Nine Circles - part 21
(Co-written with [mention]DeeperThanRed[/mention])
Lance:
My plan works! For the most part. As I predicted, you probably assume that I prioritize getting our rocks off over effective bondage and settle for some light restraint. Hell, you don’t even try to pretend that a single strip of tape is going to muffle anything.
"What are you up to?"
“I’m showing you what a good dom I would make,” I reply with utmost sincerity. In truth, worshiping another man is more appealing to me than ordering him around but I can’t deny that I take no small amount of pleasure from holding your arms down and nipple your nipple piercing to draw delicious sounds from you. I can certainly get used to this.
I hope my mouth keeping busy is enough to distract you from the fact that my hands don’t touch you as often as they should - since I need them to try and test the keys! Good news: I find the keys. Bad news: there are a shit ton of them and while I can put up with and actually even kinda enjoy my collar and cuffs, I want my chastity device off and I need to use trial and error.
Figuring that I’ll need more stimulation to keep you occupied, I take the balled-up tie that you previously used to gag me. “You make too much noise. Open up.” Stuffing the black leather bundle between your lips, I note how good you look with them stretched around something large. Then, I use the bondage tape to actually gag you - wounding five rounds of tape around your head. “Now let me work my magic.”
I make a show out of trying to remove your pants with my teeth while I lift my hips and yank down my wetsuit. The first key is tested. Wrong. I huff and pull down your breeches. It’s gonna be hard to work these on the padlock each time. I lick a tantalizing slow strip down your shaft while testing the second one. Come on…
Richard:
I’m avoiding moving my head too much for fear of dislodging your flimsy tape gag. I don’t want to offend you but it’s hard not to chuckle.
In fact, I’m chuckling right up until my mouth’s stuffed and taped around. Five times!
“HHNOOAAA!!” I exclaim, taken aback. This feels… more effective.
Maybe it’s not so much humouring kids as being the supply teacher when things get out of hand.
My belt’s undone, my breeches are down, and you start licking. Okay, the gag is worth it for this. You’re Chaotic Good…
The second key works! It seems they are keyed-alike, and you just fumbled the first one.
Lance:
I grin. Bingo!
Unlocking the padlock, I hurry to get the blasted chastity device off, barely restraining myself to throw it to the wall. My cock can immediately respond to your gorgeous sight once more and quickly rises to attention. After getting edged for so long, I can just jack off myself to release here and there but I have a job to finish.
Taking your cuffed hands, I pull the chain by one of the metal bedpost bars and I work a padlock through the whole thing, effectively restraining your hands above your head. You might then notice something is amiss so I work quickly to push your legs open and use bondage tape to tie them to the opposite sides of the bed.
While the tape may not be sticky, it’s quite durable and allows me to use as many materials as I want on a single ankle. Before long, your legs are just as tightly secured as your hands.
My adam’s apple hits my collar as I gulp. I did it! Not only did I get myself out of the chastity, I restrained you so well that your bobbing erection might be your freest part despite the silicon ring around its base.
I lift your blindfold up and wave the red chastity device in front of your face with my best shit-eating grin. “Hey, old man. Remember our deal about this thing?”
It’s far too tempting to let your hard-on go and lock it around your dick and balls but I decide to be generous - and also finally come.
“Now, I’ll make sure you hold your end of the bargain. But before that, I’ll let you make a choice. You can either put this in me,” I tap your cock with my left hand and raise it. “Before getting locked… or I’ll hold it off for a while but I get to help myself with this.” I flick the base of your butt plug with my right hand and put it up with the other. I’m half-tempted to get myself one from the cupboards after this.
“Your choice,” I smirk, straddling your hips and waiting to see which hand you’ll choose. Of course, I’ll untie you if you’re too worn out for this. I’m not that cruel.
Richard:
I’m in a headspace that’s not wholly familiar but is delicious in its erotic novelty. Still with some of the vestiges of post-nap drowsiness, I’m physically charged up - the whole front of my body tingling from your ministrations - with a touch of light bondage the cherry on the cake.
Actually, maybe not so light?
The sense of tables turned - my first-time-in-a-leather-bar sub upending the rules to become master - is inherently sexy. Do I have a nascent BDSM top on my hands? I explore how you've restrained me.
There are elements of potential weakness in your set-up - I’m fairly sure I can, with only a little effort, unbuckle the leather cuffs around my wrists - but I’m genuinely impressed. My feet are tightly secured, and the gag is effective.
“Hey old man. Remember our deal about this thing!”
Heyyy, you went through my jacket and found the keys! I lower my brows and give you a growl.
Should I be angry? I’m kind of… not. I do recall, to my chagrin, giving you the option of escaping the red genital-prison… I roll my eyes, remembering… "any way at all".
I like your enterprise, even if it’s going to result in my getting locked into that thing (in addition to the silicon rings and plug? wild!). I hope you at least found the keys early on in your search, before opening the pocket with the vibro remote…
“Your choice.”
Not a choice at all. When you were strapped up on the wheel, I threatenpromised to fuck you to within an inch of your life. Our positions may be reversed but I am 100% going to carry that out!
Testing the limits of the spreadeagle position, I buck my hips upward.
“Hcnggm hrr oo ihhl hhih!” I mumble through a mouthful of leather tie, basted in a little Lance-saliva. Come here, you little shit!
I am so into this. Dom/sub etiquette be damned, your energy this moment - happy, mischievous, turned-on - is its own aphrodisiac.
My fists clench and strain, I glare at you in pantomime-fury over the gag and my cock – thick, uncut – surges up to meet you.
To be continued...
Nine Circles (M/M) - *COMPLETE*
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Straitjacketed
- Centennial Club
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- Joined: 5 years ago
- Location: UK
- Contact:
If M/M overkill bondage in stupidly excessive amounts of gear is your thing as well as mine, here's a list of my TUG stories.
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Straitjacketed
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 347
- Joined: 5 years ago
- Location: UK
- Contact:
Aww, [mention]Windrunner[/mention], thanks! [mention]DeeperThanRed[/mention] and I had a blast writing these characters and I'm pleased you're finding those little moments of resonance.Windrunner wrote: ↑11 months ago 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!
There's a lot of shorter, choppier back-and-forth in HERESY, so I'll post another chapter verrry soon...
If M/M overkill bondage in stupidly excessive amounts of gear is your thing as well as mine, here's a list of my TUG stories.
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Straitjacketed
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Nine Circles - part 22
(Co-written with [mention]DeeperThanRed[/mention])
Lance:
To my relief, the expression on your face shifts between different expressions - surprised, impressed, adoring, ruffled - but your eyes don’t seem to have any anger in them and you don’t try to buck me off in earnest; even as you let out a justified growl when I mock you with the chastity device.
I see you throwing some worried glances at your jacket. Is there something else you don’t want me to see? Maybe I’ll give it another look before I untie you but your bound, exposed body is more than enough for me at the moment.
And seemingly, the same applies to you.
“Hcnggm hrr oo ihhl hhih!” I know an invitation when I see one and I’m a little glad that you picked that option and not just because I’m not sure about the logistics of fucking you in this position.
“You asked for it!” I grin and shimmy off my wetsuit entirely to throw it by your clothes, trying my best to not step on you in the process. While I’m at it, I pick up a few things we’ll need from the well-stocked cupboard: condoms, lube, and a moderate-sized dildo, the kind I like the use when opening myself up. I’m clean but some preparation is still in order.
I then get back on the bed and kneel in front of you, clad in nothing but my leather boots, wrist cuffs, collar, rope harness, and rubber jockstrap. From all I’ve seen today, I know my attire is usually more appropriate for the tied-up subs but it gives me a unique thrill to have you on a string like this.
“Tease” would be the last word to describe me under normal conditions and even if nothing about our situation is normal, I still work fast, applying a liberal amount of lube to my fingers and reaching between the straps of my jock.
…okay, fine. Maybe I intentionally moan and play with my chest and bulge as you can do nothing but watch meanwhile. When three fingers can easily go inside my hole - your dick seems to necessitate that - I slide the dildo inside. It’s not very wide but is longer than I calculated and by the time I pushed it inside me, my moans and trembles are not just for show.
After I grant myself a couple of minutes to get used to it, I roll a condom on your leaking cock and position myself over it. I pull out the dildo and lower my hips just enough to sandwich the tip of your hard-on between my buttocks.
If you’re patient, I’ll make you enter me and then ride you long and hard.
If you’re not… well, you’re in the perfect position to disturb my balance and impale me on your dick.
Richard:
“You asked for it!”
I certainly did.
It's interesting how different your sex face is from your resting face...
Tempting as it is to knock you off balance straightaway, I don't want to just cause you pain - I want this to be pleasurable for me too - so I'm as patient as I need to be, enjoying the sensations in my sensitive cockhead and working with rather than against you. For now, anyway.
Lance:
Considering I was planning to do everything by myself, you’re a surprisingly big help in the sex. Frustrated by my hours-long edging, I pick up the pace quickly after slowly inching you inside me and feeling your cock filling me fully. I rest a hand on your abs and quickly work my hips to piston your erection in and out fast.
However, you sklllfully move your body to meet with me in the middle and I find that the sex becomes very unpredictable, very fast. I know I won’t last long and I take every opportunity to wring out as much pleasure as possible from you. And it’s amazing.
I shamelessly close my eyes and moan as I ride you, only opening an eye and pulling my cock out of my jock when I feel like I won’t be able to hold onto that orgasm for longer. “You-unh! Ah, you might want to turn your head.”
I crash onto you for one last time and furiously jack myself off, while my free hand tugs on my sensitive nipple hard. The mix of pain and pleasure is enough to send me off the edge and make me cum. With you still sheathed fully in me, I cum in spurts, white streaks splashing your abs, chest, and uh, even your gagged face. I manage a chuckle as I pant in my post-orgasm high. “Hah! I… I don’t remember the last time I came that hard.”
With one finger, I flick the base of the rubber ring around your cock and balls. If you couldn’t manage it, I’ll ask. “Do you also want to come?” I’m determined about putting the chastity device on you but that doesn’t mean I can’t give you a hand before that.
Richard:
I nod furiously. I'm not even vaguely thinking about chastity devices or anything else - just in the building moment.
I'm aaaaalmost there!
Ahhhhhh this never gets old!
Lance:
I nod and get off you, removing the rings while I'm at it. I remove the plug halfway through... only to ram it back and begin to piston it in and out while I tug on your slick cock furiously. I do it like how I lie myself: fast, occasionally with small twists and thumbing your balls.
Not that it would make much difference but right as I push the buttplug inside you, I lean forward and say, "Come on Richard: come for me."
Richard:
It's the final push, the momentum I need.
"HHHHUUUUUUGGGGHHHHH!!"
Face almost as red as the bondage tape, I come hard and satisfyingly. I don't have control over where it's aimed (and I don't have the projectile power I did twenty years ago) but I shoot in hot spurts, my plug-pressured prostate seeming to extend and sear the orgasm.
And I'm panting through my nose and into my gag.
To be continued...
(Co-written with [mention]DeeperThanRed[/mention])
Lance:
To my relief, the expression on your face shifts between different expressions - surprised, impressed, adoring, ruffled - but your eyes don’t seem to have any anger in them and you don’t try to buck me off in earnest; even as you let out a justified growl when I mock you with the chastity device.
I see you throwing some worried glances at your jacket. Is there something else you don’t want me to see? Maybe I’ll give it another look before I untie you but your bound, exposed body is more than enough for me at the moment.
And seemingly, the same applies to you.
“Hcnggm hrr oo ihhl hhih!” I know an invitation when I see one and I’m a little glad that you picked that option and not just because I’m not sure about the logistics of fucking you in this position.
“You asked for it!” I grin and shimmy off my wetsuit entirely to throw it by your clothes, trying my best to not step on you in the process. While I’m at it, I pick up a few things we’ll need from the well-stocked cupboard: condoms, lube, and a moderate-sized dildo, the kind I like the use when opening myself up. I’m clean but some preparation is still in order.
I then get back on the bed and kneel in front of you, clad in nothing but my leather boots, wrist cuffs, collar, rope harness, and rubber jockstrap. From all I’ve seen today, I know my attire is usually more appropriate for the tied-up subs but it gives me a unique thrill to have you on a string like this.
“Tease” would be the last word to describe me under normal conditions and even if nothing about our situation is normal, I still work fast, applying a liberal amount of lube to my fingers and reaching between the straps of my jock.
…okay, fine. Maybe I intentionally moan and play with my chest and bulge as you can do nothing but watch meanwhile. When three fingers can easily go inside my hole - your dick seems to necessitate that - I slide the dildo inside. It’s not very wide but is longer than I calculated and by the time I pushed it inside me, my moans and trembles are not just for show.
After I grant myself a couple of minutes to get used to it, I roll a condom on your leaking cock and position myself over it. I pull out the dildo and lower my hips just enough to sandwich the tip of your hard-on between my buttocks.
If you’re patient, I’ll make you enter me and then ride you long and hard.
If you’re not… well, you’re in the perfect position to disturb my balance and impale me on your dick.
Richard:
“You asked for it!”
I certainly did.
It's interesting how different your sex face is from your resting face...
Tempting as it is to knock you off balance straightaway, I don't want to just cause you pain - I want this to be pleasurable for me too - so I'm as patient as I need to be, enjoying the sensations in my sensitive cockhead and working with rather than against you. For now, anyway.
Lance:
Considering I was planning to do everything by myself, you’re a surprisingly big help in the sex. Frustrated by my hours-long edging, I pick up the pace quickly after slowly inching you inside me and feeling your cock filling me fully. I rest a hand on your abs and quickly work my hips to piston your erection in and out fast.
However, you sklllfully move your body to meet with me in the middle and I find that the sex becomes very unpredictable, very fast. I know I won’t last long and I take every opportunity to wring out as much pleasure as possible from you. And it’s amazing.
I shamelessly close my eyes and moan as I ride you, only opening an eye and pulling my cock out of my jock when I feel like I won’t be able to hold onto that orgasm for longer. “You-unh! Ah, you might want to turn your head.”
I crash onto you for one last time and furiously jack myself off, while my free hand tugs on my sensitive nipple hard. The mix of pain and pleasure is enough to send me off the edge and make me cum. With you still sheathed fully in me, I cum in spurts, white streaks splashing your abs, chest, and uh, even your gagged face. I manage a chuckle as I pant in my post-orgasm high. “Hah! I… I don’t remember the last time I came that hard.”
With one finger, I flick the base of the rubber ring around your cock and balls. If you couldn’t manage it, I’ll ask. “Do you also want to come?” I’m determined about putting the chastity device on you but that doesn’t mean I can’t give you a hand before that.
Richard:
I nod furiously. I'm not even vaguely thinking about chastity devices or anything else - just in the building moment.
I'm aaaaalmost there!
Ahhhhhh this never gets old!
Lance:
I nod and get off you, removing the rings while I'm at it. I remove the plug halfway through... only to ram it back and begin to piston it in and out while I tug on your slick cock furiously. I do it like how I lie myself: fast, occasionally with small twists and thumbing your balls.
Not that it would make much difference but right as I push the buttplug inside you, I lean forward and say, "Come on Richard: come for me."
Richard:
It's the final push, the momentum I need.
"HHHHUUUUUUGGGGHHHHH!!"
Face almost as red as the bondage tape, I come hard and satisfyingly. I don't have control over where it's aimed (and I don't have the projectile power I did twenty years ago) but I shoot in hot spurts, my plug-pressured prostate seeming to extend and sear the orgasm.
And I'm panting through my nose and into my gag.
To be continued...
If M/M overkill bondage in stupidly excessive amounts of gear is your thing as well as mine, here's a list of my TUG stories.
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blackbound
- Millennial Club
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Super hot! And very kind of Lance not to ruin his orgasm, then lock him up.
I missed 3 amazing updates! And what a thrilling ride to catch up! I knew Lance could do it! I cannot wait for Studly Richard to continue the rest of the night locked up down there! I wonder what else this evening has in store for this duo?
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Straitjacketed
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Nine Circles - part 23
(Co-written with [mention]DeeperThanRed[/mention])
Lance:
Finishing you off on top of my own release is a combo enough to make me just lie on top of you, not caring at all about the mess we made. The sex was not only satisfying, it was just novel enough to keep me on my toes until the last minute and you were an amazing partner through and through.
I gather breath for a while and press kisses on your cheek. “You know, you’re a lot cuter when you can’t talk.” I actually find your deep voice and dramaturgic way of speech adorable but I don’t let that get to your head. “Still, I think it’d be a lot easier to wash up without this,” I point out before ripping the tape gag off of you. True to packaging’s instructions, it comes off easily once I find the edge and doesn’t damage your beard. I pull out the soggy tie from your mouth and work on the cuffs.
“Did you enjoy this as much as I did?” This is more of a rhetorical question but I’d like to hear an honest review. If we’ll ever fuck again (and I hope that will be the case), knowing each other’s preferences is important.
“I’m not sure if two grown men will fit the bathroom but I’m willing to try. How about we get cleaned and then decide what to do next?”
Richard:
I too am a fan of just lying there, post-ejaculation, and letting the come dry between us - and, God knows, we're in a room designed to be wipe-clean.
Now that the orgasm has passed, however, the fact of being tied to the bed starts to be less sexy and more irritant. I resist the urge to fumble for the buckles of the wrist straps and begin untying myself, though: you did an excellent job and there's no need to undercut that by letting you know I could potentially have got out by myself.
The gag, too, starts to grate a little and I'm glad when you start unwrapping it and I can spit the soggy leather mouth-packing out. I stretch my jaw, getting the muscles working again.
“Did you enjoy this as much as I did?”
"The proof of the pudding is," I say, wryly, "spattered over my belly and chest."
When you've undone both of my cuffs, I instinctively grab and hold you close again. My feet are still taped to the bed, and they'll doubtless be unbound soon enough but, for the moment, I want to savour the last moments of sticky afterglow.
"I enjoyed it very much," I lean over to stage-whisper in your ear, "but don't tell anyone. I'd be drummed out of the Gold Star Leather Dom Club. Boy.”
I jest. A power balance that can shift - including physically - will always interest me more than one that is sterile and performative. The fact that you can more than hold your own in a fight and possess sufficient deviousness to turn the tables on me makes you a uniquely intriguing challenge. I clearly have to work to hold and maintain any dominance over you and that is a special thrill all of its own.
“I’m not sure if two grown men will fit the bathroom but I’m willing to try. How about we get cleaned and then decide what to do next?”
"I'm all for trying to fit a quart into a pint pot," I say, "let's have at it."
I help you untie the red rope from around your torso (I have an idea for another, more elaborate version) and use one of the keys to unlock your collar and wrist cuffs. Slyly, I palm the key for future use.
"No point getting the leather wet," I say, "and we might as well bin these."
I tear the golden tags from your collar and the lapel of my jacket. We won't be returning to the Fourth Circle.
We can't remove the Yellow Knight's chain bracelets, so they accompany us into the tiny, cramped shower. We make a game of the intimate quarters: I enjoy pinning you against the tiles, lathering your smooth buttocks up and rinsing them down.
You're free of your chastity device but, mindful of the deal I made, I don't try to remove the black silicon rings or plug (partly because pulling out the latter is going to take patience and concentration) but wash and dry carefully around and between them.
Being clean again feels good.
I regard myself in the mirror. The bruises are now clearly visible (damn that Celtic complexion!) but, post-shower, they feel more like the product of a rigorous workout than a pummelling from a martial arts expert.
There’s nothing I can do about my one red demon-eye but that too will fade soon enough. It already looks a little less angry.
It feels like the power balance has shifted slightly, not necessarily in a bad way (I like the dom/sub tropes being subverted or customised within an individual relationship) but some things can no longer be assumed. Will you, for example, submit to being locked back into my cuffs and collar? Are you up for some reworked shibari or should we find you some new adornment from the well-stocked cupboards?
And then there's the small red elephant in the room.
"Never," I say, my hair combed and neatly side-parted, my beard tidy again, "let it be said I'm not a man of my word."
I pick up the chastity device. It looks, bizarrely, like a discarded clown nose.
"I suppose you want me to fit another quart into a pint pot?"
Lance:
"I enjoyed it very much, but don't tell anyone. I'd be drummed out of the Gold Star Leather Dom Club. Boy.”
I snort and lean over to kiss you again. For all I know, that could be a real thing (wouldn’t be the weirdest thing in Deubel’s) but for me, your dominant side is all the sexier because I saw how different you can be when you want to and I work for it a little.
The range of an actor, I muse.
Before we get into the bath, you relieve me from my bonds, which I appreciate a lot. The ropes and cuffs left obvious marks on my tan skin and while they don’t hurt, a short break from them feels nice.
The way you take back the key indicates that you still have plans to lock me up and while the me a few hours before would find it distressing, I’m just eager to see what else your repertoire of bondage includes that I haven’t seen yet.
Removing my jock means that I’ll be fully naked in front of you for the first time but that doesn’t make a difference at this point. What makes a difference is that apparently dominating you makes you get back at me - as you practically plaster me to the shower walls before paying close attention to my ass.
After we’re done, I stick around in front of the mirror to style my hair a little but there’s not much I can do without any products. As I wait for you to finish your own grooming, I take the (also cleaned and dried) chastity device and toy with it. Even though there’s not much difference between our sizes, I wonder if your cock and ball rings would create a problem.
I stand up when you walk back to the room wearing nothing. Even though we just had sex and showered together, it’ll still take a while for me to get used to the tattooed glory of your body.
"I suppose you want me to fit another quart into a pint pot?"
I tap my chin in thought. The thought is still attractive but after riding you like a ginger stallion, I’m kinda less willing to take your dick out of the equation for good. “Sure but why don’t we turn it into a choice? You can either put that on top of your current rings and plug… or replace one with any toy you find in this room.”
If they’re going to be too hard on you, you can just discard one and pick nipple suckers or something. “I’m a man of magnanimity, after all,” I say, mimicking your accent.
When you’re done, I jump beside you like an excited kid. “Now, what do you have in mind for my restraints? I want to stick to either rope or leather this time.” If you’ll do more shibari, I’ll probably forgo clothes to show it off - having gained a fondness for how my muscles look when roped up. If I’m gonna wear my wetsuit, I want to experiment with different restraints like the cuffs.
I take a look at my collar. Intimidating at first, but now it’s a sign of who I belong to in this club. Weirdly enough… “either way, I’m keeping the collar.” I look into you challengingly.
“That’s not for negotiation. But I’ll ask for a rain check if you want to add a muzzle or leash.” That part was said in jest but then I remember the stall puppies in the third circle. Bizarre how just about anything can apparently be a kink. There’s no telling what we might encounter if we keep exploring this place.
Richard:
“Sure but why don’t we turn it into a choice? You can either put that on top of your current rings and plug… or replace one with any toy you find in this room. I’m a man of magnanimity, after all."
Your pastiche of my accent makes me smile and aim a towel-flick in your direction.
"Goodbye to the clown nose, then," I say, relieved not only that I won't have to shoehorn myself into that thing over the silicon rings but also that vibro is removed from the equation.
There's a drawer of toys to rival Ker's selection and I know from him that these smaller items are the Deubel’s equivalent of the tiny soaps one spirits away from hotel rooms.
"Gates of Hell would be appropriate," I think aloud, considering the series of steel rings linked with a strip of leather, "but they're a little sensitive for those of us who never underwent 'the unkindest cut'. Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown."
It's true: when I've worn Gates of Hell in the past, they've been rough on my sensitive glans.
"This," I say, making my selection.
It's still chastity, it's still blood-red and it still covers both cock and balls, fastening at the root of both. Where the device you wore was of hard plastic, this is an enclosing sheath of latex, considerably thicker than a condom but still possessed of sufficient elasticity that it should stretch over the silicon rings. Much less restrictive than yours, it works by muffling sensation rather than limiting growth.
Or I think it does. Once inside, I realise there are little rubber nubs at the tip. It fastens with a tiny strap and buckle. It comes with an appropriately minuscule padlock and key but I may attempt a little sleight of hand to substitute one of my own locks, the ones to which I own the key.
“Now, what do you have in mind for my restraints? I want to stick to either rope or leather this time.”
"Shibari again," I decide, "but this time, I want to go more functional than decorative."
Rather than doubled ropes, I use the full length and, while I ensure the knots lie neatly, they're less ornate. I start with the same principle - one in the centre of your torso - but add a second knot just below your navel. From those two anchor knots, multiple lengths of red cotton cord radiate over your shoulders, under your pectorals, around your slim waist and under your crotch.
The end result is a sort of full body harness, outlining the muscles of your chest and framing your genitals. I take a certain amount of satisfaction in duplicating the restriction around my own: knotting rope around the root, the base of your cock and separating your balls.
A brace of linking ropes run across your nipples, positioned to rub just a little when you move.
I tie the ligature off at the back of your waist, leaving rope ends long enough to fix your crossed wrists there, behind you, should moment and opportunity arise...
"... I'm keeping the collar."
I nod, secretly delighted that your outfit renegotiation hasn't negated the first item you were locked into - locked yourself into. The cuffs go back on the left side of my belt.
I ease into my breeches then sit on the bed to pull on my boots, wincing only a little as tight leather presses on silicon and now latex. The tie, bearing marks of both our dentition, is beyond use so I leave the leather uniform shirt open at the neck.
It's comforting shrugging the Langlitz into place, settling the heavy hide across my shoulders and engaging the zip. My armour. I check my pockets - dumping the remote control for the clown nose, and ensuring all padlocks and keys are present and correct - and add two new items. No muzzle, no leash, just the leather blindfold you used on me and a simple red ball-gag.
I'm not wholly sure how much time we've passed in the room. It's been pleasant indeed but now rested, showered and dressed, I'm invigorated and happy to move on.
"Ready?"
Lance:
Your choice is surprising (I’m not at all familiar with the item) but I appreciate the red color that quickly became a motif for us and the fact that you can still use your cock. At your age, I doubt we can go at it again in short order but the idea of getting fucked by you again already makes my own dick twitch.
And it’s not called the Gates of Hell, which should be a nice bonus.
I watch you carefully as you put it on (there’s almost a relaxing thing about seeing your manhood disappearing behind a curtain of latex) and I immediately spot the padlock on it. “You should put a lock on it,” I wink. I decided against asking for the key - I don’t have anything I can carry in. “Just put the key in a pocket I can see.”
"Shibari again, but this time, I want to go more functional than decorative."
“You mean the last one wasn’t functional?” I frown but don’t object further as you wound the rope around me like a spider immobilizing its prey. The ropework is familiar enough to the last one and I intently follow the movement of your fingers as you turn the loose rope into unyielding knots wrapped around my muscles.
I quickly understand what you mean by “less decorative” as you kneel and begin to work between my legs and I barely hold myself from pushing your head to my crotch. “I can get used to you being in this position,” I murmur and get a dick tied up tight for my troubles. Typical.
I wince when you get to my balls. Can’t you leave them alone? Thankfully, it’s not as painful as I feared but it’s a constant, mildly irritating pressure. Just like those predictable nipple-torture ropes!
In the end, while I still have full use of my body, I’m much more aware that I’m basically a walking model asking to be secured to anything and everything with a number of convenient knots positioned all around me.
The collar goes back on and I only then remember my naked state. “I might skip the wetsuit,” I frown as I put my jock back on. You seem to like my butt so that probably won’t be a problem for you but I don’t want to wear this harness under an already tight catsuit.
The rubber pouch comfortably lifts and packs my bound genitals, though the ropes that go inside my waistband loudly announce to anyone with eyes to see that they’re bound.
I wear my boots again and check myself in the mirror. Hmm, something feels missing. I take a look inside the cupboard and find something I know would complete the look.
“Man, I’m smoking!” I polish a bicep and pose in front of you. I now wear fingerless gloves made of black leather and complement the rest of my skimpy ensemble perfectly.
You’re back to your previous clothes but look more handsome now that you lost the tie.
"Ready?"
I nod excitedly. As fun as this short respite was, I’m more than keen to see what the rest of the club has to offer.
“Lead the way!”
Richard:
"Hang on," I say, "just a little finishing touch".
I kneel down at the back of you, grasp your hands and cross them behind you, at your waist. Those fingerless gloves do look good but, I muse as I swiftly loop and knot the "tails" of the red shibari rope around your wrists, it'll be a little while before you see them again.
There's just enough rope for me to be thorough. I bind your hands horizontally and vertically, with a cinch between, tightening everything up. I secure the final knot above your wrists and on the inside, where your fingers can't reach, and tuck the ends in, nice and neat.
Your hands are now comfortably but snugly fixed to the back of your waist. If you tug on them, the under-the-crotch roping will transfer that tension directly to your cock and balls.
"There," I smirk, "out of harm's way."
Of course, you're more than capable of causing harm with your feet alone but our interlude in Room 6 has brought us together and I feel reasonably confident that we share a degree of understanding. Enough that I don't have to hobble your feet, anyway.
I lock the door behind us, pocket the key, and lead on as instructed, hooking a finger through your collar D-ring where necessary.
The brickwork corridor forks, and I steer us to the right. Here, the brickwork is painted with a mural: a black silhouette of woodland, mainly rows of very Northern European looking pines but with the occasional dead-looking specimen stabbing withered branches at the sky. The floor is flagstone, painted the same hue as your rope harness and my genital prison.
The forest gradually deepens until solid black surrounds us, the red flagstones leading us forward like a river of blood. The corridor ends in a wrought iron staircase, and we descend (I'm careful to go first, in case, in your armless state, you take a tumble)...
To be continued...
(Co-written with [mention]DeeperThanRed[/mention])
Lance:
Finishing you off on top of my own release is a combo enough to make me just lie on top of you, not caring at all about the mess we made. The sex was not only satisfying, it was just novel enough to keep me on my toes until the last minute and you were an amazing partner through and through.
I gather breath for a while and press kisses on your cheek. “You know, you’re a lot cuter when you can’t talk.” I actually find your deep voice and dramaturgic way of speech adorable but I don’t let that get to your head. “Still, I think it’d be a lot easier to wash up without this,” I point out before ripping the tape gag off of you. True to packaging’s instructions, it comes off easily once I find the edge and doesn’t damage your beard. I pull out the soggy tie from your mouth and work on the cuffs.
“Did you enjoy this as much as I did?” This is more of a rhetorical question but I’d like to hear an honest review. If we’ll ever fuck again (and I hope that will be the case), knowing each other’s preferences is important.
“I’m not sure if two grown men will fit the bathroom but I’m willing to try. How about we get cleaned and then decide what to do next?”
Richard:
I too am a fan of just lying there, post-ejaculation, and letting the come dry between us - and, God knows, we're in a room designed to be wipe-clean.
Now that the orgasm has passed, however, the fact of being tied to the bed starts to be less sexy and more irritant. I resist the urge to fumble for the buckles of the wrist straps and begin untying myself, though: you did an excellent job and there's no need to undercut that by letting you know I could potentially have got out by myself.
The gag, too, starts to grate a little and I'm glad when you start unwrapping it and I can spit the soggy leather mouth-packing out. I stretch my jaw, getting the muscles working again.
“Did you enjoy this as much as I did?”
"The proof of the pudding is," I say, wryly, "spattered over my belly and chest."
When you've undone both of my cuffs, I instinctively grab and hold you close again. My feet are still taped to the bed, and they'll doubtless be unbound soon enough but, for the moment, I want to savour the last moments of sticky afterglow.
"I enjoyed it very much," I lean over to stage-whisper in your ear, "but don't tell anyone. I'd be drummed out of the Gold Star Leather Dom Club. Boy.”
I jest. A power balance that can shift - including physically - will always interest me more than one that is sterile and performative. The fact that you can more than hold your own in a fight and possess sufficient deviousness to turn the tables on me makes you a uniquely intriguing challenge. I clearly have to work to hold and maintain any dominance over you and that is a special thrill all of its own.
“I’m not sure if two grown men will fit the bathroom but I’m willing to try. How about we get cleaned and then decide what to do next?”
"I'm all for trying to fit a quart into a pint pot," I say, "let's have at it."
I help you untie the red rope from around your torso (I have an idea for another, more elaborate version) and use one of the keys to unlock your collar and wrist cuffs. Slyly, I palm the key for future use.
"No point getting the leather wet," I say, "and we might as well bin these."
I tear the golden tags from your collar and the lapel of my jacket. We won't be returning to the Fourth Circle.
We can't remove the Yellow Knight's chain bracelets, so they accompany us into the tiny, cramped shower. We make a game of the intimate quarters: I enjoy pinning you against the tiles, lathering your smooth buttocks up and rinsing them down.
You're free of your chastity device but, mindful of the deal I made, I don't try to remove the black silicon rings or plug (partly because pulling out the latter is going to take patience and concentration) but wash and dry carefully around and between them.
Being clean again feels good.
I regard myself in the mirror. The bruises are now clearly visible (damn that Celtic complexion!) but, post-shower, they feel more like the product of a rigorous workout than a pummelling from a martial arts expert.
There’s nothing I can do about my one red demon-eye but that too will fade soon enough. It already looks a little less angry.
It feels like the power balance has shifted slightly, not necessarily in a bad way (I like the dom/sub tropes being subverted or customised within an individual relationship) but some things can no longer be assumed. Will you, for example, submit to being locked back into my cuffs and collar? Are you up for some reworked shibari or should we find you some new adornment from the well-stocked cupboards?
And then there's the small red elephant in the room.
"Never," I say, my hair combed and neatly side-parted, my beard tidy again, "let it be said I'm not a man of my word."
I pick up the chastity device. It looks, bizarrely, like a discarded clown nose.
"I suppose you want me to fit another quart into a pint pot?"
Lance:
"I enjoyed it very much, but don't tell anyone. I'd be drummed out of the Gold Star Leather Dom Club. Boy.”
I snort and lean over to kiss you again. For all I know, that could be a real thing (wouldn’t be the weirdest thing in Deubel’s) but for me, your dominant side is all the sexier because I saw how different you can be when you want to and I work for it a little.
The range of an actor, I muse.
Before we get into the bath, you relieve me from my bonds, which I appreciate a lot. The ropes and cuffs left obvious marks on my tan skin and while they don’t hurt, a short break from them feels nice.
The way you take back the key indicates that you still have plans to lock me up and while the me a few hours before would find it distressing, I’m just eager to see what else your repertoire of bondage includes that I haven’t seen yet.
Removing my jock means that I’ll be fully naked in front of you for the first time but that doesn’t make a difference at this point. What makes a difference is that apparently dominating you makes you get back at me - as you practically plaster me to the shower walls before paying close attention to my ass.
After we’re done, I stick around in front of the mirror to style my hair a little but there’s not much I can do without any products. As I wait for you to finish your own grooming, I take the (also cleaned and dried) chastity device and toy with it. Even though there’s not much difference between our sizes, I wonder if your cock and ball rings would create a problem.
I stand up when you walk back to the room wearing nothing. Even though we just had sex and showered together, it’ll still take a while for me to get used to the tattooed glory of your body.
"I suppose you want me to fit another quart into a pint pot?"
I tap my chin in thought. The thought is still attractive but after riding you like a ginger stallion, I’m kinda less willing to take your dick out of the equation for good. “Sure but why don’t we turn it into a choice? You can either put that on top of your current rings and plug… or replace one with any toy you find in this room.”
If they’re going to be too hard on you, you can just discard one and pick nipple suckers or something. “I’m a man of magnanimity, after all,” I say, mimicking your accent.
When you’re done, I jump beside you like an excited kid. “Now, what do you have in mind for my restraints? I want to stick to either rope or leather this time.” If you’ll do more shibari, I’ll probably forgo clothes to show it off - having gained a fondness for how my muscles look when roped up. If I’m gonna wear my wetsuit, I want to experiment with different restraints like the cuffs.
I take a look at my collar. Intimidating at first, but now it’s a sign of who I belong to in this club. Weirdly enough… “either way, I’m keeping the collar.” I look into you challengingly.
“That’s not for negotiation. But I’ll ask for a rain check if you want to add a muzzle or leash.” That part was said in jest but then I remember the stall puppies in the third circle. Bizarre how just about anything can apparently be a kink. There’s no telling what we might encounter if we keep exploring this place.
Richard:
“Sure but why don’t we turn it into a choice? You can either put that on top of your current rings and plug… or replace one with any toy you find in this room. I’m a man of magnanimity, after all."
Your pastiche of my accent makes me smile and aim a towel-flick in your direction.
"Goodbye to the clown nose, then," I say, relieved not only that I won't have to shoehorn myself into that thing over the silicon rings but also that vibro is removed from the equation.
There's a drawer of toys to rival Ker's selection and I know from him that these smaller items are the Deubel’s equivalent of the tiny soaps one spirits away from hotel rooms.
"Gates of Hell would be appropriate," I think aloud, considering the series of steel rings linked with a strip of leather, "but they're a little sensitive for those of us who never underwent 'the unkindest cut'. Uneasy lies the head that wears the crown."
It's true: when I've worn Gates of Hell in the past, they've been rough on my sensitive glans.
"This," I say, making my selection.
It's still chastity, it's still blood-red and it still covers both cock and balls, fastening at the root of both. Where the device you wore was of hard plastic, this is an enclosing sheath of latex, considerably thicker than a condom but still possessed of sufficient elasticity that it should stretch over the silicon rings. Much less restrictive than yours, it works by muffling sensation rather than limiting growth.
Or I think it does. Once inside, I realise there are little rubber nubs at the tip. It fastens with a tiny strap and buckle. It comes with an appropriately minuscule padlock and key but I may attempt a little sleight of hand to substitute one of my own locks, the ones to which I own the key.
“Now, what do you have in mind for my restraints? I want to stick to either rope or leather this time.”
"Shibari again," I decide, "but this time, I want to go more functional than decorative."
Rather than doubled ropes, I use the full length and, while I ensure the knots lie neatly, they're less ornate. I start with the same principle - one in the centre of your torso - but add a second knot just below your navel. From those two anchor knots, multiple lengths of red cotton cord radiate over your shoulders, under your pectorals, around your slim waist and under your crotch.
The end result is a sort of full body harness, outlining the muscles of your chest and framing your genitals. I take a certain amount of satisfaction in duplicating the restriction around my own: knotting rope around the root, the base of your cock and separating your balls.
A brace of linking ropes run across your nipples, positioned to rub just a little when you move.
I tie the ligature off at the back of your waist, leaving rope ends long enough to fix your crossed wrists there, behind you, should moment and opportunity arise...
"... I'm keeping the collar."
I nod, secretly delighted that your outfit renegotiation hasn't negated the first item you were locked into - locked yourself into. The cuffs go back on the left side of my belt.
I ease into my breeches then sit on the bed to pull on my boots, wincing only a little as tight leather presses on silicon and now latex. The tie, bearing marks of both our dentition, is beyond use so I leave the leather uniform shirt open at the neck.
It's comforting shrugging the Langlitz into place, settling the heavy hide across my shoulders and engaging the zip. My armour. I check my pockets - dumping the remote control for the clown nose, and ensuring all padlocks and keys are present and correct - and add two new items. No muzzle, no leash, just the leather blindfold you used on me and a simple red ball-gag.
I'm not wholly sure how much time we've passed in the room. It's been pleasant indeed but now rested, showered and dressed, I'm invigorated and happy to move on.
"Ready?"
Lance:
Your choice is surprising (I’m not at all familiar with the item) but I appreciate the red color that quickly became a motif for us and the fact that you can still use your cock. At your age, I doubt we can go at it again in short order but the idea of getting fucked by you again already makes my own dick twitch.
And it’s not called the Gates of Hell, which should be a nice bonus.
I watch you carefully as you put it on (there’s almost a relaxing thing about seeing your manhood disappearing behind a curtain of latex) and I immediately spot the padlock on it. “You should put a lock on it,” I wink. I decided against asking for the key - I don’t have anything I can carry in. “Just put the key in a pocket I can see.”
"Shibari again, but this time, I want to go more functional than decorative."
“You mean the last one wasn’t functional?” I frown but don’t object further as you wound the rope around me like a spider immobilizing its prey. The ropework is familiar enough to the last one and I intently follow the movement of your fingers as you turn the loose rope into unyielding knots wrapped around my muscles.
I quickly understand what you mean by “less decorative” as you kneel and begin to work between my legs and I barely hold myself from pushing your head to my crotch. “I can get used to you being in this position,” I murmur and get a dick tied up tight for my troubles. Typical.
I wince when you get to my balls. Can’t you leave them alone? Thankfully, it’s not as painful as I feared but it’s a constant, mildly irritating pressure. Just like those predictable nipple-torture ropes!
In the end, while I still have full use of my body, I’m much more aware that I’m basically a walking model asking to be secured to anything and everything with a number of convenient knots positioned all around me.
The collar goes back on and I only then remember my naked state. “I might skip the wetsuit,” I frown as I put my jock back on. You seem to like my butt so that probably won’t be a problem for you but I don’t want to wear this harness under an already tight catsuit.
The rubber pouch comfortably lifts and packs my bound genitals, though the ropes that go inside my waistband loudly announce to anyone with eyes to see that they’re bound.
I wear my boots again and check myself in the mirror. Hmm, something feels missing. I take a look inside the cupboard and find something I know would complete the look.
“Man, I’m smoking!” I polish a bicep and pose in front of you. I now wear fingerless gloves made of black leather and complement the rest of my skimpy ensemble perfectly.
You’re back to your previous clothes but look more handsome now that you lost the tie.
"Ready?"
I nod excitedly. As fun as this short respite was, I’m more than keen to see what the rest of the club has to offer.
“Lead the way!”
Richard:
"Hang on," I say, "just a little finishing touch".
I kneel down at the back of you, grasp your hands and cross them behind you, at your waist. Those fingerless gloves do look good but, I muse as I swiftly loop and knot the "tails" of the red shibari rope around your wrists, it'll be a little while before you see them again.
There's just enough rope for me to be thorough. I bind your hands horizontally and vertically, with a cinch between, tightening everything up. I secure the final knot above your wrists and on the inside, where your fingers can't reach, and tuck the ends in, nice and neat.
Your hands are now comfortably but snugly fixed to the back of your waist. If you tug on them, the under-the-crotch roping will transfer that tension directly to your cock and balls.
"There," I smirk, "out of harm's way."
Of course, you're more than capable of causing harm with your feet alone but our interlude in Room 6 has brought us together and I feel reasonably confident that we share a degree of understanding. Enough that I don't have to hobble your feet, anyway.
I lock the door behind us, pocket the key, and lead on as instructed, hooking a finger through your collar D-ring where necessary.
The brickwork corridor forks, and I steer us to the right. Here, the brickwork is painted with a mural: a black silhouette of woodland, mainly rows of very Northern European looking pines but with the occasional dead-looking specimen stabbing withered branches at the sky. The floor is flagstone, painted the same hue as your rope harness and my genital prison.
The forest gradually deepens until solid black surrounds us, the red flagstones leading us forward like a river of blood. The corridor ends in a wrought iron staircase, and we descend (I'm careful to go first, in case, in your armless state, you take a tumble)...
To be continued...
If M/M overkill bondage in stupidly excessive amounts of gear is your thing as well as mine, here's a list of my TUG stories.
I don't want this night to end! Richard and Lance are having so much fun, and so am I! Lance beautifully restrained in that tasteful shibari, and of course, Richard stuck in his own little restraint! Looking forward to seeing what else this club has in store for the pair!
-
Straitjacketed
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 347
- Joined: 5 years ago
- Location: UK
- Contact:
Hahah, delighted to hear it! There's only nine Circles, though, and they're two thirds of the way through...
If M/M overkill bondage in stupidly excessive amounts of gear is your thing as well as mine, here's a list of my TUG stories.
-
Straitjacketed
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 347
- Joined: 5 years ago
- Location: UK
- Contact:
Nine Circles - part 24
(Co-written with [mention]DeeperThanRed[/mention])
VIOLENCE
Richard:
... into something that is, of all the rooms and galleries visited so far, closest to how one might imagine an actual torture dungeon.
"It used to be a cellar for wine," I tell you, widening my eyes in classic melodramatic Spooky Face, "or possibly Amontillado."
The vaulted brick ceilings are low and, like the walls, painted the deepest of reds, a shade reminiscent of those dark-hued roses that appear almost black. On the walls, actual black continues the "lost in the woods" motif of silhouetted trees. Artificial torches flicker in a not-unconvincing simulation of firelight and, echoing through at least four separate archways, floats a low-level susurrus: snatches of conversation, laughter, pleading, muffled or unmuffled cries, howls, gasps, grunts, groans, creaks and the thwack of leather on skin (cow, horse or human) or latex.
Through the shadowy openings, it's possible to glimpse the shapes and forms from which the sounds arise, and the overall atmosphere makes you think, oddly, of a large sprawling gym complex lined with all manner of specialised equipment (some recognisable, some more arcane) into which the human body is strapped, locked or bolted to receive precisely calculated amounts of physical stress.
"'Violent desires have violent ends'," I intone, "what's your fancy, boy?"
Who knows, I might even indulge it.
Lance:
“You really like tying me up, don’t you?” I feel my face contorting into one of my inadvertent glares - even though I’m growing to like the way ropes feel and look on me. It’s still awkward not being able to use my hands but I like the restraints, or at least struggling against them.
And if it gives you another reason to manhandle me while leading me through the club, all the more reason to like it. I’m sure you’d wrap me in plastic foil from head to toe if you could but I don’t voice this thought to not give you any ideas.
"There, out of harm's way."
“Dick,” I mumble, testing the ropes. Predictably, it sends a painful jolt between my balls, nearly making me tear up. For some reason, I can’t help but occasionally send small tugs through the rope as you lock the door but seeing how just walking is enough, I don’t force it.
Maybe my masochistic side doesn’t show itself only in fights…
As you pull me to our next stop, I realize how the way my hands are tied prevents me doing anything to cover my bare buttocks framed and lifted by the straps of my jock. It’s a good thing you’re here to defend me against any unwanted attention.
Speaking of attention… “whoever designed this place watched too much Twin Peaks.” The dark hallway’s abyssal flow is accentuated by the red lines gradually thinning into a faint shadow under our feet and I can’t help feeling like we’re being devoured by Deubel’s by our own volition.
I press on and find myself in a new room where my previous jokes about the Inquisition suddenly don’t feel so funny. Even though I know people here just roleplay in their own way, the sudden wave of pained human voices and inhuman sounds that sound painful is enough to make me hesitate.
The sight of people just talking and laughing around calms me down as I see some submissive actively asking for whips, paddles, and other physical punishments. I even begin to think I may want to take the place of some of the kinksters in this room.
Not dominants, though. If I’m going to hit someone, I’d rather have them be able to respond. Yes, I won’t be able to beat the self-flagellation allegations anytime soon - which I’m sure some guys here do literally.
"'Violent desires have violent ends', what's your fancy, boy?" I look at you, unable to choose whether you look smug or serious.
“I don’t hurt for options,” I grimace and take a look around. The steel X-shape at the corner where a bulky man is tied and flogged is interesting but I don’t want to be strapped to something like that so soon.
The leather seat that dangles from four thick chains from the ceiling, on the other hand, looks pretty fun. I’ll definitely put it on my list.
But in the end, I pick something that reminds me, in the best way possible, of the old cowboy movies I like to watch. I nudge you with my shoulder and point towards one of the contraptions with my chin. “How's that sound for a violent desire?”
The device is a large, padded bench with a pair of stocks. There’s a step between them so that someone can kneel on the lower one and put their feet through the lower pillory and then put their heads and hands through the upper one - forcing them in a sort of Z shape.
“It looks like something a bad guy would tie up the hero in before giving his evil monologue,” I think aloud. “You can spank me on it or do something else.” I look at you challengingly. “It gives you access to pretty much everywhere and I’m good at enduring pain. I’m sure I can take it.”
Richard:
“How's that sound for a violent desire?”
While apparatus in the rest of the club is either polished steel and black leather or white-tiled asylum-utilitarian, the equipment down here is, while equally well-constructed from a technical point of view, designed to appear aged and rustic: thick wooden beams, black ironwork, saddle-like brown leather worn smooth and shiny by the bodies of many men.
The stocks are no exception, a bench/chair hybrid including two heavy planks of varnished timber, hinged to close, separately, over ankles and head/hands. The inside edges are made comfortable (and more secure) with leather-covered padding and the beams fasten with chunky bolts, well out of reach of the nimblest of fingers but lockable nonetheless.
They're also genuinely old: I've been locked in this piece of furniture myself and know from experience that, despite its free-standing nature, it's stapled to the floor sufficiently securely that no amount of struggle - however boisterous - can move it, much less tip it over.
"Sir has excellent taste," I say with exaggerated mock-courtesy, opening both hinged planks with a magician's flourish, "now, kneel."
“You can spank me on it or do something else. It gives you access to pretty much everywhere and I’m good at enduring pain. I’m sure I can take it.”
Your booted feet secured (and the stocks bolted and locked with the dangling black metal padlock), I'm satisfied that you're not going to attempt a reprise of our Fourth Circle brawl (exhilarating as that was). You'd also be foolish to try to escape: with your ankles fixed at this angle, I'm not sure a vigorous enough dive in the wrong direction couldn't break them.
I untie your hands, stepping back out of range, gesture for you to put them and your neck on the padded semicircles of the lower half of the pillory. The plank closes with a definitive thunk, a bolt and a lock and you're secured.
I let the humour drain from my voice, face and body language, channelling the authoritarian manner (if not the accent) of corrupt asshole cop Superintendent Seamus O'Halloran of the New York State PD.
"I don't need suggestions," I say curtly, "and as for your pain endurance? That's for me to gauge - and expand."
I don't expect you to be fully convinced by my abrupt shift into Brutal Top Mode but it's a part I can and will play - with relish - and, now I've got you vulnerable, I want you to feel just enough doubt to enhance that vulnerability.
The stocks hold you in a kind of Z-shape, with your face conveniently at the level of my crotch. Hidden ratchets allow me to adjust the angle of the pillory until it's jussst right.
I unzip my jacket and peel it off slowly, as if readying for exertion. The dark grey leather uniform shirt, with its twin pockets and epaulettes, plus the short tight black leather police gloves, helps me get into role.
From a pocket you (thankfully) never explored, I take a curious-looking gag consisting of a metal ring attached to leather straps. The ring is clearly designed to fit behind your teeth, holding your jaw open.
I show it to you and put it to one side.
I unzip my breeches (leaving them belted at the waist) and ease my cock out, already stiffened in its thick red latex sheath in anticipation of your more skilled oral attention - but, in-character, I'm acting as if this is some kind of serious "revenge face-fuck" power display as payback for getting me bound and gagged in the last Circle.
From low-ceilinged vaults all around us echo snippets of other role-plays, some explicit, some less so: cop & detainee, guard & prisoner, interrogator & captive, master & slave.
Even our earlier teasing epithets - 'old man' & 'boy' - would be fantasy fodder for some.
"We can do this the difficult way..." I indicate the gag.
"... or the easy way." My rising cock, obscenely blood-coloured against the black leather of my breeches.
Lance:
"Now, kneel."
It’s almost uncanny how fast you can go from exaggerated flourish and politeness to cold no-bullshit authority.
My legs nearly obey you before my brain can catch up but I can’t help but make a joking salute and an “I’m sure you say this to every guy you meet.” Our placements are surely not a coincidence but then again, the design of the pillory equipment is deliberate, as well. There’s no mistaking the position I’ll end up in and I already wonder which part of me you’ll take advantage of first.
I lie down on the smooth, warm leather seat that’s a little deflated from use but still supports my hips enough that I don’t worry about this being a leg day. I am also pleasantly surprised that there is extra padding on the part I rest my knees. Maybe I should consider getting knee pads after this.
Overall, I’m in for a ride and you just have to strap me in.
The restraints around my feet are fine, I don’t feel much other than a pressure not dissimilar to a pair of strong hands grasping my ankles - a normally arousing image that creates some violent implications under the scarlet lighting of the room.
From this position, I can easily lean forward and backward, sticking my jock-clad ass out or resting more weight on my upper body. This also reminds me that I’m in the perfect situation to be used by two guys at the same time - though I doubt we can just pick a random guy from this circle and expect him to act calmly about it judging by how intense everyone is.
Stop it, I think. Focus on what’s currently happening.
You make it easier by locking my wrists around my head - which not only immobilizes you lightning fast, but it also has an unexpected side effect of shrinking my field of vision to only the stuff right in front of me like I’m wearing blinkers.
Thankfully, my collar rests comfortably under the holes in the plank but my hands somehow feel more tightly bound when I can’t even position them. I make some grabby movements with my gloved fingers - noting how ineffective they look in distress.
"That's for me to gauge - and expand."
My defiance of authority flares up - but so does my libido. I can already feel my cock filling the pouch of my jock and betraying the curt expression on my face. You make such a good cop that I’m glad you’re not a real one and we can bang.
Though, the previous unease returns as my primitive instincts tell me that you’re not joking and I should fight or flight… both of which are obstructed by the old-fashioned restraints I’m locked to and it makes me feel more helpless than before. Like the time I’m tied to that wheel.
The dirty cop in front of me pulls out a new restraint that looks like a… circle? I tilt my head as much as the stocks allow, trying to figure out what it could be for. A new kind of cock ring already when I just got rid of the last one?
You pull out your latex-covered dick and I’m once again torn between obedience and defiance. One part of me wants to take it in between my lips and water my mouth in an almost Pavlovian response. And the other wants me to grit my teeth and resist.
Your face tells me that the latter option is the way to go and the atmosphere in this place also nudges me to take the path of most resistance, anyway.
I can only see a few people playing when you(r crotch) take most of my field of vision but I can hear and see some roleplays going on - such as the beefcake tied to the X-frame. On a closer glance, he’s dressed as a military cadet interrogated by a high-position officer who keeps flogging him between questions. I think that it’s kinda counterintuitive to probe someone when he has a huge ballgag filling his mouth but what do I know?
Turning back to you, I look at the thing (that now I recognize as a gag) in your hands and then your face. Your eyes indicate that it would be a smart thing not to disobey you.
"We can do this the difficult way...or the easy way."
Okay - now I’m in the mood for what you’re playing.
I struggle against my unyielding stocks and glare at you. “If you try to put that thing anywhere near my mouth, I’m biting it off, old man. Untie me from this fucking crap and let me go!”
It’s so easy to put this much venom in my words that I don’t even question it. I’m fully in character - and the ball is in your court.
To be continued...
(Co-written with [mention]DeeperThanRed[/mention])
VIOLENCE
Richard:
... into something that is, of all the rooms and galleries visited so far, closest to how one might imagine an actual torture dungeon.
"It used to be a cellar for wine," I tell you, widening my eyes in classic melodramatic Spooky Face, "or possibly Amontillado."
The vaulted brick ceilings are low and, like the walls, painted the deepest of reds, a shade reminiscent of those dark-hued roses that appear almost black. On the walls, actual black continues the "lost in the woods" motif of silhouetted trees. Artificial torches flicker in a not-unconvincing simulation of firelight and, echoing through at least four separate archways, floats a low-level susurrus: snatches of conversation, laughter, pleading, muffled or unmuffled cries, howls, gasps, grunts, groans, creaks and the thwack of leather on skin (cow, horse or human) or latex.
Through the shadowy openings, it's possible to glimpse the shapes and forms from which the sounds arise, and the overall atmosphere makes you think, oddly, of a large sprawling gym complex lined with all manner of specialised equipment (some recognisable, some more arcane) into which the human body is strapped, locked or bolted to receive precisely calculated amounts of physical stress.
"'Violent desires have violent ends'," I intone, "what's your fancy, boy?"
Who knows, I might even indulge it.
Lance:
“You really like tying me up, don’t you?” I feel my face contorting into one of my inadvertent glares - even though I’m growing to like the way ropes feel and look on me. It’s still awkward not being able to use my hands but I like the restraints, or at least struggling against them.
And if it gives you another reason to manhandle me while leading me through the club, all the more reason to like it. I’m sure you’d wrap me in plastic foil from head to toe if you could but I don’t voice this thought to not give you any ideas.
"There, out of harm's way."
“Dick,” I mumble, testing the ropes. Predictably, it sends a painful jolt between my balls, nearly making me tear up. For some reason, I can’t help but occasionally send small tugs through the rope as you lock the door but seeing how just walking is enough, I don’t force it.
Maybe my masochistic side doesn’t show itself only in fights…
As you pull me to our next stop, I realize how the way my hands are tied prevents me doing anything to cover my bare buttocks framed and lifted by the straps of my jock. It’s a good thing you’re here to defend me against any unwanted attention.
Speaking of attention… “whoever designed this place watched too much Twin Peaks.” The dark hallway’s abyssal flow is accentuated by the red lines gradually thinning into a faint shadow under our feet and I can’t help feeling like we’re being devoured by Deubel’s by our own volition.
I press on and find myself in a new room where my previous jokes about the Inquisition suddenly don’t feel so funny. Even though I know people here just roleplay in their own way, the sudden wave of pained human voices and inhuman sounds that sound painful is enough to make me hesitate.
The sight of people just talking and laughing around calms me down as I see some submissive actively asking for whips, paddles, and other physical punishments. I even begin to think I may want to take the place of some of the kinksters in this room.
Not dominants, though. If I’m going to hit someone, I’d rather have them be able to respond. Yes, I won’t be able to beat the self-flagellation allegations anytime soon - which I’m sure some guys here do literally.
"'Violent desires have violent ends', what's your fancy, boy?" I look at you, unable to choose whether you look smug or serious.
“I don’t hurt for options,” I grimace and take a look around. The steel X-shape at the corner where a bulky man is tied and flogged is interesting but I don’t want to be strapped to something like that so soon.
The leather seat that dangles from four thick chains from the ceiling, on the other hand, looks pretty fun. I’ll definitely put it on my list.
But in the end, I pick something that reminds me, in the best way possible, of the old cowboy movies I like to watch. I nudge you with my shoulder and point towards one of the contraptions with my chin. “How's that sound for a violent desire?”
The device is a large, padded bench with a pair of stocks. There’s a step between them so that someone can kneel on the lower one and put their feet through the lower pillory and then put their heads and hands through the upper one - forcing them in a sort of Z shape.
“It looks like something a bad guy would tie up the hero in before giving his evil monologue,” I think aloud. “You can spank me on it or do something else.” I look at you challengingly. “It gives you access to pretty much everywhere and I’m good at enduring pain. I’m sure I can take it.”
Richard:
“How's that sound for a violent desire?”
While apparatus in the rest of the club is either polished steel and black leather or white-tiled asylum-utilitarian, the equipment down here is, while equally well-constructed from a technical point of view, designed to appear aged and rustic: thick wooden beams, black ironwork, saddle-like brown leather worn smooth and shiny by the bodies of many men.
The stocks are no exception, a bench/chair hybrid including two heavy planks of varnished timber, hinged to close, separately, over ankles and head/hands. The inside edges are made comfortable (and more secure) with leather-covered padding and the beams fasten with chunky bolts, well out of reach of the nimblest of fingers but lockable nonetheless.
They're also genuinely old: I've been locked in this piece of furniture myself and know from experience that, despite its free-standing nature, it's stapled to the floor sufficiently securely that no amount of struggle - however boisterous - can move it, much less tip it over.
"Sir has excellent taste," I say with exaggerated mock-courtesy, opening both hinged planks with a magician's flourish, "now, kneel."
“You can spank me on it or do something else. It gives you access to pretty much everywhere and I’m good at enduring pain. I’m sure I can take it.”
Your booted feet secured (and the stocks bolted and locked with the dangling black metal padlock), I'm satisfied that you're not going to attempt a reprise of our Fourth Circle brawl (exhilarating as that was). You'd also be foolish to try to escape: with your ankles fixed at this angle, I'm not sure a vigorous enough dive in the wrong direction couldn't break them.
I untie your hands, stepping back out of range, gesture for you to put them and your neck on the padded semicircles of the lower half of the pillory. The plank closes with a definitive thunk, a bolt and a lock and you're secured.
I let the humour drain from my voice, face and body language, channelling the authoritarian manner (if not the accent) of corrupt asshole cop Superintendent Seamus O'Halloran of the New York State PD.
"I don't need suggestions," I say curtly, "and as for your pain endurance? That's for me to gauge - and expand."
I don't expect you to be fully convinced by my abrupt shift into Brutal Top Mode but it's a part I can and will play - with relish - and, now I've got you vulnerable, I want you to feel just enough doubt to enhance that vulnerability.
The stocks hold you in a kind of Z-shape, with your face conveniently at the level of my crotch. Hidden ratchets allow me to adjust the angle of the pillory until it's jussst right.
I unzip my jacket and peel it off slowly, as if readying for exertion. The dark grey leather uniform shirt, with its twin pockets and epaulettes, plus the short tight black leather police gloves, helps me get into role.
From a pocket you (thankfully) never explored, I take a curious-looking gag consisting of a metal ring attached to leather straps. The ring is clearly designed to fit behind your teeth, holding your jaw open.
I show it to you and put it to one side.
I unzip my breeches (leaving them belted at the waist) and ease my cock out, already stiffened in its thick red latex sheath in anticipation of your more skilled oral attention - but, in-character, I'm acting as if this is some kind of serious "revenge face-fuck" power display as payback for getting me bound and gagged in the last Circle.
From low-ceilinged vaults all around us echo snippets of other role-plays, some explicit, some less so: cop & detainee, guard & prisoner, interrogator & captive, master & slave.
Even our earlier teasing epithets - 'old man' & 'boy' - would be fantasy fodder for some.
"We can do this the difficult way..." I indicate the gag.
"... or the easy way." My rising cock, obscenely blood-coloured against the black leather of my breeches.
Lance:
"Now, kneel."
It’s almost uncanny how fast you can go from exaggerated flourish and politeness to cold no-bullshit authority.
My legs nearly obey you before my brain can catch up but I can’t help but make a joking salute and an “I’m sure you say this to every guy you meet.” Our placements are surely not a coincidence but then again, the design of the pillory equipment is deliberate, as well. There’s no mistaking the position I’ll end up in and I already wonder which part of me you’ll take advantage of first.
I lie down on the smooth, warm leather seat that’s a little deflated from use but still supports my hips enough that I don’t worry about this being a leg day. I am also pleasantly surprised that there is extra padding on the part I rest my knees. Maybe I should consider getting knee pads after this.
Overall, I’m in for a ride and you just have to strap me in.
The restraints around my feet are fine, I don’t feel much other than a pressure not dissimilar to a pair of strong hands grasping my ankles - a normally arousing image that creates some violent implications under the scarlet lighting of the room.
From this position, I can easily lean forward and backward, sticking my jock-clad ass out or resting more weight on my upper body. This also reminds me that I’m in the perfect situation to be used by two guys at the same time - though I doubt we can just pick a random guy from this circle and expect him to act calmly about it judging by how intense everyone is.
Stop it, I think. Focus on what’s currently happening.
You make it easier by locking my wrists around my head - which not only immobilizes you lightning fast, but it also has an unexpected side effect of shrinking my field of vision to only the stuff right in front of me like I’m wearing blinkers.
Thankfully, my collar rests comfortably under the holes in the plank but my hands somehow feel more tightly bound when I can’t even position them. I make some grabby movements with my gloved fingers - noting how ineffective they look in distress.
"That's for me to gauge - and expand."
My defiance of authority flares up - but so does my libido. I can already feel my cock filling the pouch of my jock and betraying the curt expression on my face. You make such a good cop that I’m glad you’re not a real one and we can bang.
Though, the previous unease returns as my primitive instincts tell me that you’re not joking and I should fight or flight… both of which are obstructed by the old-fashioned restraints I’m locked to and it makes me feel more helpless than before. Like the time I’m tied to that wheel.
The dirty cop in front of me pulls out a new restraint that looks like a… circle? I tilt my head as much as the stocks allow, trying to figure out what it could be for. A new kind of cock ring already when I just got rid of the last one?
You pull out your latex-covered dick and I’m once again torn between obedience and defiance. One part of me wants to take it in between my lips and water my mouth in an almost Pavlovian response. And the other wants me to grit my teeth and resist.
Your face tells me that the latter option is the way to go and the atmosphere in this place also nudges me to take the path of most resistance, anyway.
I can only see a few people playing when you(r crotch) take most of my field of vision but I can hear and see some roleplays going on - such as the beefcake tied to the X-frame. On a closer glance, he’s dressed as a military cadet interrogated by a high-position officer who keeps flogging him between questions. I think that it’s kinda counterintuitive to probe someone when he has a huge ballgag filling his mouth but what do I know?
Turning back to you, I look at the thing (that now I recognize as a gag) in your hands and then your face. Your eyes indicate that it would be a smart thing not to disobey you.
"We can do this the difficult way...or the easy way."
Okay - now I’m in the mood for what you’re playing.
I struggle against my unyielding stocks and glare at you. “If you try to put that thing anywhere near my mouth, I’m biting it off, old man. Untie me from this fucking crap and let me go!”
It’s so easy to put this much venom in my words that I don’t even question it. I’m fully in character - and the ball is in your court.
To be continued...
If M/M overkill bondage in stupidly excessive amounts of gear is your thing as well as mine, here's a list of my TUG stories.
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KidnappedCowboy
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 971
- Joined: 5 years ago
- Location: USA
- Contact:
Maybe it’s not so much humouring kids as being the supply teacher when things get out of hand
Love this line from Richard in Part 21!
Lance locked and stocked, playfully fighting against the ring gag, and anticipating a fierce spanking! Both of them slipping into these roles so naturally is great!
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Wedgieboy69
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 324
- Joined: 3 years ago
The balance is reset with Richard back in charge. I do love how Lance plays up the unwilling victim so well though.
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Straitjacketed
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 347
- Joined: 5 years ago
- Location: UK
- Contact:
Nine Circles - part 25
(Co-written with [mention]DeeperThanRed[/mention])
Richard:
"Good," I say with a nod, "the difficult way it is".
From the concealed inner pocket of my breeches, I pull out a knife. Even Deubel’s, relaxed as they are about almost every fetish under the sun, would likely have drawn the line at knife play... but I didn't declare this one.
(To be honest, I forgot I was carrying it - but you don't need to know that.)
Larger than a pocketknife, smaller than a hunting knife, the blade - partly serrated - folds out of a leather-wrapped handle. I hold it in a beam of red light for just a second before lowering it to groin level.
I trace it gently over the surface of your jock... and then I cut the straps, letting the rubber fall away.
"Second chance," I say, holding up the blade and the ring gag, "difficult... or easy?"
Lance:
I squirm when you pull out a knife of all things. How long have you been carrying it around?! Does this club even allow weapons? Well, most of the gear here can probably count as weapons, in a way…
My breath hitches as you trace the thin lines of my underwear with your knife. Your grip is steady, and I doubt you’ll cut me on purpose but it’s still not easy to be calm when something so sharp is so close to my dick.
No, calm isn’t the right word. I’m rhapsodical! The promise and threat of danger make my peril go from make-believe to an actual, breathtaking performance!
I uselessly jerk my hips away from you, not being able to move more than a few centimeters in each direction. “Why don’t you cut these ropes instead?” I snarl. “And I’ll show you how difficult I can be?”
Since you’re unlikely to have a repeat of our previous melee, you’re gonna have to push me. And what I want to learn is how far can you go?
Richard:
"Perfect," I say.
I remain granite-faced but, inside, I'm genuinely impressed at your toughness. No, it's more than toughness; you're getting off on this steady upping of the ante, this game of who-blinks-first. This is your fetish, red in tooth and claw. Biiig Chaos energy.
I go around behind you, well into the large blind spot of your current, highly limited range of vision. I stuff the ring gag into a breast pocket for now, transferring the knife to my right hand, freeing up my left.
Without warning, I slam my leathered-up form into your rear. This isn't the sensual or playful contact of previous Circles or even the honest combat of our brawl in the voyeurs' gallery. It's something I learned from a stuntman (who, it transpired, enjoyed being held down and pissed on): a body slam carefully aimed for the mid-section, and calibrated to have enough force to feel authentically rough but not enough force to injure your pinioned neck and limbs.
The secret is broadly akin to one of the trick moves employed in professional wrestling: a simultaneous slam and grab: at the same time as the jarring blow, I grab you from behind with both arms and brace with my feet, absorbing and dissipating much of the impact.
My right arm is then up by your head, reversed knife held like a pen as if writing with the hilt. If you gasp, open-mouthed, the leather-wrapped hilt goes between your jaws and I hold it there, keeping them apart.
If you don't open your mouth, then I'm going to have to provide additional incentive. My free hand reaches under your crotch from behind and I give your roped balls a gloved squeeze - again, not enough to cause injury but enough to make you howl.
If that too fails, I'm reduced to pinching your nostrils tight until you run out of air. As soon as you open to take a breath, the knife handle - with its bite-friendly leather wrapping - goes in.
Once I've got a little leverage, it isn't too difficult to prise those teeth apart juuust enough to slide the ring past them. Once the straps are buckled behind, the gag is there to stay.
Before moving around to view my furious, ring-gagged captive head-on, I take time to close and put away the knife, lean in to your ear, give your balls another squeeze and hiss:
"Make no mistake, boy, I will break you."
Lance:
"Perfect,"
I tremble in anticipation and fret as you sneak behind me. I can’t see anything you’re doing when you just slide right to me and with nothing but a decorative harness wrapped around my crotch and upper body, I’m vulnerable to anything you can do to me.
“Show yourself you-” I begin to mouth you off but my backtalk is immediately interrupted by a blow to my torso that came out of nowhere.
My legs can barely rotate the way they’re locked and I can’t quite twist out of the way of the impact the way I usually do but right as the strike hit, I feel your hold on me from the opposite direction.
From my experience in martial arts, I recognize this as a way to prevent me from getting hurt and even though the rush of the struggle isn’t gone, a relief pops into the back of my head. I’m safe… mostly.
However, from the shock and the conflicting thoughts running through my mind, I couldn’t foresee this being a ruse. You bring the blade in front of my face when I’m busy recoiling from the hit and right as I open my mouth to tell you that I’m not afraid of your tiny fruit cutter, I realize my mistake.
The leatherbound hilt of the knife is promptly forced between my lips and when I grit my teeth to expel it, I only chew on the thick, tangy material. I yap and try to spit it out but there’s no room to move my head.
“Rnnnhhhggg!” I can’t even look at you threateningly when you’re still out of sight. Instead, you slide a metal ring under the blade and pull it upward to keep it behind my teeth and force my mouth open.
“Haaahh! Haaaannnpphhhaagg!” I buck like a wild stud but that only produces more garbled complaints and drool from the gag as you buckle it behind my hair. I’m glad my undercut prevents the straps from catching any hair - small mercies. Still, I already have a metallic taste in my mouth and the corners of my mouth are stretched uncomfortably.
I’m aware that anyone who passes by can force their cocks down my throat the way the ring gag holds my mouth and I can do nothing to prevent that.
I writhe and resist as you whisper into my ear but the fight in me is already tested when you squeeze my bound and sensitive balls - getting a yelp out of me.
"Make no mistake, boy, I will break you."
Trying my best to look defiant, I think of the ways I can actually do anything to rebel but any control I might have is slipping out of my hands and being taken away by you like sands leaving an hourglass.
Richard:
The challenge for me in this scenario, I realise, is to avoid overthinking. You clearly have issues with authority - you simultaneously rebel against and crave it - and a significant part of me hankers to, therapy-style, pick that apart. Pick you apart, pummel your psyche, see what makes you tick.
I need to think less and just do. Become, in this moment, the authority figure you want and need.
While it could be argued that what goes on down here in the sunken Id of Deubel’s is therapy of a sort, the therapeutic tool - the one I strongly suspect you'll respond best to - is probing of an altogether less gentle nature.
So, let's have at it.
I resist the urge to look searchingly into your eyes, to try to work out if what's coursing through you is fear, anger, erotic thrill, or a mix of all and more. Instead, I grasp your hair roughly with one hand and use the other to guide my red latex sausage through the ring holding your teeth apart.
Yes, I'm going to do my wurst.
Hopefully, you're generating enough saliva to lubricate your oral cavity. Inside the rubber sheath, I'm insulated from sensations other than at the very tip of my cock - where the nubs of rubber irritate - but can push past those. The overall effect is that I feel invincible and inexhaustible, and I have to resist the urge to skull-fuck you until you can't breathe or actually vomit.
Much as I suspect you yearn for that degree of brutality, I still hold back (at least a little, at least at first), making every thrust count but not going full on Vlad the Impaler.
One hand tousles your hair, pushing the back of your head. The other cups your chin. Occasionally, I reach across, grab the uppermost knot at the rear of your harness and haul upward, pulling on your own balls.
I try - hopefully without seeming to care too much - to gauge your response to my rhythm.
To be continued...
(Co-written with [mention]DeeperThanRed[/mention])
Richard:
"Good," I say with a nod, "the difficult way it is".
From the concealed inner pocket of my breeches, I pull out a knife. Even Deubel’s, relaxed as they are about almost every fetish under the sun, would likely have drawn the line at knife play... but I didn't declare this one.
(To be honest, I forgot I was carrying it - but you don't need to know that.)
Larger than a pocketknife, smaller than a hunting knife, the blade - partly serrated - folds out of a leather-wrapped handle. I hold it in a beam of red light for just a second before lowering it to groin level.
I trace it gently over the surface of your jock... and then I cut the straps, letting the rubber fall away.
"Second chance," I say, holding up the blade and the ring gag, "difficult... or easy?"
Lance:
I squirm when you pull out a knife of all things. How long have you been carrying it around?! Does this club even allow weapons? Well, most of the gear here can probably count as weapons, in a way…
My breath hitches as you trace the thin lines of my underwear with your knife. Your grip is steady, and I doubt you’ll cut me on purpose but it’s still not easy to be calm when something so sharp is so close to my dick.
No, calm isn’t the right word. I’m rhapsodical! The promise and threat of danger make my peril go from make-believe to an actual, breathtaking performance!
I uselessly jerk my hips away from you, not being able to move more than a few centimeters in each direction. “Why don’t you cut these ropes instead?” I snarl. “And I’ll show you how difficult I can be?”
Since you’re unlikely to have a repeat of our previous melee, you’re gonna have to push me. And what I want to learn is how far can you go?
Richard:
"Perfect," I say.
I remain granite-faced but, inside, I'm genuinely impressed at your toughness. No, it's more than toughness; you're getting off on this steady upping of the ante, this game of who-blinks-first. This is your fetish, red in tooth and claw. Biiig Chaos energy.
I go around behind you, well into the large blind spot of your current, highly limited range of vision. I stuff the ring gag into a breast pocket for now, transferring the knife to my right hand, freeing up my left.
Without warning, I slam my leathered-up form into your rear. This isn't the sensual or playful contact of previous Circles or even the honest combat of our brawl in the voyeurs' gallery. It's something I learned from a stuntman (who, it transpired, enjoyed being held down and pissed on): a body slam carefully aimed for the mid-section, and calibrated to have enough force to feel authentically rough but not enough force to injure your pinioned neck and limbs.
The secret is broadly akin to one of the trick moves employed in professional wrestling: a simultaneous slam and grab: at the same time as the jarring blow, I grab you from behind with both arms and brace with my feet, absorbing and dissipating much of the impact.
My right arm is then up by your head, reversed knife held like a pen as if writing with the hilt. If you gasp, open-mouthed, the leather-wrapped hilt goes between your jaws and I hold it there, keeping them apart.
If you don't open your mouth, then I'm going to have to provide additional incentive. My free hand reaches under your crotch from behind and I give your roped balls a gloved squeeze - again, not enough to cause injury but enough to make you howl.
If that too fails, I'm reduced to pinching your nostrils tight until you run out of air. As soon as you open to take a breath, the knife handle - with its bite-friendly leather wrapping - goes in.
Once I've got a little leverage, it isn't too difficult to prise those teeth apart juuust enough to slide the ring past them. Once the straps are buckled behind, the gag is there to stay.
Before moving around to view my furious, ring-gagged captive head-on, I take time to close and put away the knife, lean in to your ear, give your balls another squeeze and hiss:
"Make no mistake, boy, I will break you."
Lance:
"Perfect,"
I tremble in anticipation and fret as you sneak behind me. I can’t see anything you’re doing when you just slide right to me and with nothing but a decorative harness wrapped around my crotch and upper body, I’m vulnerable to anything you can do to me.
“Show yourself you-” I begin to mouth you off but my backtalk is immediately interrupted by a blow to my torso that came out of nowhere.
My legs can barely rotate the way they’re locked and I can’t quite twist out of the way of the impact the way I usually do but right as the strike hit, I feel your hold on me from the opposite direction.
From my experience in martial arts, I recognize this as a way to prevent me from getting hurt and even though the rush of the struggle isn’t gone, a relief pops into the back of my head. I’m safe… mostly.
However, from the shock and the conflicting thoughts running through my mind, I couldn’t foresee this being a ruse. You bring the blade in front of my face when I’m busy recoiling from the hit and right as I open my mouth to tell you that I’m not afraid of your tiny fruit cutter, I realize my mistake.
The leatherbound hilt of the knife is promptly forced between my lips and when I grit my teeth to expel it, I only chew on the thick, tangy material. I yap and try to spit it out but there’s no room to move my head.
“Rnnnhhhggg!” I can’t even look at you threateningly when you’re still out of sight. Instead, you slide a metal ring under the blade and pull it upward to keep it behind my teeth and force my mouth open.
“Haaahh! Haaaannnpphhhaagg!” I buck like a wild stud but that only produces more garbled complaints and drool from the gag as you buckle it behind my hair. I’m glad my undercut prevents the straps from catching any hair - small mercies. Still, I already have a metallic taste in my mouth and the corners of my mouth are stretched uncomfortably.
I’m aware that anyone who passes by can force their cocks down my throat the way the ring gag holds my mouth and I can do nothing to prevent that.
I writhe and resist as you whisper into my ear but the fight in me is already tested when you squeeze my bound and sensitive balls - getting a yelp out of me.
"Make no mistake, boy, I will break you."
Trying my best to look defiant, I think of the ways I can actually do anything to rebel but any control I might have is slipping out of my hands and being taken away by you like sands leaving an hourglass.
Richard:
The challenge for me in this scenario, I realise, is to avoid overthinking. You clearly have issues with authority - you simultaneously rebel against and crave it - and a significant part of me hankers to, therapy-style, pick that apart. Pick you apart, pummel your psyche, see what makes you tick.
I need to think less and just do. Become, in this moment, the authority figure you want and need.
While it could be argued that what goes on down here in the sunken Id of Deubel’s is therapy of a sort, the therapeutic tool - the one I strongly suspect you'll respond best to - is probing of an altogether less gentle nature.
So, let's have at it.
I resist the urge to look searchingly into your eyes, to try to work out if what's coursing through you is fear, anger, erotic thrill, or a mix of all and more. Instead, I grasp your hair roughly with one hand and use the other to guide my red latex sausage through the ring holding your teeth apart.
Yes, I'm going to do my wurst.
Hopefully, you're generating enough saliva to lubricate your oral cavity. Inside the rubber sheath, I'm insulated from sensations other than at the very tip of my cock - where the nubs of rubber irritate - but can push past those. The overall effect is that I feel invincible and inexhaustible, and I have to resist the urge to skull-fuck you until you can't breathe or actually vomit.
Much as I suspect you yearn for that degree of brutality, I still hold back (at least a little, at least at first), making every thrust count but not going full on Vlad the Impaler.
One hand tousles your hair, pushing the back of your head. The other cups your chin. Occasionally, I reach across, grab the uppermost knot at the rear of your harness and haul upward, pulling on your own balls.
I try - hopefully without seeming to care too much - to gauge your response to my rhythm.
To be continued...
Last edited by Straitjacketed 11 months ago, edited 2 times in total.
If M/M overkill bondage in stupidly excessive amounts of gear is your thing as well as mine, here's a list of my TUG stories.
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blackbound
- Millennial Club
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- Joined: 6 years ago
Oh, it's Violence because of the pun.
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Straitjacketed
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 347
- Joined: 5 years ago
- Location: UK
- Contact:
Poor [mention]DeeperThanRed[/mention] found that the most painful moment of the entire collaboration. It definitely merited its own honorary Circle of Hell.
If M/M overkill bondage in stupidly excessive amounts of gear is your thing as well as mine, here's a list of my TUG stories.
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Straitjacketed
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 347
- Joined: 5 years ago
- Location: UK
- Contact:
Nine Circles - part 26
(Co-written with [mention]DeeperThanRed[/mention])
Lance:
If I didn’t see you shifting your personality on the fly, I’d be convinced that you were possessed by an infernal spirit at this point. There’s no hint of your whimsical and gentle behavior in Room 6 as you pull my head back by clutching my hair and make me face that erect, latex-packaged cock of yours.
The material barely has a distinct texture but the taste is almost repulsive and activates my gag reflex faster than the large dick filling my gob. Thankfully, I get used to it - at least used to it just enough to not throw up.
You’re taunting me, I think in frustration - using the toy I made you pick against me by denying yourself (and therefore my throat) a quick release.
What would I do if I was actually forced to do this against my will? Well, in a way, it IS against my will. But I pretty much gave you blanket permission to fuck me over and you’re doing exactly that. The best I can do is to endure and show you that you can’t break me.
Or can you? There’s no limit to how far can you go. I can’t free myself and nobody around us seems interested in rescuing me… not that I can see or hear anyone with your crotch and hands plugging every feeling I have.
If that isn’t enough, you pull my harness and squeeze my balls hard. I moan in objection but that only vibrates your encased dick further. I may as well be a hard-to-use Fleshlight for your enjoyment.
The bad thing is this rough treatment is arousing me nearly as much as your previous self and making it harder for me to endure. One part of me just wants to let go and take pleasure in the pain.
As you mercilessly piston my mouth, I close my eyes and my groans of hurt gradually turn into those of delight. I hate the way you manage to make me hard - and this grudge makes me even harder!
It’s a vicious cycle as I keep trying to push myself away, only to (or, if I’m being honest to myself, in order to) make the gloved hand at the back of my head push my head into your crotch stronger.
This feels like a moment of revelation. I lift my eyes to look into yours. My dark eyes looking under furrowed brows glare at you… because I want you to not go easy on me.
I briefly think that you probably know just how much you can pressure me before the play gets ugly but currently, I don’t mind. For all I care, the sweet spot between stretching my zone of comfort and actually breaking it is where I flourish.
Richard:
I lock eyes with you and have a moment of pure satori.
I lower my brows in a snarl and thrust faster, harder, pushing your face onto my latex weapon and gripping more of your rope harness in my leather-clad paw...
... and find I can't reach a climax. The super-thick rubber coating my cock and balls muffles sensation enough that I just can't access the stimulation where I need it. The nubs at the tip do their job, frustrating me with tiny prickles of pain in the wrong place, undercutting rather than enhancing my drive to orgasm.
I withdraw, slathered in your drool, gaze still meeting yours.
"You've got me good and lubricated, boy. Let's finish the job."
I'm at risk of overdoing 'boy' but hell, it seems to work for both of us.
Scooping your cut-up latex jock from the floor, I wad it up and thrust it into the front of your ring-gag. It's big enough not to slip back and choke you.
Moving behind again, I want to just drive the red rod right into you - it wouldn't hurt me - but I can't quite bring myself to do so with no warning or preparation. I fish out my knife, flash it in front of your eyes again, fold it closed and use the hilt to open you up, in dipping, circulation motions.
(No point, after all, in ruining a good pair of gloves.)
I check your body language. How are you responding in this role-reversed reprisal of our impromptu session in Room 6? Is your arse trying to retreat from, retaliate against or embrace this authority figure?
Lance:
I’d say I’d be approaching my limit if I knew where it was. The assault in my mouth is relentless but without your hard-on never pushing past a certain point and without no way to cum, I’m stuck in a limbo that continues for what feels like an eternity.
I gasp and hold back a cough when you pull back. I look at you with a cocky expression. “Is that the best you can do?” I manage to spit.
"You've got me good and lubricated, boy. Let's finish the job."
Apparently not and I just jinxed myself.
Before I can even threaten you, the taste of rubber and a hint of musk fills my mouth. I never thought this application of my gag, but it allows right about anything to stay in my gob as I can’t use my lips to eject them.
The straps that spill from my gag confirm that my mouth is stuffed with my ruined underwear - twice a night. Thankfully, I was wearing it for only a short time, but it still has a distinct taste that I can only blame my leaking cock for.
When you wave the knife in front of my eyes once again, I grunt against my improvised gag and try to shake my head. Now what?! You already cut pretty much everything I’m wearing, which wasn’t a lot, to begin with!
Then it disappears from my sight and I feel a slightly cool, rough touch between my buttocks, pressing inside my hole.
I basically howl inside my gag, unable to believe your audacity. You’re fucking me with a knife! That’s… actually incredible.
Even without the proof of my response in the shape of my pre-cum leaking dick, my ass eagerly clenches around the hilt and I can’t help but embrace the intrusion. It’s not just that I enjoy taking it up in the ass, I’m pickier than that - but the impersonal intrusion coupled with a literal weapon being used to enter me in the way that’s so unlike the sex we have…
It’s all hard to wrap my head around but the danger’s allure seduces me in a way that surprises me, it seems. The way you don’t even use your body to fuck me just increases this temptation: as if I’m no expandable that just about anything can do me.
And I’d take it.
So I let out muffled protests, try to yank my arms and legs through the pillories and writhe - but don’t escape from the knife. If anything, my retaliation is an illusion as my ass just runs away and into the penetration again and again - just like how you made me ride you in Room 6.
Richard:
Without warning, I withdraw the knife (fold it up and put it away), immediately replacing it with my drool-slicked cock, resplendent and oddly inhuman in its carapace of red rubber.
I reach around you with both arms, one curling around your waist and up to pinch and twist your nipples; the other reaches forward to your face, settling my big, leather-clad palm over your nose and gagged mouth in an airtight seal.
Once in, I quicken my rhythm, pistoning in and out, increasing the pressure on your nipples in turn. The hand over your mouth allows little breaths of air between the fingers then clamps tight again, so your flow of oxygen is tightly controlled by me.
As I jackhammer faster at your rear, furiously trying to achieve enough sensation through the latex to allow myself orgasm, so my fingers of both my hands become increasingly brutal.
Lance:
When the knife’s hilt leaves me, I momentarily feel empty but the feeling is quickly replaced with a wet, warm sensation that fills me deeper and is intimately familiar to me. The rubber you’re wearing is thicker but still-fresh memories of you provide any missing sensation.
I struggle against my bonds to lean back and reach you. As if you read my thoughts a gloved hand wraps around my chest and begins to play with my rope-framed nipples, my sworn weakness.
However, it’s apparent that this isn’t anything like what we had so far when you plaster your free hand over my face. I panic as it becomes apparent that the fingers blocking my nose weren’t a mistake and you intentionally keep them there even as I twist and turn my neck to get air.
You’re not trying to murder me thankfully and between fucking my ass and yanking on my nipples, you occasionally grace me with some oxygen. I’ve once read that lack of air can cause the blood to flow to extremities and my dick is a textbook example - even though the adrenaline probably would also do the job.
I move my hips as much as your hold allows me to so that our hips meet in the middle and I clench my ass with you inside me, trying to milk an orgasm out of you. I may not have any control over my body but if you’re going to push me to the corner so hard, the best I can do is to prove I’m not a passive prisoner who just lies there and takes it.
Richard:
There isn't a great deal of grace or sensuality: at this point, it's a hard ass-fucking, plain and simple.
I increase the twisting and pulling on your nipples, clamping you tighter into me as I pound at your rear. If I weren't wearing this thick rubber condom, your clenching and milking would surely have pulled me to orgasm by now. Even within the chastity device, I can feel that I'm starting to get there.
My other hand continues, vicelike, over your mouth and ring-gagged mouth, sealing in the musk of your own jock.
I have the odd instinct to bite and would nip at the back of your neck if it weren't collared and fixed in the pillory. I settle for grabbing the uppermost shibari knot between my jaws and pulling my head back, so the rope tugs on your balls.
As my pace increases, I transfer the hand that's on your nipples to your rope-wrapped cock. Again, no sensuality, just a leather-gloved grab 'n' squeeze, to match your poor beleaguered balls.
My squeezes start to intensify in rhythm with my thrusts, the tug on your balls and the hand sealing your face.
Lance:
You take my compliance and pretend defiance as an invitation or maybe you just lost yourself in the moment - I know I did - but the onslaught on my body gets more and more intense until any coherent thought in my mind leaves itself to sheer, unbridled lust.
Your dick, encased by the sheath that makes it even thicker drills into my prostate without mercy, and my cock isn’t left alone either. It is assaulted by two places, the steely grip of the rope around my balls tugging them and the gloved hand jacking it off dirty and quick.
Even my moans reverberate through the musky rubber in my mouth and hit ineffectively on the hand that covers my lower face.
At this point, only the equipment I’m locked into keeps me upside. I feel the climax building in me but there’s nothing I can do about it. I close my eyes and groan into my three-layered gag as my cock twitches and my bound balls constrict.
Any cum left in me shoots violently and jerks my entire body.
“MMMGGGHHHHNNNN!”
To be continued...
(Co-written with [mention]DeeperThanRed[/mention])
Lance:
If I didn’t see you shifting your personality on the fly, I’d be convinced that you were possessed by an infernal spirit at this point. There’s no hint of your whimsical and gentle behavior in Room 6 as you pull my head back by clutching my hair and make me face that erect, latex-packaged cock of yours.
The material barely has a distinct texture but the taste is almost repulsive and activates my gag reflex faster than the large dick filling my gob. Thankfully, I get used to it - at least used to it just enough to not throw up.
You’re taunting me, I think in frustration - using the toy I made you pick against me by denying yourself (and therefore my throat) a quick release.
What would I do if I was actually forced to do this against my will? Well, in a way, it IS against my will. But I pretty much gave you blanket permission to fuck me over and you’re doing exactly that. The best I can do is to endure and show you that you can’t break me.
Or can you? There’s no limit to how far can you go. I can’t free myself and nobody around us seems interested in rescuing me… not that I can see or hear anyone with your crotch and hands plugging every feeling I have.
If that isn’t enough, you pull my harness and squeeze my balls hard. I moan in objection but that only vibrates your encased dick further. I may as well be a hard-to-use Fleshlight for your enjoyment.
The bad thing is this rough treatment is arousing me nearly as much as your previous self and making it harder for me to endure. One part of me just wants to let go and take pleasure in the pain.
As you mercilessly piston my mouth, I close my eyes and my groans of hurt gradually turn into those of delight. I hate the way you manage to make me hard - and this grudge makes me even harder!
It’s a vicious cycle as I keep trying to push myself away, only to (or, if I’m being honest to myself, in order to) make the gloved hand at the back of my head push my head into your crotch stronger.
This feels like a moment of revelation. I lift my eyes to look into yours. My dark eyes looking under furrowed brows glare at you… because I want you to not go easy on me.
I briefly think that you probably know just how much you can pressure me before the play gets ugly but currently, I don’t mind. For all I care, the sweet spot between stretching my zone of comfort and actually breaking it is where I flourish.
Richard:
I lock eyes with you and have a moment of pure satori.
I lower my brows in a snarl and thrust faster, harder, pushing your face onto my latex weapon and gripping more of your rope harness in my leather-clad paw...
... and find I can't reach a climax. The super-thick rubber coating my cock and balls muffles sensation enough that I just can't access the stimulation where I need it. The nubs at the tip do their job, frustrating me with tiny prickles of pain in the wrong place, undercutting rather than enhancing my drive to orgasm.
I withdraw, slathered in your drool, gaze still meeting yours.
"You've got me good and lubricated, boy. Let's finish the job."
I'm at risk of overdoing 'boy' but hell, it seems to work for both of us.
Scooping your cut-up latex jock from the floor, I wad it up and thrust it into the front of your ring-gag. It's big enough not to slip back and choke you.
Moving behind again, I want to just drive the red rod right into you - it wouldn't hurt me - but I can't quite bring myself to do so with no warning or preparation. I fish out my knife, flash it in front of your eyes again, fold it closed and use the hilt to open you up, in dipping, circulation motions.
(No point, after all, in ruining a good pair of gloves.)
I check your body language. How are you responding in this role-reversed reprisal of our impromptu session in Room 6? Is your arse trying to retreat from, retaliate against or embrace this authority figure?
Lance:
I’d say I’d be approaching my limit if I knew where it was. The assault in my mouth is relentless but without your hard-on never pushing past a certain point and without no way to cum, I’m stuck in a limbo that continues for what feels like an eternity.
I gasp and hold back a cough when you pull back. I look at you with a cocky expression. “Is that the best you can do?” I manage to spit.
"You've got me good and lubricated, boy. Let's finish the job."
Apparently not and I just jinxed myself.
Before I can even threaten you, the taste of rubber and a hint of musk fills my mouth. I never thought this application of my gag, but it allows right about anything to stay in my gob as I can’t use my lips to eject them.
The straps that spill from my gag confirm that my mouth is stuffed with my ruined underwear - twice a night. Thankfully, I was wearing it for only a short time, but it still has a distinct taste that I can only blame my leaking cock for.
When you wave the knife in front of my eyes once again, I grunt against my improvised gag and try to shake my head. Now what?! You already cut pretty much everything I’m wearing, which wasn’t a lot, to begin with!
Then it disappears from my sight and I feel a slightly cool, rough touch between my buttocks, pressing inside my hole.
I basically howl inside my gag, unable to believe your audacity. You’re fucking me with a knife! That’s… actually incredible.
Even without the proof of my response in the shape of my pre-cum leaking dick, my ass eagerly clenches around the hilt and I can’t help but embrace the intrusion. It’s not just that I enjoy taking it up in the ass, I’m pickier than that - but the impersonal intrusion coupled with a literal weapon being used to enter me in the way that’s so unlike the sex we have…
It’s all hard to wrap my head around but the danger’s allure seduces me in a way that surprises me, it seems. The way you don’t even use your body to fuck me just increases this temptation: as if I’m no expandable that just about anything can do me.
And I’d take it.
So I let out muffled protests, try to yank my arms and legs through the pillories and writhe - but don’t escape from the knife. If anything, my retaliation is an illusion as my ass just runs away and into the penetration again and again - just like how you made me ride you in Room 6.
Richard:
Without warning, I withdraw the knife (fold it up and put it away), immediately replacing it with my drool-slicked cock, resplendent and oddly inhuman in its carapace of red rubber.
I reach around you with both arms, one curling around your waist and up to pinch and twist your nipples; the other reaches forward to your face, settling my big, leather-clad palm over your nose and gagged mouth in an airtight seal.
Once in, I quicken my rhythm, pistoning in and out, increasing the pressure on your nipples in turn. The hand over your mouth allows little breaths of air between the fingers then clamps tight again, so your flow of oxygen is tightly controlled by me.
As I jackhammer faster at your rear, furiously trying to achieve enough sensation through the latex to allow myself orgasm, so my fingers of both my hands become increasingly brutal.
Lance:
When the knife’s hilt leaves me, I momentarily feel empty but the feeling is quickly replaced with a wet, warm sensation that fills me deeper and is intimately familiar to me. The rubber you’re wearing is thicker but still-fresh memories of you provide any missing sensation.
I struggle against my bonds to lean back and reach you. As if you read my thoughts a gloved hand wraps around my chest and begins to play with my rope-framed nipples, my sworn weakness.
However, it’s apparent that this isn’t anything like what we had so far when you plaster your free hand over my face. I panic as it becomes apparent that the fingers blocking my nose weren’t a mistake and you intentionally keep them there even as I twist and turn my neck to get air.
You’re not trying to murder me thankfully and between fucking my ass and yanking on my nipples, you occasionally grace me with some oxygen. I’ve once read that lack of air can cause the blood to flow to extremities and my dick is a textbook example - even though the adrenaline probably would also do the job.
I move my hips as much as your hold allows me to so that our hips meet in the middle and I clench my ass with you inside me, trying to milk an orgasm out of you. I may not have any control over my body but if you’re going to push me to the corner so hard, the best I can do is to prove I’m not a passive prisoner who just lies there and takes it.
Richard:
There isn't a great deal of grace or sensuality: at this point, it's a hard ass-fucking, plain and simple.
I increase the twisting and pulling on your nipples, clamping you tighter into me as I pound at your rear. If I weren't wearing this thick rubber condom, your clenching and milking would surely have pulled me to orgasm by now. Even within the chastity device, I can feel that I'm starting to get there.
My other hand continues, vicelike, over your mouth and ring-gagged mouth, sealing in the musk of your own jock.
I have the odd instinct to bite and would nip at the back of your neck if it weren't collared and fixed in the pillory. I settle for grabbing the uppermost shibari knot between my jaws and pulling my head back, so the rope tugs on your balls.
As my pace increases, I transfer the hand that's on your nipples to your rope-wrapped cock. Again, no sensuality, just a leather-gloved grab 'n' squeeze, to match your poor beleaguered balls.
My squeezes start to intensify in rhythm with my thrusts, the tug on your balls and the hand sealing your face.
Lance:
You take my compliance and pretend defiance as an invitation or maybe you just lost yourself in the moment - I know I did - but the onslaught on my body gets more and more intense until any coherent thought in my mind leaves itself to sheer, unbridled lust.
Your dick, encased by the sheath that makes it even thicker drills into my prostate without mercy, and my cock isn’t left alone either. It is assaulted by two places, the steely grip of the rope around my balls tugging them and the gloved hand jacking it off dirty and quick.
Even my moans reverberate through the musky rubber in my mouth and hit ineffectively on the hand that covers my lower face.
At this point, only the equipment I’m locked into keeps me upside. I feel the climax building in me but there’s nothing I can do about it. I close my eyes and groan into my three-layered gag as my cock twitches and my bound balls constrict.
Any cum left in me shoots violently and jerks my entire body.
“MMMGGGHHHHNNNN!”
To be continued...
If M/M overkill bondage in stupidly excessive amounts of gear is your thing as well as mine, here's a list of my TUG stories.
incredibly hot update! I really don't want Lance's and Richard's night to end!
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blackbound
- Millennial Club
- Posts: 1109
- Joined: 6 years ago
Hot and intense. I do not understand the almost complete lack of feedback on this story.
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KidnappedCowboy
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 971
- Joined: 5 years ago
- Location: USA
- Contact:
Just catching up here...
I LOVE Richard!!!
Too cool!!!
I LOVE Richard!!!
Too cool!!!
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Straitjacketed
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 347
- Joined: 5 years ago
- Location: UK
- Contact:
Nine Circles - part 27
(Co-written with [mention]DeeperThanRed[/mention])
Richard:
Your climax reverberates through your body. Despite the Brutal Leather Top persona I've been channelling, it's what I've been waiting for.
Immediately, I release my grip on your face; I don't relax it straightaway but allow air to flow between my fingers, nourishing your oxygen-starved lungs.
I slacken my grip on your cock.
I slow the urgency of my hips, becoming more sensual then slowly, gradually, ease myself out. I can't quite resist giving your quivering ass a mighty leather-palmed slap.
For a moment, I just drape myself around you, one arm hugging your belly, the other your chest (but not attempting to tease those bruised nipples of yours). My own insulated cock, still far off its own climax, nestles between your legs.
When, finally, I detach, I unbuckle the ring gag and go around to the front. I'm genuinely curious to see the look in your eyes.
A large part of me wants to release you fully, to bathe in the afterglow, but I resist that urge.
Brutal Leather Top hasn't entirely left me, and traces remain as I address you:
"How y'feeling, boy?"
Lance:
I never took the phrase “fucking the brains out of someone” seriously but it really takes me some time to think straight after I come and I only pay attention to my surroundings when a hard slap on my butt wakes me from my stupor.
Your hand is no longer over my mouth but the jock pushed behind my teeth is held in place, now soggy with saliva as I can’t swallow due to the ring gag.
Your weight is over my back and I can feel the familiar touch of leather on my chest and abs. I’m comfortably nestled between your arms and as much as I loved the roughness a few minutes ago, I have to admit: I need this.
I feel weaker than I remember ever being and your embrace is actually comforting despite the rigid bonds holding me in place. So much so that I whine when you get up and move to my front.
At least you remove the ring gag which was starting to hurt my teeth and the edges of my mouth. I spit the latex jock as soon as I can so that I can smack my lips and stretch my drool-wet jaw.
I look at you through hooded eyes, not much fight left in me after that brutal session.
"How y'feeling, boy?"
I hesitate but words spill from my mouth before I can stop myself.
“I’m beat. But it feels nice.” I shift my knees to make sure I can still stand on them. “Your worst is pretty good… sir.”
Richard:
"Good boy."
Brutal Leather Top largely having dissipated, I'm slow to conceal my surprise - and not a little pleasure - at that unexpected "sir".
It reawakens the more tender side of my paternal instinct but I'm not quite ready for this scene to be over, for you to be freed. Bondage, as they say, isn't bondage until you want out and I want to test you a little more.
At the same time, I recognise the signs of post-scene comedown and you need something softer: less rigid, more coddling.
I have a plan. I have no idea how you'll react to that plan - I've learned that, with you, almost anything could go either way - but I'm going to try to push some more of your buttons while indulging the fact that I'm still horny.
With one hand, I move a strand of hair out of your eyes. With the other, I slip a leather blindfold into place over your eyes. It's similar to the one you used on me back in Room 6 but shaped to include the nose, with nostril holes; that feature helps prevent it being rubbed or shaken off.
"Don't worry," I reassure you, "I'm still here, not going anywhere. The blindfold's just to help you adjust while I get these ropes off, help you into something warmer and more comfortable - then I can get you unlocked and out of that thing."
My concern isn't unfounded. I've seen subs, in the aftermath of a whipping or fucking, start to shiver uncontrollably, like marathon runners.
"I'm going to cut rather than untie you," I tell you, "so hold still."
In minutes, the shibari rope is in pieces. I briefly move away to the nearby set of drawers in our arch, where I know I'll find the supplies I need. I keep up a constant soothing chatter, though, so you never feel abandoned.
"Okay," I say levelly, "I'm going to put this pair of briefs on you. There's a padded absorbent lining, so you can piss with impunity."
The briefs are - let's face it - a sort of diaper. Thick white PVC, the detachable lining contains crystals that absorb and contain fluids. They fasten with Velcro and I'm able to arrange them around your groin and arse without having to free your legs from the stocks. The fit is snug but not uncomfortably tight.
I pause, gauging your response. Pleasant as the soft fabric interior must feel against your skin (especially after the mauling and pounding you've suffered), I'm not at all sure whether the briefs' faintly infantilising connotations are likely to comfort or enrage you.
Lance:
Despite my usual penchant for fights, I appreciate the calm that comes after the storm. However, the blindfold that goes over my eyes shows that I’m still not quite in the clear. My vision going from limited to zero, for some reason, reminds me that we’re doing our play right out in the open, which makes me squirm a little.
My exhibitionist tendencies don’t go quite as far as knowing how to act without knowing how many people watch us.
The leather mask is more constrictive than a sleeping mask but doesn’t hinder my breathing, which is good after the intense workout you just gave to my lungs.
"The blindfold's just to help you adjust while I get these ropes off, help you into something warmer and more comfortable - then I can get you unlocked and out of that thing."
“Cool,” I chew my lower lip a little. It’s not easy to ascertain your mood but you sound calmer than before. “I thought you would leave me for other customers to enjoy,” I joke.
Even though one part of me wants to get out and stretch my muscles, it might be the right call to give my system some time to adjust. After going that high, it’s not smart to crash down immediately and I feel like being locked down gives me no small amount of stability at the moment.
As you cut my ropes, I feel my strength returning gradually. This was actually… fun? It’s easier to look back at your Mr. Hyde persona when the session is over but I don’t know if I can do this often - you’re not joking around!
"Okay, I'm going to put this pair of briefs on you. There's a padded absorbent lining so that you can piss with impunity."
I frown under the blindfold. Is this necessary? Well, maybe we can avoid any accidents if your relentless pounding somehow made me lose control of my bladder, especially after all those beers - but I don’t like the thought of needing help on something so basic.
“I’m not a baby,” I mumble, opening and closing my legs to see how the briefs fit. They are comfy at least but feel bulkier than the undies I usually wear. Thankfully, they don’t give the impression of diapers too much because the last thing I want is for you to treat me like a child. I like you better as a daddy-dom rather than an actual dad.
“Fine, I’ll keep it.” I decide begrudgingly. I don’t want to give you a reason to pick something even more annoying and I rather like the pale white look on my skin. “But that doesn’t mean I’m having a bathroom break in this.”
At least my cheek returns so I’m better now. I impatiently test the pillories. “Can you untie me now? Or do I also need a blankie?”
Richard:
You're not having a post-scene meltdown. Good. I can pull back a little on acting the emotional support bear.
I do know I want to keep you bound for longer, though, so I'm going to have to proceed gingerly with the next few steps. I hope you're going to cooperate with me, but this evening's events have taught me I'd be naive not to prepare for at least some resistance.
From this and neighbouring arches, I speedily gather the few pieces of equipment I need, careful never to leave you out of my sight for more than a few seconds.
First, a large mountaineering clip. Not as secure as a padlock but quicker to open and close - if one can see what one is doing.
“Can you untie me now? Or do I also need a blankie?”
"Not a blankie, exactly," I say with a grin, "but I've got a jacket I want you to put on. A leather one."
Blindfolded, you don't see me reach under the pillory. On the underside, directly below your head, a ring bolt is screwed into the timber. It's often used as an attachment point for cock play, but I engage the mountaineering clip, linking the bolt to the D-ring at the front of your collar. This tethers you to the lower half of the hinged plank.
Now your collar is secured, I unfasten and open the pillory, freeing your hands. Your feet and neck remain fixed.
"Leave the blindfold for now," I say, "and put your arms out in front".
I'm holding a straitjacket in worn brown leather, ready to strap you in.
To be continued...
(Co-written with [mention]DeeperThanRed[/mention])
Richard:
Your climax reverberates through your body. Despite the Brutal Leather Top persona I've been channelling, it's what I've been waiting for.
Immediately, I release my grip on your face; I don't relax it straightaway but allow air to flow between my fingers, nourishing your oxygen-starved lungs.
I slacken my grip on your cock.
I slow the urgency of my hips, becoming more sensual then slowly, gradually, ease myself out. I can't quite resist giving your quivering ass a mighty leather-palmed slap.
For a moment, I just drape myself around you, one arm hugging your belly, the other your chest (but not attempting to tease those bruised nipples of yours). My own insulated cock, still far off its own climax, nestles between your legs.
When, finally, I detach, I unbuckle the ring gag and go around to the front. I'm genuinely curious to see the look in your eyes.
A large part of me wants to release you fully, to bathe in the afterglow, but I resist that urge.
Brutal Leather Top hasn't entirely left me, and traces remain as I address you:
"How y'feeling, boy?"
Lance:
I never took the phrase “fucking the brains out of someone” seriously but it really takes me some time to think straight after I come and I only pay attention to my surroundings when a hard slap on my butt wakes me from my stupor.
Your hand is no longer over my mouth but the jock pushed behind my teeth is held in place, now soggy with saliva as I can’t swallow due to the ring gag.
Your weight is over my back and I can feel the familiar touch of leather on my chest and abs. I’m comfortably nestled between your arms and as much as I loved the roughness a few minutes ago, I have to admit: I need this.
I feel weaker than I remember ever being and your embrace is actually comforting despite the rigid bonds holding me in place. So much so that I whine when you get up and move to my front.
At least you remove the ring gag which was starting to hurt my teeth and the edges of my mouth. I spit the latex jock as soon as I can so that I can smack my lips and stretch my drool-wet jaw.
I look at you through hooded eyes, not much fight left in me after that brutal session.
"How y'feeling, boy?"
I hesitate but words spill from my mouth before I can stop myself.
“I’m beat. But it feels nice.” I shift my knees to make sure I can still stand on them. “Your worst is pretty good… sir.”
Richard:
"Good boy."
Brutal Leather Top largely having dissipated, I'm slow to conceal my surprise - and not a little pleasure - at that unexpected "sir".
It reawakens the more tender side of my paternal instinct but I'm not quite ready for this scene to be over, for you to be freed. Bondage, as they say, isn't bondage until you want out and I want to test you a little more.
At the same time, I recognise the signs of post-scene comedown and you need something softer: less rigid, more coddling.
I have a plan. I have no idea how you'll react to that plan - I've learned that, with you, almost anything could go either way - but I'm going to try to push some more of your buttons while indulging the fact that I'm still horny.
With one hand, I move a strand of hair out of your eyes. With the other, I slip a leather blindfold into place over your eyes. It's similar to the one you used on me back in Room 6 but shaped to include the nose, with nostril holes; that feature helps prevent it being rubbed or shaken off.
"Don't worry," I reassure you, "I'm still here, not going anywhere. The blindfold's just to help you adjust while I get these ropes off, help you into something warmer and more comfortable - then I can get you unlocked and out of that thing."
My concern isn't unfounded. I've seen subs, in the aftermath of a whipping or fucking, start to shiver uncontrollably, like marathon runners.
"I'm going to cut rather than untie you," I tell you, "so hold still."
In minutes, the shibari rope is in pieces. I briefly move away to the nearby set of drawers in our arch, where I know I'll find the supplies I need. I keep up a constant soothing chatter, though, so you never feel abandoned.
"Okay," I say levelly, "I'm going to put this pair of briefs on you. There's a padded absorbent lining, so you can piss with impunity."
The briefs are - let's face it - a sort of diaper. Thick white PVC, the detachable lining contains crystals that absorb and contain fluids. They fasten with Velcro and I'm able to arrange them around your groin and arse without having to free your legs from the stocks. The fit is snug but not uncomfortably tight.
I pause, gauging your response. Pleasant as the soft fabric interior must feel against your skin (especially after the mauling and pounding you've suffered), I'm not at all sure whether the briefs' faintly infantilising connotations are likely to comfort or enrage you.
Lance:
Despite my usual penchant for fights, I appreciate the calm that comes after the storm. However, the blindfold that goes over my eyes shows that I’m still not quite in the clear. My vision going from limited to zero, for some reason, reminds me that we’re doing our play right out in the open, which makes me squirm a little.
My exhibitionist tendencies don’t go quite as far as knowing how to act without knowing how many people watch us.
The leather mask is more constrictive than a sleeping mask but doesn’t hinder my breathing, which is good after the intense workout you just gave to my lungs.
"The blindfold's just to help you adjust while I get these ropes off, help you into something warmer and more comfortable - then I can get you unlocked and out of that thing."
“Cool,” I chew my lower lip a little. It’s not easy to ascertain your mood but you sound calmer than before. “I thought you would leave me for other customers to enjoy,” I joke.
Even though one part of me wants to get out and stretch my muscles, it might be the right call to give my system some time to adjust. After going that high, it’s not smart to crash down immediately and I feel like being locked down gives me no small amount of stability at the moment.
As you cut my ropes, I feel my strength returning gradually. This was actually… fun? It’s easier to look back at your Mr. Hyde persona when the session is over but I don’t know if I can do this often - you’re not joking around!
"Okay, I'm going to put this pair of briefs on you. There's a padded absorbent lining so that you can piss with impunity."
I frown under the blindfold. Is this necessary? Well, maybe we can avoid any accidents if your relentless pounding somehow made me lose control of my bladder, especially after all those beers - but I don’t like the thought of needing help on something so basic.
“I’m not a baby,” I mumble, opening and closing my legs to see how the briefs fit. They are comfy at least but feel bulkier than the undies I usually wear. Thankfully, they don’t give the impression of diapers too much because the last thing I want is for you to treat me like a child. I like you better as a daddy-dom rather than an actual dad.
“Fine, I’ll keep it.” I decide begrudgingly. I don’t want to give you a reason to pick something even more annoying and I rather like the pale white look on my skin. “But that doesn’t mean I’m having a bathroom break in this.”
At least my cheek returns so I’m better now. I impatiently test the pillories. “Can you untie me now? Or do I also need a blankie?”
Richard:
You're not having a post-scene meltdown. Good. I can pull back a little on acting the emotional support bear.
I do know I want to keep you bound for longer, though, so I'm going to have to proceed gingerly with the next few steps. I hope you're going to cooperate with me, but this evening's events have taught me I'd be naive not to prepare for at least some resistance.
From this and neighbouring arches, I speedily gather the few pieces of equipment I need, careful never to leave you out of my sight for more than a few seconds.
First, a large mountaineering clip. Not as secure as a padlock but quicker to open and close - if one can see what one is doing.
“Can you untie me now? Or do I also need a blankie?”
"Not a blankie, exactly," I say with a grin, "but I've got a jacket I want you to put on. A leather one."
Blindfolded, you don't see me reach under the pillory. On the underside, directly below your head, a ring bolt is screwed into the timber. It's often used as an attachment point for cock play, but I engage the mountaineering clip, linking the bolt to the D-ring at the front of your collar. This tethers you to the lower half of the hinged plank.
Now your collar is secured, I unfasten and open the pillory, freeing your hands. Your feet and neck remain fixed.
"Leave the blindfold for now," I say, "and put your arms out in front".
I'm holding a straitjacket in worn brown leather, ready to strap you in.
To be continued...
If M/M overkill bondage in stupidly excessive amounts of gear is your thing as well as mine, here's a list of my TUG stories.
-
blackbound
- Millennial Club
- Posts: 1109
- Joined: 6 years ago
Things are heating up even further! I've always wanted to try a straitjacket, we had one at the Red Cross station but obviously we couldn't just screw around with it willy-nilly (we did get someone half into it at some point, though).
Richard being cheeky and nonchalant about offering Lance a jacket! These two continue to be just fucking great!
-
Straitjacketed
- Centennial Club
- Posts: 347
- Joined: 5 years ago
- Location: UK
- Contact:
Nine Circles - part 28
(Co-written with [mention]DeeperThanRed[/mention])
Lance:
"Not a blankie, exactly, but I've got a jacket I want you to put on. A leather one."
I don’t like the tone of your voice but I’m also drawing a blank on what else you could mean other than a, well, jacket by that. Maybe you’ll lock the jacket on me using my collar?
Speaking of my collar, I feel you attaching it somewhere before hearing the sound of locks opening and I grin. As spent as I am, you don’t underestimate me and still go to the trouble to keep my restraints up. But that’s what I like about you.
Without my sight, I mostly have to depend on my hearing to have an idea about what’s going on. I hear your footsteps getting farther away but even amidst the background chatter of cries and spank noises, I have a rough idea about where you’re going. It seems you learned your lesson and don’t want to go too far. That’s good - my current position is likely way too tempting to be left alone.
When you release my neck and arms from the pillory, my first instinct is to balance myself using my hands. Thankfully, my leg muscles are just not for show but still, my back can use a break from supporting my weight.
I crack my neck loudly. “Ah! I can’t stand being immobile for too long.” That’s not a lie but it’s also true that there’s a reason I enjoy exploring being trussed up so much.
"Leave the blindfold for now, and put your arms out in front.”
“Sir, yes sir!” I may not stick to this title but now that the scene is less tense, I can’t resist being cute.
I hold out my arms forward robotically - expecting a jacket like yours or in the worst case scenario, for you to “trick” me by putting cuffs on me.
Richard:
“Sir, yes sir!”
I smile. We're returning to what seems our default dynamic: gently mocking banter. You're definitely more of a sparring partner - verbal and literal - than an obedient sub, and that's exhilarating.
I want to challenge you more, though, push you out of your comfort zone... and show you that some of the best scenes begin after orgasm.
The jacket I've chosen is one I've experienced from the inside: I know it's comfortable but inescapable. Constructed, inside and out, from heavy, motorcycle-weight brown cowhide with thicker black leather reinforcement and strapping, the elbows worn shiny as a catcher's mitt. It's contained the struggles of many men but is kept clean and well-conditioned, the hide old but supple.
Even with your participation, I know I've got to move fast.
I thrust the waiting sleeves right up to your armpits and, leaning over the pillory, quickly buckle the top strap - not the collar of the jacket but the next one down, the strap that sits between your shoulder blades. That's the most important fastening in terms of security; it stops you shrugging or shaking the jacket off.
Moving swiftly behind you, I engage the collar-strap (only loosely, since it's sitting atop your own collar - which is linked to the underside of the pillory) and the next couple down. At this stage, nothing needs to be tight.
The leather lining will be cool and smooth against your skin. I'm banking on you being unfamiliar with this particular type of restraint, taking a minute or two to realise it is a restraint and that giving me the time I need to render you fully helpless.
"Arms down," I say, and much depends on whether you do so, "give yourself a hug".
If you do as I say, I reach around you to grasp the straps dangling from the end of each sleeve and thread them through the loops at the sides of the jacket to buckle at your back.
If you don't, well, I have other ways. It's a matter of time...
Lance:
The first thing that I notice about the jacket is how heavy it is. I’ve worn some thick jackets covered with metal pins back in the day yet I don’t remember jackets pulling that much in general. I don’t feel it going beneath my waist so it can’t be a trenchcoat. Maybe it has D-rings on it as you like locking stuff that much.
The second thing I notice is the texture. It's definitely leather, smooth to the touch and probably worn quite a bit. I don’t smell anything off, in fact, it sounds kinda nice - all woody and strong. Somebody should bottle this up and sell it as an aftershave.
I try to pull my hands out of the sleeves but they’re super long for some reason and while both of them are covered, I can’t quite pull the shoulders up. Then I hear you bucking something up behind me and I feel the jackets touch my back.
…wait, shouldn’t it already cover behind me if the front is zipped?
It takes an embarrassingly long time for it to register with me but I realize that you’re making me wear the jacket backward. I scoff. “Funny, old man. I think I can get out of a reversed jacket.”
Then you secure the jacket around my leashed neck and I recognize the way my shoulders fit inside. They’re not ill-fitted at all - instead, my arms are comfortable in their sleeves; whose ends I’ve yet to find.
Epiphany crashes down on me.
“Are you putting me in a fucking shrink jacket?!”
"Arms down, give yourself a hug," you say and I immediately cross my arms in front of me.
“Uh-uh. No way. I might be crazy for following you til here but I’m not gonna dress like one.”
Still, that’s not a hard no coming from me and knowing you. A straitjacket isn’t much different than having my hands tied up and so far, it’s a lot more comfortable. If you somehow manage to stuff me inside it, I’m not gonna kick up a fuss.
I wish I could see what’s going on though. It’s gonna be hard defending myself against you when I can’t even see what you need to do in order to keep me inside this jacket for good.
Richard:
“Uh-uh. No way. I might be crazy for following you til here but I’m not gonna dress like one.”
Heh, you're going to dress however I want you to dress. You are staying in that jacket, whether you like it or not. And, after the steep learning curve of this evening, I'm prepared for both an easy and a difficult option. He is mad that trusts in the tameness of a wolf...
Despite your objection, you did cross your arms and if I was lucky enough to get the sleeve-straps threaded through the side loops in time, and connected behind you, the job is done. "'Though this be madness, yet there is method in't'," I smirk, and prepare for the next phase.
If I didn't get the sleeve-straps fastened in time, I sigh.
"Always the difficult way. Just as well you're worth it, boy."
Your feet are fixed, your neck is fixed, you're blindfolded, your arms are trapped inside closed sleeves of reinforced leather and still you're up for a fight! I imagine I could wrestle your arms around you without too much difficulty, but I want to demonstrate a more subtle way of exerting control.
"Don't go away," I quip, rifling through the cupboard until I find the two items I need: one is an S10 respirator attached to a zipped rubber hood; the other is a simple roll of black duct tape.
Your arms might be flailing but you haven't yet managed to dislodge the blindfold so I'm able to move, quietly, behind you. Readying the respirator, I pick a moment when your arms are downward, exploring the front of the straitjacket then I use one hand to flip the blindfold upward and off your face; the other hand immediately pushes the respirator onto your face, tugging it into place and zipping it closed in one well-practised movement.
I move back around in front of you. Now, you can see but your field of vision is restricted by the two circular lenses. This respirator doesn't have a separate filter canister attached so you're able to suck rubber-scented air through the valve on the side. It clicks softly with each exhalation.
I watch your wonderfully expressive eyes react to this new development. You will doubtless try to push, pull or shake the respirator off your head but it's well bonded to the enclosing rubber hood and the only way to remove the hood is to unzip it. Let's see you manipulate a zip through those reinforced leather sleeves.
"Call me a 'foolish fond old man'," I say finding the end of the duct tape, "but I'm still giving you choices: easy or difficult".
I tear off a two-inch square of tape.
"The easy way would be to cross your arms and let me strap you into that nice, comfortable jacket - which, incidentally, looks great on you."
I stick the square of tape to the back of my wrist.
"The difficult way? Try me."
To be continued...
(Co-written with [mention]DeeperThanRed[/mention])
Lance:
"Not a blankie, exactly, but I've got a jacket I want you to put on. A leather one."
I don’t like the tone of your voice but I’m also drawing a blank on what else you could mean other than a, well, jacket by that. Maybe you’ll lock the jacket on me using my collar?
Speaking of my collar, I feel you attaching it somewhere before hearing the sound of locks opening and I grin. As spent as I am, you don’t underestimate me and still go to the trouble to keep my restraints up. But that’s what I like about you.
Without my sight, I mostly have to depend on my hearing to have an idea about what’s going on. I hear your footsteps getting farther away but even amidst the background chatter of cries and spank noises, I have a rough idea about where you’re going. It seems you learned your lesson and don’t want to go too far. That’s good - my current position is likely way too tempting to be left alone.
When you release my neck and arms from the pillory, my first instinct is to balance myself using my hands. Thankfully, my leg muscles are just not for show but still, my back can use a break from supporting my weight.
I crack my neck loudly. “Ah! I can’t stand being immobile for too long.” That’s not a lie but it’s also true that there’s a reason I enjoy exploring being trussed up so much.
"Leave the blindfold for now, and put your arms out in front.”
“Sir, yes sir!” I may not stick to this title but now that the scene is less tense, I can’t resist being cute.
I hold out my arms forward robotically - expecting a jacket like yours or in the worst case scenario, for you to “trick” me by putting cuffs on me.
Richard:
“Sir, yes sir!”
I smile. We're returning to what seems our default dynamic: gently mocking banter. You're definitely more of a sparring partner - verbal and literal - than an obedient sub, and that's exhilarating.
I want to challenge you more, though, push you out of your comfort zone... and show you that some of the best scenes begin after orgasm.
The jacket I've chosen is one I've experienced from the inside: I know it's comfortable but inescapable. Constructed, inside and out, from heavy, motorcycle-weight brown cowhide with thicker black leather reinforcement and strapping, the elbows worn shiny as a catcher's mitt. It's contained the struggles of many men but is kept clean and well-conditioned, the hide old but supple.
Even with your participation, I know I've got to move fast.
I thrust the waiting sleeves right up to your armpits and, leaning over the pillory, quickly buckle the top strap - not the collar of the jacket but the next one down, the strap that sits between your shoulder blades. That's the most important fastening in terms of security; it stops you shrugging or shaking the jacket off.
Moving swiftly behind you, I engage the collar-strap (only loosely, since it's sitting atop your own collar - which is linked to the underside of the pillory) and the next couple down. At this stage, nothing needs to be tight.
The leather lining will be cool and smooth against your skin. I'm banking on you being unfamiliar with this particular type of restraint, taking a minute or two to realise it is a restraint and that giving me the time I need to render you fully helpless.
"Arms down," I say, and much depends on whether you do so, "give yourself a hug".
If you do as I say, I reach around you to grasp the straps dangling from the end of each sleeve and thread them through the loops at the sides of the jacket to buckle at your back.
If you don't, well, I have other ways. It's a matter of time...
Lance:
The first thing that I notice about the jacket is how heavy it is. I’ve worn some thick jackets covered with metal pins back in the day yet I don’t remember jackets pulling that much in general. I don’t feel it going beneath my waist so it can’t be a trenchcoat. Maybe it has D-rings on it as you like locking stuff that much.
The second thing I notice is the texture. It's definitely leather, smooth to the touch and probably worn quite a bit. I don’t smell anything off, in fact, it sounds kinda nice - all woody and strong. Somebody should bottle this up and sell it as an aftershave.
I try to pull my hands out of the sleeves but they’re super long for some reason and while both of them are covered, I can’t quite pull the shoulders up. Then I hear you bucking something up behind me and I feel the jackets touch my back.
…wait, shouldn’t it already cover behind me if the front is zipped?
It takes an embarrassingly long time for it to register with me but I realize that you’re making me wear the jacket backward. I scoff. “Funny, old man. I think I can get out of a reversed jacket.”
Then you secure the jacket around my leashed neck and I recognize the way my shoulders fit inside. They’re not ill-fitted at all - instead, my arms are comfortable in their sleeves; whose ends I’ve yet to find.
Epiphany crashes down on me.
“Are you putting me in a fucking shrink jacket?!”
"Arms down, give yourself a hug," you say and I immediately cross my arms in front of me.
“Uh-uh. No way. I might be crazy for following you til here but I’m not gonna dress like one.”
Still, that’s not a hard no coming from me and knowing you. A straitjacket isn’t much different than having my hands tied up and so far, it’s a lot more comfortable. If you somehow manage to stuff me inside it, I’m not gonna kick up a fuss.
I wish I could see what’s going on though. It’s gonna be hard defending myself against you when I can’t even see what you need to do in order to keep me inside this jacket for good.
Richard:
“Uh-uh. No way. I might be crazy for following you til here but I’m not gonna dress like one.”
Heh, you're going to dress however I want you to dress. You are staying in that jacket, whether you like it or not. And, after the steep learning curve of this evening, I'm prepared for both an easy and a difficult option. He is mad that trusts in the tameness of a wolf...
Despite your objection, you did cross your arms and if I was lucky enough to get the sleeve-straps threaded through the side loops in time, and connected behind you, the job is done. "'Though this be madness, yet there is method in't'," I smirk, and prepare for the next phase.
If I didn't get the sleeve-straps fastened in time, I sigh.
"Always the difficult way. Just as well you're worth it, boy."
Your feet are fixed, your neck is fixed, you're blindfolded, your arms are trapped inside closed sleeves of reinforced leather and still you're up for a fight! I imagine I could wrestle your arms around you without too much difficulty, but I want to demonstrate a more subtle way of exerting control.
"Don't go away," I quip, rifling through the cupboard until I find the two items I need: one is an S10 respirator attached to a zipped rubber hood; the other is a simple roll of black duct tape.
Your arms might be flailing but you haven't yet managed to dislodge the blindfold so I'm able to move, quietly, behind you. Readying the respirator, I pick a moment when your arms are downward, exploring the front of the straitjacket then I use one hand to flip the blindfold upward and off your face; the other hand immediately pushes the respirator onto your face, tugging it into place and zipping it closed in one well-practised movement.
I move back around in front of you. Now, you can see but your field of vision is restricted by the two circular lenses. This respirator doesn't have a separate filter canister attached so you're able to suck rubber-scented air through the valve on the side. It clicks softly with each exhalation.
I watch your wonderfully expressive eyes react to this new development. You will doubtless try to push, pull or shake the respirator off your head but it's well bonded to the enclosing rubber hood and the only way to remove the hood is to unzip it. Let's see you manipulate a zip through those reinforced leather sleeves.
"Call me a 'foolish fond old man'," I say finding the end of the duct tape, "but I'm still giving you choices: easy or difficult".
I tear off a two-inch square of tape.
"The easy way would be to cross your arms and let me strap you into that nice, comfortable jacket - which, incidentally, looks great on you."
I stick the square of tape to the back of my wrist.
"The difficult way? Try me."
To be continued...
Last edited by Straitjacketed 10 months ago, edited 1 time in total.
If M/M overkill bondage in stupidly excessive amounts of gear is your thing as well as mine, here's a list of my TUG stories.
I certainly hope that Lance continues to push buttons. I want to see this beautiful bad boy as restrained as Richard can manage!
-
blackbound
- Millennial Club
- Posts: 1109
- Joined: 6 years ago
Fully agree. Plus, breath control is extremely hot.