the pool. The muffled-but-sharp odour is clearly more than just uric acid and the echoing hubbub seems to amplify as our unorthodox vessel crosses the space, propelled by our ox-like ferryman. Water laps at the top of the bath but never quite breaches the rim.

The atmosphere is playful as well as sexual and I find myself smiling at the antics of the slicker-clad revellers around us.

That's until you point out a man-sized blur of fluorescent orange submerged a few metres away, distorted by the choppy surface. Initially, it seems that a terrible accident has taken place and I consider leaping in, leathers be damned. A closer look reveals a snorkel-like tube, attached to a bobbing buoy, and a neoprene-suited captor lurking nearby, clearly monitoring air supply.

The Knight labours silently and steadily and, within minutes, our unlikely skiff has reached its destination. We climb out and he follows, water streaming from his rubber thigh-boots. Standing upright on dry land, he looms over both of us by at least two inches.

“Thank you so much,” I tell him sincerely, but he is impassive; beneath its yellow cowl, the rectangular mirror of his mask reflects my own face back at me. The filter of his respirator hisses softly as he breathes in and out.

The Yellow Knight is obviously waiting for something.

“Euros?” I fumble for my wallet. A slow shake – an apparent no – but one rubber-gauntleted hand is in the pocket of his impermeable waterproof, the other extended to me as if inviting handshake.

Confused, I reach to grasp his gauntlet. The industrial rubber feels slick and cool to the touch. The PVC-clad behemoth’s other hand is over mine, there’s a small click and I realise a short length of chain has been locked, bracelet-style, around my wrist, tight enough that I know immediately it won't "slip". A small black padlock dangles and I glimpse something inscribed on it.

The Knight now turns his screen-like face to you.

A wash of protectiveness suffuses me, and I move, instinctively, to interpose myself between the two of you.

Lance:
Of all the things that I didn’t have on my bucket list and ended up doing today, traveling in a bathtub must take the cake. I climb inside the porcelain basin after you and try to peer through the edges, but the water hides the underside of the tub pretty well. A childhood memory pops into my head - me pretending to ride in my grandparents’ clawfoot bathtub - and I wonder if this one also has them.

Looking around us, my initial apprehension left, leaving a bizarrely childish glee. As weird as this circle is, all of its habitants are essentially just splashing around in the water, although in a decidedly adult way. It’s hard to not get swept up in their spirit.

I do my best to avoid the minimal sloshing around us. Not that I’m too much of a priss, but I don’t know if I can get my rope harness wet without it constricting me harder. From the corner of my eye, I can see the green-clad one in the couple we saw before waving to us and I respond.

An even more unusual sight catches my eye. “This place is actually not that bad,” I nudge you with my boot. “I’ve heard about leather cops but never knew about rubber divers.” I point to a tightly packaged person lying on the floor of the pool. The bag obviously contains a person, whose minuscule shifts indicate that they’re comfortable and are not in a panic. I think about what it would get me to get in the same situation with that sub. I like swimming and did scuba diving a couple of times so I don’t rule out the opportunity completely - as long as it’s in a less chaotic body of water.

When we get off the “ship”, the ferryman stops and stands in front of us. I look at you - the financier of this journey to the center of the fetish hell - but turns out even you don’t have what he wants. I’m once reminded how intimidating he looks in the unhumanizing outfit he wears, looking more like a spectral gatekeeper than a simple employee.

He then puts on a small cuff around your wrist and maybe that’s just a standard protocol you’re not familiar with because it’s been so long since your last visit but a chill runs through my spine when he turns to me. I almost put up my dukes but while I’m a punk, I’m not naive enough to think I can take this guy in a fight.

I put a hand on your shoulder to stop you when you try to get between us. “Relax, old man.” I step forward and put my hand forward. I can’t say I’m not scared but my dogged curiosity wants to go through this either way. “You just got a fancy new bracelet, I’ll be fine. Let’s see what our shipmaster wants from me.”

If it’s manual labor, I can give him a hand, and if he wants me to model for some creative gear or sex toy, well, I have a lot of experience in that regard so far.

Richard:
“Relax, old man. You just got a fancy new bracelet, I’ll be fine. Let’s see what our shipmaster wants from me.”

Your own face - distorted by a slight curve, like an old-fashioned pre-flatscreen television - looks back at you from the mirrored surface of his visor. His breathing is marked by the slow click-and-hiss of his respirator valve.

Everyone, it seems, is equal before the Yellow Knight and whatever strange ritual this is applies to everyone. With surprising deftness, considering his fingers are encased in the kind of heavy gauntlets you associate with drain cleaners, he takes your hand and locks a near-identical piece of chain around your wrist.

And then he appears to lose interest in us, climbing back into the water and returning to his porcelain burden.

Nonplussed, we push through the doors.

Through the exit, we find ourselves at the end of a quiet, dimly lit service corridor with another door opposite.

I pause, trying to recall the layout of this part of Deubel's, while you explore the facing door. It's unlocked and turns out to be a cupboard, with cleaning equipment and a huge plastic carton marked FUNDSACHEN: lost property. Peering inside, you can see a tangle of different garments, shiny, matt and everything in-between.

Lance:
“Can I borrow anything I want from here?” I ask and begin to rummage through the stuff inside without waiting for an answer. There is a wealth of different clothing inside and almost all of them seem clean - although some are definitely not!

Some garments are a set of different parts and don’t seem like they would cover much, like a neoprene tank top and a pair of short shorts. I note the deep neckline of the former and the zipper in the back that shorts feature, even though they’re unnecessary for putting them on.

There are also more practical, one-piece wetsuits with short sleeves and long legs and others that seem like they would cover everything from the neck down except hands and feet. I note this time useful zippers on their backs.

A lot of them are black in color, though some of the more realistic ones are gray or blue and there are shiny, wildly colorful versions of most of the kinkier items.

I consider my options here. Most of the stuff here is so tight that I can’t exactly wear them over my harness so unless you’re okay with me removing it, I have to go shirtless. I also need to decide between long sleeves/legs or short ones - as the former can cause problems with my cuffs and boots. Also, do I want the wetsuit-look? It would go well with the last room but maybe a more general item would blend in better in the rest of our journey.

In the end, I decided to start with a rubber jockstrap I find. There are also speedos but I want something that specifically covers my chastity device. I also pick a tight, black PVC diving suit with metallic red trim. However, if the rope stays on, I’ll forgo the top part and knot the sleeves in front of my waist as mechanics do with their overalls.

If I can wear the whole thing, I ask you to zip me up inside. One part of me kinda wants to stay half-naked for the rest of our journey for “the ease of access” but I figure I can always remove this if things come to that.

Richard:
Eventually, we set off along the corridor. Under a flickering bulb, we take the opportunity to examine our unanticipated wrist adornments. They aren't jewellery but standard, utilitarian steel chain, links narrow enough not to pinch the skin but thick enough that it'll take bolt cutters or a hacksaw to remove them.

The padlocks are inscribed with the same email address, one that includes what initially seems a random mix of letters and numbers but isn't: th3kinginy3llow.

Curiouser and curiouser...

We reach and descend a small flight of stairs then arrive at an intersection. I lead us in the direction that seems both best-illuminated and most familiar. The walls become unpainted then untreated brickwork (although I know that, in this place, a great deal of work goes into the appearance of roughness). The lighting changes to Edison bulbs, which cast a low but warm glow. It's almost welcoming.

Doors appear on either side, unadorned steel with patches of rust that may be real or atmospheric artifice.

"They've apparently been developing this part," I say, "it used to be a bit of a maze of darkrooms, a labyrinth for cruising. Since I was last here, they've developed them into... well, I'm not quite sure, but some sort of private rooms for hire. Not a hotel, exactly, but beds, equipment and doors that lock. I'm kind of intrigued... and Ker's done me a favour."

Unzipping a jacket pocket, I retrieve the key he gave me and brandish it before you. "Here we are, number 6."

It'll be a relief, I think, to have a little downtime, some breathing space. An interregnum...

To be continued...

[gag1195]

I've a bad feeling that the king in yellow will become a greater obstacle for our pair before the night ends... The only question is, will it be a welcome obstacle?

[Straitjacketed]

Nine Circles - part 18

(Co-written with [mention]DeeperThanRed[/mention])

Lance:
So… it wasn’t all that bad. It’s just a regular club bracelet, although of course in a chain form. The writing on it is a bit more excogitative but I can only hope that we won’t encounter any maddening plays on our way.

After we enter a brick corridor, you do your best impression of a travel guide and we make a short break for getting some clothes on me.

Due to the tightness of the garments I pick, I have to remove my boots shortly. There’s not much point in modesty now, but I still turn my back on you while I bend down and pull the rubber jock on. It’s cool and snug - feels nice enough. Pulling the wetsuit requires significantly more effort and I have to rest on you to get it up to my waist. Before wearing my boots again - which thankfully fit my new clothes fine enough despite the difference in material - I wrap the sleeves of the suit around my waist and knot them over my crotch.

Now that I’m in a vain mood, I then fix my hair and get a good stretch. “How do I look?”

Feeling a lot more ready to have a room to our own as the tiredness of our journey slowly catches up to me, I follow you inside one of the rooms. I imagine what it could be like and my imagination provides a variety of images changing from a dinky dungeon room to a love hotel suite.

“I just hope it has something to drink…”

Richard:
The key turns and, before pushing the door open, I glance back at you. The blood-red trim of your requisitioned PVC suit – sleeves tied sexily around your waist – is a near-perfect colour match for the shibari chest roping I tied (God knows how long ago?) and I feel a warm rush of appreciation. You really have taken everything I’ve thrown at you, that this evening has thrown at us, and not only carried on undaunted but returned it in spades.

My various aches – chest, shoulder, jaw and my poor battered prostate – are testament to that!

“I just hope it has something to drink…”

“God yeah,” I realise how thirsty I too feel, an irony after that last Circle, “’water, water everywhere, nor any drop to drink’.”

I’m not at all sure what to expect. I’d heard about the redevelopment of the old cruising labyrinth but couldn’t get a clear sense of what the rooms had become. From my earlier chat with Ker (when you were in the stall, squeezing into your chastity device), I understand there’s no plan for Deubel’s to become a hotel or bed & breakfast – for which I’m somewhat relieved – but a dozen or so rooms are now available for “discreet private play”.

For those in the know, keys to these rooms can be purchased for up to six hours at a time and Ker, bless him, gave us a freebie. For the next half dozen hours, this one is ours.

HERESY

Once, when shooting on location in New York, the production team put me up in a hotel where the rooms were tiny but designed along the Japanese concept of “urban ryokan”: clean lines, minimal furnishings, hidden storage, and general lack of clutter making their limited space feel larger.

This is the fetish version.

Low-level spotlights – on a dimmer switch – illuminate walls of the same exposed brickwork as the corridor, interspersed with panels of steel set with hooks, eyebolts, attachment rings and the occasional dangling length of chain. At the far end, a sheet of only lightly smoked glass does little to hide a narrow, utilitarian shower, toilet and wash basin. Not for the shy.

One wall is entirely mirrored and, I note with a smirk, a similar reflective expanse above the bed.

The bed itself takes up almost half the floorspace and is the clear star of the show: industrial-looking metal pipes have been bent and bolted into a framework: a king-size four-poster hung not with draperies but with loops of chain. The bed covering has clearly been selected for wipe-clean practicality: shiny pillows, mattress and duvet clad in what looks like heavy-duty black vinyl.

“I’ve stayed in worse,” I say.

The mirrored wall is made up of sliding panels. I open one at random, revealing an array of restraints, from simple rope and rolls of tape through all manner of strappery to more complex bags, sacks and suits of leather, rubber and PVC, buckles dangling in all directions.

“Quite the selection,” I whistle, impressed, “a full range of, uh, alternative sleeping arrangements.”

A second cupboard is full of hoods, gags and blindfolds, the faint odour of antiseptic reassuring. Deubel's keeps its equipment clean.

Another nook turns out to be a small but well-stocked mini refrigerator. I open a bottle of water and take a long, grateful swig.

I unzip and un-belt my Langlitz, hanging the heavy jacket on a hook by the door. Press-studs pop open and my short-sleeved leather shirt follows, then my skin-tight calfskin cop gloves.

My torso tattoos are revealed in full, the winding, twisting runic blackwork of my arms interconnecting with a more extensive less abstract design that spans my shoulders and chest: a large, intricately inscribed stag skull beginning on my lower sternum, its many-tined antlers branching upward and outward, crossing my clavicles and framing the notch of my neck.

A trail of red hair climbs my groin and belly, fanning over inked pectorals and curling around nipples pierced with short, thick spiked steel barbells. A bruise is forming on my shoulder, startlingly purple against my pale skin.

Sitting on the bed, I’m surprised by a sudden wash of fatigue, the events of the evening catching up with me. I lie back, vinyl cool and smooth against my skin.

The shower initially seemed inviting, and I'd planned to strip off the rest of my leathers, bathe and make use of the room's hidden and not-so-hidden resources to get you nicely packaged and trussed up tight for teasing and slow edging, a few hours of relaxed downtime. Now I’m supine, however, the task of removing my boots and peeling off my breeches feels like a huge effort.

(The silicon around my genitals and up my arse remains an irritant but a gentle one; I'm largely used to it now and untangling and unplugging seems too much hassle to contemplate right this minute.)

The irony! Here we are in a private room in Berlin’s premier fetish establishment, surrounded with a veritable cornucopia of kink paraphernalia and, heretically, what I want most of all right now is to pull you down beside me, fold my limbs around you and let slumber take me.

Maybe I’ll just rest my eyes for a moment...

To be continued...

[blackbound]

I get the feeling that "I slept through 6 hours of usually expensive private time" fulfils the facts of heresy pretty succinctly.

[gag1195]

If only Richard had a sexy slave to remove his boots for him! Whatever will he do now? Perhaps a quick shut eye is all Lance needs to get the upper hand and show off his own restraint skills, limited though they might be!

[Straitjacketed]

Nine Circles - part 19

(Co-written with [mention]DeeperThanRed[/mention])

Lance:
The room is not a Ritz-Carlton but it’s more than enough to get a breather. It’s very compact and packed tightly with a bed, a door opening to what seems to be a bathroom, and a mini fridge. The dim lighting combined with the mirrors surrounding ⅓ of the room’s surfaces gives the space an ethereally enclosed feeling. The soundproofing between different rooms was already impressive so far but when I close the door after you, it’s easy to forget where we came from.

There’s no hiding what the room was intended for though - the conspicuous design of the bed and the plethora of toys lined up in the cupboards you open reveal that well. After the circle of voyeurism aquarium, I warily eye the mirrors to calculate if they could be masking an observer.

“I’ve stayed in worse.”

“Me too,” I sneak by you to see what you’re looking at. As usual, the collection you study has a number of items I’m familiar with along with quite a few I can’t even begin to imagine their purposes. “But they were youth hostels so that tells nothing.”

You whistle and open another cabinet door while I take a bright red roll of tape from the first one. The sticky note under it announced that “the bondage tape” would only stick to itself so it was useful for restraining subs with body hair. Maybe because it fits my color scheme and apparently I'm now collecting red fetish objects, I take and wear it around my left wrist like a chunky bracelet.

“A full range of alternative sleeping arrangements.”

I make a face. “I don’t think I can sleep at all when my face is covered.” The blindfolds look innocent enough though, not much different than the blackout sleeping masks my dad wears… I hastily repress this thought. I don’t need to imagine my dad sleeping in this room.

Helping myself with a drink (sports drink for me, I need electrolytes), I turn at you to meet with an impromptu striptease session and almost spit the drink in me all over the bed. It’s not like I’m a stranger to nudity at this point but the lack of pretentiousness in your movement surprises me. Like you can finally let your hair down for a while.

I want to let you relax, especially after the guilt of the bruise on your shoulder but I can’t help but revel in your shirtless form for the first time. Your tattoos are intricate and expansive, there are ones I see fully for the first time on your chest and shoulders - and I want to trace them all with my mouth.

The nipple piercings are a surprise but explain why you’re so interested in mine. I unconsciously reach and pull my nipple, imagining how it would feel to have yours between my fingers.

I wonder if you know what you’re doing to me in your current state - all jumbled, stripped, laying down, and vulnerable. My dick would be forcing my wetsuit’s crotch if it wasn’t so tightly locked. I grunt in frustration. This chastity device was hot at first but it’s starting to become an annoyance. I focus on your leather breeches and visualize the rubber wrapped around your dick and balls, and plugging your shapely ass. Maybe it is about time we give those toys a break.

Taking advantage of your sleepy state, I climb in front of you and press my smooth chest against your hairy one. Your eyes open as I grab your wrists and cross them over your head, holding them there with one hand. “Hey, this chastity thing is starting to annoy me. Should I beg you to remove it…” My free hand taps your cheek with a roll of tape around my wrist. “Or should I tie you up and make you give me the key?”

Of course, there is no need for this farce. If I really need to get something off of me, I’m sure you’ll prioritize my concerns and comply. However, as you said, Deubel’s is all about putting up a front, whether others know it or not.

I turn down the punk act and ask you for the earnest. “I know I’m not an easy submissive but if you want, I can be for a while. Or I can take care of you. It’s your call.”

Hell, we don’t even have to do anything. I think I’m down for a short rest if you just pull me to your chest and have a short nap.

Richard:
“Hey, this chastity thing is starting to annoy me. Should I beg you to remove it... or should I tie you up and make you give me the key?”

Both of these scenarios - plus the proximity of your body against mine, chest to chest, your PVC against my leather - make me stiffen in the confines of my silicon rings. More amusing still, though, is your annoyance; I decide to stoke it for a while.

"Ohhh no no no. If I'm in mine, you're stuck in yours."

I chuckle at the "tie you up" threat. If I didn't know what you can do with those feet - and probably hands - of yours, I'd call you adorable.

"Tell you what," I say, "if you manage to find a way - any way at all - of getting yourself out of that thing, you get to stay free of it for the rest of the night. Hell, you can even put it on me!"

I know the stuff Ker sells is good quality. It's a safe bet you can't wriggle out of it but I'm going to enjoy you trying.

“I know I’m not an easy submissive," you acknowledge, "but if you want, I can be for a while. Or I can take care of you. It’s your call.”

Heh, whoever said I wanted an easy submissive?

I pretend to ponder a moment, then wrench my arms free of your grasp. We're already in something close to a wrestling hold, so it's a relatively easy matter for me to flip you off me and grab you from behind, immobilising your limbs. I shift position, curling my body around you in classic Big Spoon formation.

"Let's snooze for a bit."

Lance:
"Ohhh no no no. If I'm in mine, you're stuck in yours."

I pout. That’s fair but it’s not fun to be reminded of the consequences of my actions. I want to protest and offer both of us to remove our toys, but my manly pride doesn’t allow that. I’ll show that a simple cage around my dick can’t put me down!

You offer me a chance to transfer my frustration to you and I perk up. My alone time in the stall confirmed that I’m not getting the chastity device without some professional tools - or the key. My eyes are drawn to the discarded bundle of your shirt and jacket. I don’t remember where you put the key but it’s probably in one of the many pockets lining those clothes.

It’s no math problem to figure out that I can’t well look for the key while we’re stuck inside the same small room.

In my distraction, you easily get out of my hold and flip the tables, wrapping me in a bear hug from behind. Even your legs sneak between mine and hold my calves down.

"Let's snooze for a bit." I approve with a grumpy huff. “Sure, I know old people need their naps.” As I couldn’t even remove my boots, my position is far from comfortable… but it’s also not that bad.

Your broad chest is a nice rest for my naked back and the warm skin on mine is soothing, with your piercings quickly warming to my body temperature. I feel your bulge digging between my PVC-clad cheeks but even that is a comfy weight than an invitation to sex. My arms are caught at my sides but I can still lean back to you and rest my head in the crook of your neck. Your beard tickles my ear a little but overall, you’re one of the best snugglers I’ve ever had. Despite our small size difference, I feel wholly shielded and safe in your embrace - not a sensation I usually crave but appreciate now after the incidents we went through.

… of course, I can use a rest but that’s not my sole idea. I plan to wait until you sleep for good, sneak out of your arms, maybe tie you up and then look for the key. But for now, a cat nap sounds really good…

Richard:
I've always been able to doze off, anywhere, any time, and this evening has already been a lot. A side-slumberer, I turn over, still holding you in my embrace, and fall quickly into a deep dreamless sleep.

And, naturally, my grip relaxes.

To be continued...

[blackbound]

I'm hoping for a good table-turning here, as I said it would be a shame if they slept through their entire free time!

[gag1195]

It's time, Lance! Get to work! The ginger stud needs some red ropes and red tape! I certainly hope that Lance won't stray from his red theme!

[Straitjacketed]

Nine Circles - part 20

(Co-written with [mention]DeeperThanRed[/mention])

Lance:
I don’t know how much I dozed off but when I blink myself to wakefulness, I can hear you softly snoring in my ear. It’s…actually quite cute.

Waiting for a few seconds to see if you’re going to wake up from my movements, I slowly lift my arms and duck under your hold. Thankfully, your legs are unfolded from mine on their own so it takes me no time to get free completely. Now, I only need to act quietly to not wake you up, as I don’t know how heavily you sleep.

The open cupboard full of bondage equipment is inviting but I don’t want to risk waking you up while applying them. Instead, I take a couple of things I can use against you in case you arouse suddenly: the sleeping mask/blindfold and a pair of leather cuffs attached with a chain.

My ears open for any stirs or mumbles, I tiptoe towards your clothes and begin to check the pockets for their contents. I move quickly and internally curse the ridiculous amount of nooks and crannies your clothes contain. Come on, I just need a simple key to unlock this device!

Richard:
You've counted at least eight jacket pockets so far, inside and out and including the little ones on the sleeves. It's going to take a while to search them.

I stir in my sleep, rolling over on to the spot where you lay. The Yellow Knight's bracelet appears to be troubling me. I mumble something incoherent and seem to be on the verge of waking.

Lance:
I look at you from the corner of my eye, thinking if I should just try to wrestle you into bondage and then look for the key in comfort. But then I see how you toss and turn in your sleep. The last thing you need is for your nap to be rudely interrupted. I take a look at the blindfold in my hands and smile. Maybe I should give the easy way a try.

I draw up you and gently put the blindfold over your eyes and buckle it behind your head. Then, I simply cuff your hands in front of you in a way that doesn’t restrict your movement.

If/when you wake up, I’ll keep you from taking off the mask and put a hand over your mouth. “I’ve been waiting for this for a while. Just lie there and keep resting.” I then rip a lone strip of tape and smooth it over your mouth. Overall, you’re barely even restrained in a meaningful way. But I just need you to think that’s my best shot at tying you up.

Hoping you won’t kick me off, I turn my attention to your bare pecs. There’s no lie when I say that this is a job I’ll well enjoy as I start to knead your chest and suck on your pert nipples. In case you remove your flimsy gag, I’ll slide my fingers in your mouth and say “here, suck these for me.”

Of course, my real plan is to check the contents of your pockets between sucking and groping your torso, while the sounds of my mouth slurping and pressing wet kisses from your neck to your navel should hide the sounds your jacket makes… hopefully.

I carry on with my plan and try to manage both tasks I undertake adequately. It’s unfair, I think, how hard you make it for me to concentrate on the key search.

Richard:
I swim abruptly into consciousness, feel disoriented for a moment then realise I'm wearing a blindfold. You're back on top of me, though, so I just chuckle and reach up to remove it - and you stop me.

Heh, you've got leather cuffs around my wrists too. Bless!

“I’ve been waiting for this for a while. Just lie there and keep resting.”

"What are you up to?" I can't resist a chuckle.

I'm reminded of those occasions when young kids are playing at being monsters, so one indulges them by acting pantomime-scared.

A strip of tape, barely sticking to my beard. Not an effective gag but I try to stifle my mirth. This is too cute!

My nipples haven't been attended to for some time and I enjoy the pleasurable sensations, playfully rolling and bucking upwards, the silicon around my cock insufficient to prevent me enjoying the sensation of you trying to keep balance atop my groin while kissing and sucking my whole torso.

"Whoahh!" I laugh, forgetting to Act Gagged as I roll you almost off the bed.

Inside a tiny, zippered pocket at the front of the Langlitz, you find three of the tiny luggage padlocks and their keys, plus four additional ones - presumably one for each of your wrist restraints, one for the collar and one for the chastity device!

Are they keyed-alike? Only one way to find out…

To be continued...

[Guardianbound]

Is this Richard serving himself up for Lance? Tie that celtic deity up now

[Windrunner]

You've managed to make a couple of extremely relatable characters; their anticipation, the tension, the first-time awkwardness of things like being hooded, or feeling able to trust someone enough to be that vulnerable (or the humbling and slightly intimidating feeling - at least for me - when someone offers to give up control like that.

There's a lot of little bits in this that, maybe not exactly, but are SO very close to experiences I very fondly treasure (that sounds so much more dignified than "filed in the spank bank", no?)

You're on a roll here!