By PFC Pflege

Part 1

I first experienced the hot box in the old Training Center, then located in Missouri, now called the Academy, located in Georgia. Back then, the Training Center consisted of a single room in which was a barred cell, just like a prison cell, a padded “cooler”, the infamous chair, and all imaginable bondage devices from mediaeval manacles to wooden gloves. I went many times out there, and Chip, who ran the place, pushed my limits very hard. He had several devices he had made just for me, though, of course, he used them on other guys as well.

One was the platform, which I have seen crop up in movies and elsewhere, but then it was new to me. It was a four by four wooden platform, with padding on the top. It was six to eight inches high.  Rings were attached at all four corners. It was used to punish, to subdue, and to control. I would be forced to kneel, stark naked, on the platform, with my hands chained behind my back. Chains locked my ankles to the rings. Another chain was wrapped around my neck, and the two ends chained to the other rings. Depending on my attitude – I usually arrived at the Training Center with an attitude – the chain around my neck either let me kneel pretty much upright, or was tightened so that my head was pulled way down towards the platform. My first experience with this simple device of horror was the 3rd or 4th time I went out there. I was in my late twenties, only a few years out of the Marine Corps, and what I didn’t know about life wasn’t worth knowing. My cocky attitude gave Chip and his staff a lot of fun.

Chip was gay, but most of the staff were straight. They were active duty military, or local prison guards, who didn’t mind making some money by chaining a faggot up in a cell. You went out there for incarceration and heavy-duty bondage – not sex. Later, as they knew me better, I was allowed to kneel and jerk off while some of the guards watched, a particularly humiliating experience which I never forgot.

Whenever I saw that they had set out the platform, I knew I was in for it. It’s not difficult for 4 guys to chain a naked man’s hands behind his back, and force him to kneel, while one guy chains his ankles. That done, depending on how much I was working my mouth, the chain around my neck either let me kneel normally, or pulled my head way down to the platform. If I worked my mouth a lot either there, or in transport to the facility, I got the rough treatment. Believe me, it’s no picnic being bent over, your head almost on the platform, your hands chained behind your back, and all you can see is your cock swinging between your legs. Nobody gave a damn. The first time they used the platform, I made a lot of demands, but nobody listened. They left the room, locking the door, and keeping the overhead cameras on me. I worked my mouth, and thrashed around in the chains, until I finally quieted down

Begging didn’t do any good, either. John, a regular guard who I got to know well, told me the second or third time I was on the platform, that begging just lengthened the punishment. “We don’t give a shit,” he succinctly explained. “Whether you make noise begging or screaming or whatever, you’re not getting off the platform. You get off the platform only when you shut up, and start to learn to obey orders.” Later he told me he really liked chaining me because it took me a long, long time, every single visit I made there, to learn how to obey orders.

The hot box was another of Chip’s inventions. I am sure others have them, but it was a first for me. The original box sat in the center of the room, in front of the cell, and was four by three, by three… something like that. You could kneel in it, with your head bent forward, but that was all. It was an old ice cabinet, the kind you see at convenience stores, where they sell bags of ice in it. Chip’s modifications including replacing the door with one-way plastic – they could see in, but all I could see was my reflection. I saw my reflection because he fitted a fluorescent tube in the back part of the box, which stammered into life when you closed the door. A simple latch controlled the door, and there was no panic bar.

For the first few times I was locked in the box, I was stripped naked, handcuffed with my hands behind my back, and crawled in on my knees. They locked the door; the fluorescent tube came on; and I watched my naked body slowly melt with sweat. In the early sessions, they blew cigar smoke into the box, and listened to my coughing and choking. Later sessions, they dropped the cigar smoke, and one guard just sat and watched me, as the minutes ticked. In the final trips out there, Chip had installed the box into the wall, increasing the heat, and making it so I could see its light from the cell where I was chained. One session I lost count of the hours I was in the box – about 10 hours out of 14 consecutive hours I was locked in there. Usually sessions in the box were an hour in length, but one time, for John the guard, I stayed in there on my knees for two hours. Between times I was in the box during those horrible 14 hours, I was spread eagled with leather restraints to the bars of the cell, still naked, while I cooled down.

The heat in the hot box was somewhere just below 130 degrees, and became intense. When Chip installed the box into the wall, he also modified my restraints. No longer was kneeling with my hands cuffed behind my back sufficient. In his opinion, it became necessary to manacle me with mediaeval-style manacles, heavy steel manacles. It started with a collar of steel around my neck, from which a chain hung. Further down the chain were manacles, which the guards locked on my wrists, behind my back. The chain continued from my neck to my wrists down to my ankles, where manacles locked my ankles. In these restraints, I was placed inside the new version of the hot box – now located in the wall – for the first time. It was also the start of the horrible 14 hours, during which 10 or so were spent in the box.

I had displayed a major attitude problem during transport from the airport to the facility. I had been secured with plastic restraints to a gurney, but broke them, and started thrashing in the back of the van, while the guards attempted to subdue me. One of them was a prison guard – it may actually have been John – and he finally pulled off the highway, and came round to help the military guys, who hadn’t had experience with prisoners, subdue me. John quickly found pressure points at my collar bone, which nearly caused me to black out, while the military guards used real handcuffs and chains to hogtie me, then dump me back on the gurney, and chain me to the gurney. I don’t know why they used plastic restraints to begin with.

On arrival, which meant entering a garage area adjacent to the Center, the guards were still angry about my attitude, and John worked my collar bone until I shut up, and one guard thrust a balled-up cloth into my mouth, and taped in place. They wheeled the gurney into the facility, dumped me, still hogtied, or, rather hogchained, on to floor, dragged me into the cell, and locked the gate. They turned out the lights, and left me. The only light was from the hot box, a lurid, white light. It was the first time I had seen the hot box since it had been moved to, and installed in, the wall. I struggled, not hard, fascinated by the light. It was late at night, and I was tired from the plane flight, and being keyed up with excitement, and I was at the start of a 3-day weekend. Already I was half-beaten before it even began.

The 14 hours then began, with me being manacled and shoved, naked, into the hot box. I knelt, facing the one-way mirror door, looking at my reflection. I would see this reflection for ten more hours, before they were finished breaking me with the hot box, and moved on to other forms of bondage and submission. On Sunday, when I flew home, exhausted, I determined to have a hot box of my own.

 

Part 2

 

I had a friend who was handy, and he contrived a box which is still in my basement. The temperature reached approximately 133 degrees, and my friend put a mirror on the door for me to watch myself melt, and cut a window on the side for the captor to watch me. If all the lights in the basement were out, he could see me, but I could not see him.

It was then I met Jeff, and entered into a regular arrangement with him, for him to come out to the house, and bind me with rope to a chair, or hogtie me, or string me up from the ceiling. Or put me in the hot box. All this went fine until one night when everything went wrong. If there was ever a moral to this story, it is to be sure a third person knows what you are doing, when you are playing risky bondage games. I didn’t let a third person know, and it very nearly cost me my life. Here’s what happened, and, if you’re into risky bondage, take my advice and let a third person know. Give them a time frame, and if they don’t hear from you, they should call or come over, or whatever arrangement you make. This precaution is not just when you are with a stranger, but also when you are with a friend. You never know when a guy may get sick, or pass out, or something.

When Jeff put me in the hot box, the scene was pretty much always the same. I put on tight Speedos, and a USMC shirt, with no sleeves. I would then gag myself, using duct tape. I was really, really big on very tight gags, and I would first gag my mouth with layers of duct tape, round and round my head. Then, I would run duct tape from the point of my chin over the top of my head, pulling the jaw really tightly shut. Try it. You can’t make any kind of audible sound.

Next I knelt in the hot box, my back to the door. Jeff would chain my wrists together, and then chain my wrists to my ankles. When he was done, I would slowly hump myself around until I faced the mirrored door. Then Jeff would close the door, and turn the heat on, and sit and watch me. He usually erected and climaxed several times while watching for an hour or so. Seeing me like this turned him on, big time.

The heater was behind my ass, and turned off and on, approximately every 3 minutes. I got so that I knew the count, and at 19 or 20 repetitions of hearing the heater come on, I had had enough. That was about an hour. The other thing was the door. My handy friend had devised it for self use, and had installed a panic bar on the inside, so if I chained myself in there, I could easily escape. If I was monitored, though, he installed at the top of the door two flanges, one on the box, one on the door. Each had a hole in it, and all you had to do was slip a nail into the two holes, and whoever was inside the box would be at the mercy of the guy outside. It worked fine, because Jeff and I had an arrangement, that if I slammed my body 3 times in a row against the panic bar on the door, making a loud noise, he would release me. If I was just thrashing around inside the box, thrusting into the door with my packed crotch, or sliming my sweaty face on the mirror, he could ignore me, and jerk off, watching me thrash and heave.

The night of horror happened on a Friday. It should have been the 13th, but it wasn’t. It was the 12th. Jeff came out, and we ate and drank, and decided it was time for me to go into the box. It was late, maybe 10:00pm. I’d been drinking, and so had Jeff. I stripped, put on the Speedos, and the USMC shirt with no sleeves, and went to the basement. Jeff was already there, doing something with the chains. The hotbox was turned on, its door open, and the light shining.

All the other lights in the basement were turned off. I knelt inside the hotbox, facing the back wall, as usual. Jeff chained my wrists, padlocking the chain, and then chained my ankles to my wrists. I started to move around, in order to face the door, but he stopped me. He next chained my elbows together, and then ran a chain around the back of my neck, down my chest, through my armpits, and padlocked the ends to the chains on my elbows and wrists and ankles. My cock went instantly, solidly, and insistently erect. It was the best damn chaining Jeff had ever done.

I humped around (the floor of the hotbox was foam rubber, thank goodness) until I was facing the mirror door. I could see myself, but I could not see out through the door, or through the small window in the side, where Jeff would watch me. He turned the machine on, and the heater kicked in. The heat blew on my ass, but I was enough inches away from it that it didn’t burn. The hotbox heated up, and the heater went off. 3 minutes later, it came back on again.

I lusted into the mirror image of myself that I saw in the door. I was tightly gagged with duct tape, and Jeff had done a cock-stiffening job chaining me. I was kneeling, a prisoner and a captive, watching myself slowly melt. The heater came back on, and more heat poured into the box. My handy friend had installed a thermometer inside, so I could see what the temperature was. It was a balmy 120 degrees. I lusted, thrusting my erection, packed into the Speedos, into the mirror door. It opened, and Jeff shoved a bottle of poppers under my nose. He closed the door, but then almost immediately re-opened it. Using duct tape, he taped two poppers bottles to the panic bar, having removed the caps. Then he closed the door. What I did not know was that he left the basement, went upstairs, and started drinking.

It was the best damn session in the hotbox, ever. I had assumed Jeff was seated outside, watching me, so I performed for myself and for him. My cock was rigid in the Speedos, and I crushed it up against the mirror door. I writhed, and thrashed in the heat, and watched my body slowly start sweating. It was really neat to see myself chained and gagged and sweat making dark stains in my USMC shirt. The heater had clicked on and off, about 12 times, and the temperature in the box was hovering at 130 degrees. The poppers filled the box, and drove me crazy. I could just lean over enough to take a solid hit, and I did that often.

The heater clicked off and on, and my mind automatically tracked the count, the way you can tell how many times a clock has struck, even if you don’t count the strikes consciously. I became dimly aware of the absence of Jeff. Even though I could not see him, if he were there, I sensed, somehow, that he wasn’t. But my mind was fucked up with poppers, and my cock was massively hard, and the heater had clicked on only 14 times. I lusted.

The lusting began to fade when I realized that I was alone. I sensed it. Maybe when Jeff was seated at the little window, watching me, I could hear him jerking off, or moving about, but now I had a sense of complete void. The heater had clicked on for the 18th time, and it was time to leave the box. I slammed my body into the panic bar three times, making enough noise for anyone to hear. I knocked off one of the poppers bottles, which spilled onto the floor, soaking into the foam rubber. The atmosphere in the hotbox was thick with poppers, particularly from the spilled bottle. And I was becoming dizzy. Sweat was now pouring down my body in streams, and the temperature, according to the thermometer, was now at 133 degrees. Breathing was becoming difficult because the poppers had filled my nostrils, and I sucked air greedily – at the same time, sucking more poppers into my system.  I could not scream or shout, because I had tightly gagged myself with tape, locking my jaws together. My body was tightly and irrevocably chained. The door was locked with that little nail, and no matter how hard I slammed against it, it would not open.

The heater clicked on. It was now its 26th time for being on, and I panicked, a huge, desperate, body-consuming panic, heaving and pounding against the hotbox walls and door, slamming into the little window, slamming my body with all my force into the mirror door, desperate, panic-stricken, my mind constipated with terror. Minutes passed, and the heater clicked on again, number 27, number 28, number 29, far longer than I had ever gone.

Then I heard the telephone ring. It rang four times, and stopped. The caller was persistent, and rang again. I heard Jeff answer.

“Hello?”

And then, “Oh it’s you. Yes, I am leaving soon.”

Long pause.

“I don’t know where Dan is.”

Long pause.

“Oh wow, he might be in the hotbox.”

And down Jeff came, falling over his own feet, to release me from the closest thing to Hell I have ever experienced.

Jeff had chained me, then locked me in the hotbox. He had taped the poppers bottles on the panic bar, so he wouldn’t have to open the door to give them to me. Then he had gone upstairs, and drank until he passed out. Only because his boy friend called to see why he was late getting home, did Jeff wake up. Otherwise, he would have slept through the night, and some time, during that night of horror, I would have finally, slowly, in terror-stricken desperation, died, and died in a coffin of my own creation, the hotbox.

 

THE END

Metal would like to thank the author, PFC Pflege, for sharing this experience and thanks also to Master Jack of Bondagezine for sharing this for posting here.

IMPORTANT: It is never — and I mean NEVER — a good idea to leave someone gagged while unattended, or to leave someone in severe bondage like this while unattended or to drink a lot of alcohol before or during bondage play.

—Metal

 

By boyinacage

Part 2 – The Decision

Have you ever tried to cut through titanium with bolt cutters? It is near on impossible. Have you ever tried to do the same with Kevlar? Same result. How do I know this? Because when I finally got home I tried to cut the chains that connected my tits to my cock and all I managed to do was damage the bolt cutters. It turned out that the chains were titanium coated in Kevlar – a pretty expensive piece of kit to waste.

Anyway, back to where we were. I had to walk the 20 minutes home with nothing but the chain and a towel barely long enough to wrap around me. At five in the morning there are few people about, but those that are have no compunction in hurling abuse. So, getting home was not a picnic and I was relieved to be in the front door. I headed straight to the toolbox, grabbed the bolt cutters and totally failed to cut the chains. I wasn’t about to start on the padlocks as they were too tight to my tits and cock to make me risk it.

Stress was where I was at now because I had to be in work shortly and I had a client meeting at nine. That meant an hour to lie down and rest and a rethink of the wardrobe.  I like my clothes well fitted, it shows off the chest and the arse and a well developed package. Additionally, a nice fitted shirt gives people a double-take when they see the outline of the nipple rings. It throws them off and often helps me achieve the upper hand in client meetings. Now of course the padlocks and chains are going to stick out like dog’s balls.

In the end I wore a t-shirt under my business shirt which is a bit odd for summer but it helped soften the lines. The chastity device was almost impossible to hide and I ended up wearing some baggy trousers that were fashionable 10 years ago.  Throughout the day I had the feeling that people were staring and I found that if I made any sudden movements the chains pushed my shirt out in the most obvious manner. To top it all off my cock was getting excited every time I felt I was being embarrassed, every slightest move impacted on the chain and hence on my cock.

Now, you may be wondering how I knew the chain was made of Kevlar coated titanium. Well, it’s the same way I discovered that the chastity device was a custom made device from Steelwerks. Recon messaging. When I got home that evening I was exhausted and embarrassed and I had every intention of logging onto Recon and blasting this guy alpha, but he got in first.

“Hi boy, bet you had a fun filled day. We enjoyed our time with you last night and are offering you the chance of serving my Masters’ friends from Germany. We have had many applications but you are the first we are offering the chance to. If you don’t want to take up this opportunity you will need to follow our instructions – if you don’t follow them we will assume that you have acquiesced and we will make sure that you are in position to serve when they arrive.”

That sure sounded confident and one sided. I read on to see how I could get out of it.

“The chains you are wearing are titanium, as are the padlocks and the chastity cage. Note that the chains are also coated in Kevlar. You will not be able to remove any of these without our assistance. You will also note the unique design of the chastity cage – it was made to my Master’s specification by Steelwerks. Note the design features. The tube has a hole on the underside near the head of your cock, you will note that the padlock acting as your PA actually passes through the hole as well as your cock – you will not be able to remove your cock from the tube. You should also notice welded to the body end’s underside of the tube a clasp that has encircled your ball sack, whilst this is reasonably loose the diameter is in fact smaller than your balls, this means that you won’t be able to squeeze your balls out of the cockring because you won’t be able to get them near it. Without the key for the PA padlock, and the internal lock and for the ball stretcher, you’re fucked without our help. I’ll send instructions tomorrow on our early release scheme. alpha”

Looking at Steelwerks’ website I actually began to feel that I got off lightly – they make some seriously weird stuff. I decided not to respond to the recon message as I would probably say something that I might later regret. It is one thing to have fantasies about sex, bondage and humiliation and another to take them into your working life. It was three weeks to Christmas which is a seriously long time to wear inconvenient kit like this – how was I going to do my gym work out? I went to bed, confused.

In the morning there was another note. “We think you’ll really enjoy the 10 days with the guys from Berlin. You certainly seemed to enjoy your time on Wednesday night. Anyway, if you decide it’s all a bit too much and you don’t have the balls to take us up on the ten days you’ll need to give our stuff back – there’s over a grand’s worth hanging off your nips and cock.”

God this guy could go on – wish he’d get to the point. “Tomorrow night, 10pm, you will need to go to the North Eveleigh rail yard. Walk around to the back of the sheds behind the old Station Master’s house. Being a Saturday the area at the front should be well lit up for the Carriage Works theatre crowd. On the back steps you will find a hood you are familiar with, two sets of handcuffs and two sets of leg cuffs. You will also find a pair of wrist restraints and a pair of leg restraints.”

Under normal circumstances I would start to go hard here but with the chastity device it wasn’t to be, although I could feel the pre-cum dripping from my cock.

“Take your clothes off here and lace on your boots and then put on the restraints. Yes, I have your boots from the other night and they’ll be on the steps too. Walk 500 yards along the fence, I have marked where you are to attach the cuffs in red paint. Clip your legs first, put the hood on, then one hand. Be careful with the other because if you don’t get this right you’ll be stuck there until somebody else finds you.”

My cock is bobbing up and down and the pre-cum is dripping. Reading the note I’m rubbing my cockhead in small circular motions with the pre-cum, which is really dumb because all I’m doing is creating sexual frustration for myself.

“If you have done this correctly we will remove the chains and the device exactly two hours after you’ve placed on the last cuff. Don’t panic, we won’t leave you chained to the fence. We will replace the cuffs with ice locks. Ice locks are two pieces of metal which are frozen together. When they melt they will automatically release taking about 4-6 hours. Once you’re free you can keep the restraints. Don’t respond to this message or else we won’t be there. You either turn up or you don’t. No second chances.”

The agony of choice. These guys seemed to have everything sorted. Did I want to go on with it, or end it all here? I had 36 hours to decide. Just the scene would make it worthwhile to do now, whilst the alternative was to wear the chains for the next three weeks. Mind you, after the last scenario, and the suggested scenario it would be worth the wait.

It was Friday, and our Christmas Party, so I decided to dress baggy. Some short term relief on the hardware I was wearing. I also decided to free-ball. I don’t know how you guys go with underwear and chastity devices but I find them difficult to work with. The morning was fine and I was careful to guard my movements. Going for a piss in the afternoon was difficult as I had discovered that pissing through a padlock required me to sit rather than stand and I still ended up with the dribbles – which is fine with underwear but not when free-balling.

Saturday I woke in the early afternoon. God awful hang over. It was raining – again. I was as horny as hell, which often happens after drinking too much. Could I put up with three weeks of this? No. I needed to shoot my load. Now. I couldn’t. Mind you, tugging on the chains got my nipples heated and that was a great sensation. I made my mind up, I’d go through with the scene and give up on the Christmas cheer.

The instructions were easy to follow and I found the equipment exactly where it was said to be. On top was a buff envelope.  I opened it. Inside were a few photos of the scene on Wednesday night and a short note. The pictures stirred my cock again. Nothing in them identified me but jeez they were hot. I turned over the note. I read it. “Are you only here because you don’t think you could make the next three weeks without cumming?” Could this guy read my mind? “If it is, maybe there is an alternative. If you want to enjoy our Berlin guest’s attentions but need to cum sooner, turn over the note and follow the alternative instructions.”

The back of the note contained the following instructions. “Strip. Put on the boots. Put on the restraints. Lock one handcuff to one wrist, the other to the other wrist. Walk to the shed directly in front of you. Take the hood with you. There is a wooden bench in front of the shed. Lie down in front of it. Put the hood on. Link each open cuff to the diagonal boot – typical hogtie style.”

The shed was in darkness. The lights around the theatre car park went out – good, not as public a scene as it could have been. I could just make out my way in the moonlight. Yes, I changed my mind. I could have my cake and eat it too. I followed these new instructions instead. I lay down in the muddy dust, the attached gag in my mouth, hood tightly laced – no padlock. Cuffs diagonally locked, I was going nowhere.

An eternity later I was laying there, why do I do this to myself? I didn’t even have the protection of HQ this time. I jerked into wakefulness as a boot kicked me in the bum. A stream of piss hit me in the back. A boot slipped in under my rib cage and rolled me onto my side. I could just make out laughter. I felt something being pushed into the gag’s breathing hole. Piss started to flow down my throat.

A set of hands on either side picked me up and lifted me onto the bench. More piss. I felt the cuffs being unlocked. My arms were tied to the bench legs. The same was done for my legs. More piss. I felt something inserted into my arse.  My chastity device was pushed through a hole in the bench – the weight of it in this position creating an ache – or was it the buildup of cum in my balls? I think I was getting blue balls – the pain you get when your ball sack is full.

The hood was removed but in this position and light I could not see my assailants. A bandana was tied round my head, effectively blind folding me and a spider gag was inserted into my mouth. A cock was inserted into my arse as another was inserted into my mouth. I was spit-roasted, was that a stream of piss running down my back – that meant there was three of them. Oh, they enjoyed themselves, taking turns in various roles. How much piss did I drink?

Eventually the spider gag was removed and replaced with another bandana, soaking in piss. A voice whispered in my ear: “We’ll see you in three weeks”. I started trying to complain through the gag.

The German accented voice continued: “We didn’t promise to let you cum, hahaha, we just said that if you were backing out of Christmas just because you couldn’t there was an alternative.” True.

“That alternative is not to back out, which is the choice you made.” True again, the bastards.

“Don’t you worry about a thing – you’ll be at our place for Christmas. Actually, you should worry. You have to get out of this bondage before the guys who work here return to work here Monday morning. See you at Christmas.”

I heard the laughing voices receding in the background, then the sound of bikes. Then nothing. Fuck. I started struggling against my bonds.

 

Part 3 – The Abduction

Christmas Eve is one of those odd days in the Australian holiday calendar. It isn’t one. So, if you take the day off work you’ve got to take a day’s annual leave – yet, if you turn up in the morning and leave at mid-day you get the afternoon off, gratis. I love it. Very few straight, married folk make it in that day, usually using it to drive to wherever they are going to spend Christmas. For those in the northern hemisphere, to get an understanding of an Australian Christmas all you have to do is think “August holidays”. Christmas is just thrown in as a bonus. The whole country sort of stops from Christmas Eve through Australia Day on January 26.

Anyway, I digress. When midday arrived on Christmas Eve there were probably only four of us in the office. I had butterflies in my stomach as I was hoping to hear from the German’s alpha today on what was going to happen. I’d spent the past three weeks with a dull ache in my balls from the overload of cum that couldn’t get out, I’d spent three weeks working out at a strange gym where people wouldn’t recognise me – baggy gym clothes rather than my preferred lycra to hide the padlocks, chains and chastity device – and three weeks begging to be released from the chains with no response except the occasional “wait till Christmas”. Yes, I was becoming sexually frustrated and I was desperate to shoot my load.

Heading down to the basement car park I headed towards my car. I’ve got one of those new flash convertible BMW’s. I have a car space allocated in the far corner as I’m paranoid about it getting scratched and the corner at least provides protection to one side of the car. Coming out of the lift I could see a scattering of cars – the car park almost empty because of Christmas – and right next to mine, hiding it in fact, was a black van. I hate vans and 4×4 parked next to me as they invariably open their doors by banging them into the car next to them.

As I hurried towards my car the driver’s door came into view and I could see somebody had taped a note to the window. “Fuck!” – that meant somebody had dinged my car and left a note of apology. I raced to the car and started reading the note. Grabbing the note I read “Sorry about this – you should have been more careful”. What? I read it again, confused. As I read it a third time an arm came out of nowhere and put me in a headlock. I struggled. I was dragged into the open side door of the van – so concerned about my car I hadn’t even seen it was open.

The van door closed and two men wrestled me to the ground. Almost simultaneously somebody started wrapping my legs in duct tape, started wrapping duct tape around my wrists behind my back and stuffing a gag in my mouth. The last thing that I remember was an odd smell from a rag being held to my mouth before I passed out.

When I came to I was in a small puppy cage. Against all expectations I wasn’t bound. I seemed to be in a very thick, very tight, rubber cat suit. At first it didn’t dawn on me but I realised that I was sporting a hard on, which meant I was no longer wearing the chastity device. Still a bit groggy I moved my hand down to it, subconsciously moving to release the pent up juices. However, my hands appeared to be locked into thick bondage mitts. In the dark I couldn’t see them or much else of my surrounds for that matter. As I grabbed my cock a pain shot through it and I released my hands quickly. I slowly moved my hands to my cock again – I was still a bit groggy and slow but it slowly dawned upon me that the mitts were covered in thousands of small sharp pins. What a bastard act that was.

I wasn’t letting the chance for sexual release get away, I tried to get on my stomach and hump the floor but the cage was too small. I tried getting on my knees and rubbing the bar but the cage height was too low. I tried crunching up and using my elbow, only to discover that the chains from my nipples were still linked to my PA – albeit without the chastity device – and they got in the way. Then I heard laughter. Whilst I was focused on my cock somebody had come into the room. Although it was pitch black in there.

An accented voice spoke. “Relax boy, we’ve been watching you on the infra-red camera for the last half hour, you’re more desperate for release than we expected.” I stopped and looked around trying to make out where the voice came from. As I strained my eyes the room slowly began to brighten – the lights must have been on dimmers. As my eyes adjusted I started to make out the room around me.

The room was completely covered in black rubber – walls, floors, ceiling. Around the room were many dungeon objects, cages, crosses, eye bolts, a rack, benches and so forth. In the far corner of the room standing in front of an elevated chair – well you could almost call the gothic construction a throne – was a truly Tom of Finland look alike. Over six feet tall he was wearing leather breeches tucked into knee high Denhers. His shirt was stretched tight over his chest and stomach as if it was rubber, but even I could tell it was leather. It was offset by a sam brown stretched from his epaulets, across his well developed chest, past his flat stomach to his belt. Across the lower half of his face was a leather mask hiding almost the entire face.

As I watched him he raised a hand and I heard a click on the cage door, three bolts drew away. “Push the door and come over here” he said. I crawled out and started to stand up. A sharp pain sprang up through my arse, I jerked up and landed flat on the ground. “On your knees boy”, I tried to stand again complaining, a sharp jolt hit me in the neck. “Electric dog collar boy. On your knees”. I started to crawl towards him. The floor was slightly springy, there appeared to be some cushioning under the rubber floor.

“Do you need to cum boy?” – I nodded. A shock passed through my arse, I must have had an electrified butt plug up there. “You know better than that boy, try again”. I replied with a “yes, sir”, another shock, “come on boy, you’re not acting like somebody who wants to cum” – “Yes, Sir!” I responded as if I meant it. “Clean my boots, son, with your tongue boy”. Scared of more electric shocks I proceeded to do as I was told.

“You’re quite vain, aren’t you boy”. I continued licking. A shot in the neck, “didn’t hear you boy”, “Yes, Sir!” I couldn’t get it out fast enough. “A look at me body, a look at me car, ooohhh I want to cum, ooohhh I want you to tie me up and play with me – it’s all about you isn’t it?” he said sarcastically.  I continued to lick and was rewarded with a double hit, neck and arse.”Boy, you’re going to learn, there’s three more levels of power on your arse and another five on your dog collar. Now are you, or are you not, vain?”, “Yes, Sir!”

“We’re going to fix that. My friends from Berlin are going to want selfless service – and if they don’t get it, you’ll see what punishment really is.” I responded with a “Yes, Sir” just to be on the safe side and kept licking. “Now boy, remember the warm soft drink on your audition night? You though it was because we wanted you to piss yourself, didn’t you?” as I did think that I said “Yes, Sir”. “Well it wasn’t, it contained two extra ingredients one which was a truth serum – you won’t remember telling us, but there is very little we don’t know about you. And we do know you are pretty self-centred.” No wonder alpha was always acting like he could read my mind.

As I listened I couldn’t believe my ears. I’d put up with some pretty serious shit for this 10 day session and now it was looking like I’d got myself into so much shit I wouldn’t be able to get myself out of it. “Boy, if you do as you’re told, and serve as required, you will enjoy these 10 days – if you don’t, well … what can I say?” The butt plug erupted again, “you’ve stopped licking boy, roll over, flat on your back with your head against the chair” I did as he told me, he sat in the chair and rested his right heel on my mouth, “keep licking boy”.

Never in my life had I tried to comply with something asked of me like I did now. I felt a boot press down on my crotch. Another voice came from the direction of the boot, a more pronounced German accent. “Good boy. Are you enjoying this?” I tried to reply whilst licking so all that came out was a “eth er”, a boot kicked me in the balls “what was that, boy”, ”Eth Ir!” I tried – the boot pressed in “you’re going to have to do better boy” I tried again almost in tears “Yes, Sir” between licks, difficult because the heel was pressing down into my mouth. “You’re a useless piece of trash trying to get men to lavish their time and energy on you for your own gratification” with that I could feel my balls being squashed into my arse.

“Do you really think you’re going to be worthy of our Berlin friends?” he challenged. “Yes Sir! I will do anything to help them enjoy their stay” I intoned. “Good. They’re not as accepting as we are with self indulgence” he growled.

“Back on your knees boy” – I rolled over. “Do you want to cum now boy?” – I did – “Yes, Sir!” – “Well start begging, ‘cause if you don’t cum in the next 30 minutes, you won’t get another chance for the next ten days”, I started begging, pleading would be a better word. With every “please” I received a kick in the balls, not hard, but annoying. “Why should we let you boy?” – I thought hard. So far they had focused on how self centred they thought I was, so I suspected how desperate I was wouldn’t pass muster. “Come on boy, we’re waiting”, I couldn’t think. “We’re losing patience boy, today would be good”.

Finally I sprang “it will help me focus on your friends’ needs Sir, all I’ve been able to think about for the last three weeks has been cumming. I need to be able to focus on you, Sir!” To this I received an affirmative response. “OK boy that was good. Better than I expected, if I let you cum and you don’t focus, it will be the last time – back to your cage.” I turned and started to crawl back. “No boy, crawl backwards and stop at the front of the cage.

Back at the cage I stopped. The second guy lifted a hood attached to the suit and encased my head in it. It had no eyeholes, but did contain nose holes and a mouth. The eyes were padded. I felt the zipper pull the thick rubber together and then heard the click of a padlock. Next I felt another hood being put on over the top of it. This one seemed to have a long, soft tube style gag that went back into my mouth. About two inches. Enough to stuff the mouth but pliable enough to prevent lockjaw.
As the second hood was being zipped on I could feel a metal parachute being attached to my balls. I could feel dull spikes pushing into my balls and the weight pulling on them. This must have been attached to a rope or a chain because I was being encouraged to back into the cage by a pulling on the parachute. As I pulled back into the cage I had to find gaps in the bars to stick my legs through so that I could back up with my arse against the bars. I felt clamps go around just above my ankles, it seemed to be a rigid piece of metal outside of the cage. My thighs were then roped to the back of the cage. My back end was going nowhere.

As the cage was so small they held my head as they closed the doors. There must have been a head hole as it felt that my head was sticking out of the front of the cage. I felt my wrist mitts being attached to the front corners of the cage. I was totally immobile. As I felt a cock slide into my mouth I felt the butt plug start to pulse. My cock, already hard, started to throb. The cock in my mouth slid backwards and forward in rhythm. It shot into my mouth. The butt plug stopped. A stream of piss forced its way down my throat.

The cock withdrew and a much larger one replaced it. It started a similar rhythm and the butt plug started pulsing again. I felt my cock tighten; my legs went rigid in their bindings, pain shot through my balls as my cock exploded. It was the most painful, and one of the longest orgasms I could recall. A few moments later the cock in my mouth shot its load and withdrew. The pulse in my arse kept going. It was getting sore.

Once I shoot I get over the whole thing and am usually ready to go. The plug kept going and I began to contemplate the fact that I was not going anywhere just now.

 

To be continued …

 

 

By Mark

Volume 3, Chapter 1

Supple leather slid from side to side as they both worked the shiny smooth material of their jackets down over their backs.  “Why did you wish to see us, Mr. Director?” one asked as they both plopped themselves down in to one of the multitude of thick black leather couches that filled the executive’s plush office.

“Brian, Joey, I have a serious matter to discuss with you,” stated the young director of Calm Crescent Psychiatric Hospital for the Mentally Ill.  Having been thrown in to the job since his father’s recent passing, Mike tried to sound authoritative, but his fear of not being able to live up to his father’s role showed around the edges.  His calves slightly shook with nervousness and Brian noticed.

With a slight smirk on his face, Brian moved his glance from Mike’s calves to his eyes and asked, “What’s this all about?”

Now slightly more uncomfortable with having to give Brian and Joey orders, the director tried to hold composure and began, “Well, uh, how do I put this?”  As he started to nervously pace in front of the two hunks, who were so solidly and comfortably hugged inside the plush leather cushions of the leather couch, the director continued, “some of your paper work, well, it just doesn’t add up.”

Joey extended his lower lip over his upper lip in defiance.  Mike continued, “I’m not exactly sure what you guys have been up too, but I’m confident that you know what recent admittances you’ve processed that I’m talking about.”  Mike stopped pacing to look directly at Brian and Joey in order to gauge their reaction.  They were calm and as self-assured as ever.  Mike continued, “Normally, this wouldn’t be an issue because I trust you guys, but I’ve got some state legal officials that have been snooping around, requesting records, and such.  So we need to fix the situation as soon as possible.  Make it right.  Understand?”  After an awkward pause, Mike began to regret giving such a direct order.

But soon Joey smiled at him and said, “Of course we understand bud.  We’ll take care of everything.  Don’t you worry.”

“So you’ll make sure they get released?” Mike passive aggressively delivered the order.

“First thing tomorrow,” Brian uttered.

In relief, Mike sighed, “Great.”  Mike began walking back to his large mahogany desk while stating, “So unless there is anything else that we need to discuss, you guys are free to leave.”

“Well, actually there is one thing we’d like to bring to your attention, Mr. Director,” Brian interjected.

“Yeah,” Joey added, “We thought since we had to come in here, that we’d show you something that we’re, well frankly, pretty disturbed about.”

Mike raised his eyebrows in anticipation.  He wanted everything at Calm Crescent under his new leadership to be perfect and did not like to hear about something that was amiss.

“It’s the new restraints you’ve ordered,” Brian informed as he effortlessly raised his body up from the deep sunken cushions of the couch.

“What about them?” defended the director as Joey slid his body across the leather couch towards his thick black leather duffel bag that sat near his feet.

“They’re shotty and useless,” Joey explained as he unzipped his duffel bag and wedged out a mass of thick shiny black and brown leather with shiny steel buckles and thick straps coiling in all directions.  Mike immediately recognized the restraint.  It was one of the new extra high security model straight jackets he had ordered.  He’d spent weeks researching new and better restraints and had paid thousands of dollars for the new items.

Brian added, “The craftsmanship on the new jackets is, well, ‘poor’ would be giving them too much credit.  We can’t use them.”

Mike was shocked: “But these jackets are more extensive than the old ones.  They’ve got extra reinforced layers and more straps.”

Joey now had the straight jacket fully out of his duffel bag and said, “Sure there are more layers and straps, but the stitching is laughable.  Anyone can easily get out of this jacket.”  The director moved up to Joey and the jacket and started inspecting the stitching and the reinforced extra layers of leather.  Like the old jackets, the strait jacket was primarily black, but brown patches of leather reinforced the areas where the patient’s elbows, hands, and chest would be.

“Well there doesn’t look like there is anything wrong with it to me guys,” the director stated in astonishment.

Joey laughed, “You’re kidding us dude.”

“No, no,” the director explained, “I mean just look at it!  There has to be three layers of leather here on the patient’s chest alone.  The company said it would deter the patient from trying to bite their way through.  They wouldn’t get past the first layer.

Brian bullied, “You believe everything you hear?  Since when is biting through a strait jacket a concern?  You know most of our patients are fully gagged.”

Mike was insulted with their doubts and asked himself, “Did I really misjudge the new jackets?”  But the jacket was so thick and heavy and as he pulled on the straps, they seemed so secure and unyielding.  His arm muscles began to tire from handling the massive jacket and he wasn’t even in it.  “This jacket looks more secure than the old ones for sure.  I can’t see how you guys think its not,” the director spoke.

“You think this could hold someone?  Ha-ha,” Joey taunted, “There is no way man!  No way!”

Mike began to get really discouraged and frustrated.  He had to make them see the jacket was unbeatable.  Why couldn’t they see that this was not only very capable of holding someone, but also that it was the most heavy duty straight jacket that he knew existed?  “Well have you tried putting someone in it?” Mike asked.

“Huh, and let them escape?  No way,” Brian informed, “We may as well escort them past security ourselves.”

“You’re crazier than the guys that are in here,” Joey mocked, “if you think we’d be able to restrain someone with these things.”

Mike was so frustrated now.  “Put me in it,” Mike demanded, “I won’t be able to get out, you’ll see!”

Joey laughed hysterically.

“What man?” Brian asked in disbelief, “Why waste our time with this thing?  It’s a joke.”

Mike struggled to find the openings of the sleeves for his hands: “C’mon, just help me get in to it.  You’ll see, I swear, I’ll prove that these jackets are good.”  Brian hesitantly moved over to Joey, whose abs were hunched inwards still laughing hysterically at the director’s request.  Brian slowly grabbed on to the massive contraption of leather and easily wedged the sleeves up to Mike’s hands.  He was so much more capable of maneuvering the thick leather than the director.

“This is stupid.  This jacket will practically be falling off of you before we even start strapping it up bud,” Brian predicted.  Mike furiously struggled to wedge his arms toward the sleeves.  Just as Mike’s hands reached the holes, Brian quickly tugged the strait jacket away from Mike stating, “No, no, this isn’t right.  If you’re going to try to prove that this thing can hold someone, then you have to loose the shirt just like all the rest of the patients.  I’m not going to let your clothes snag you in and let you try to say the jacket works.”  Frantic to prove Brian and Joey wrong, Mike consented and yanked at the bottom of his shirt and swiftly pulled it up over his head revealing his washboard-abs stomach and ample pecs.  “That’s it,” Brian soothed as he repositioned the sleeve holes back against Mike’s hands.  Mike firmly pressed his arms deep down in to the sleeves.  He wanted nothing more than to prove these meat-heads wrong.  He was so frustrated at their doubts.  He loved the new jackets and he couldn’t stand to see them taunted so badly.  “C’mon Joey, give me a hand,” Brian requested, “I’m going to need someone to help me keep this jacket from falling apart on us, ha-ha.”  Joey laughed even harder and slowly began maneuvering himself to Mike’s back.  Both Brian and Joey continued laughing at the director and his prized strait jacket.  Brian slowly pressed the leather up over the director’s chest and Joey helped maneuver it around his back.  The weight of the jacket was heavy and as the thick brown yolk of the chest region planted itself firmly below Mike’s chin, Mike realized how impossible it would be to try to chew on the leather.  The thick layers on his chest pressed heavily against his rib cage and caused him to need to work hard at expanding his lungs for air.  Joey tugged at the back straps to secure them in place.

“See how tight and heavy this is going on me?” Mike asked.

“Whatever,” Joey mocked, “You’ll be out of this thing in no time.”

“Yeah,” Brian added as he firmly grabbed hold of Mike’s wrists holding the thick leather sleeves in place, “this is a complete waste of our time.”  Joey finished tugging and restraining all four back straps and Brian forcefully crossed Mike’s arms around his chest still holding tight on to the sleeves encapsulating Mike’s wrists.  Brian was effectively hugging Mike as Joey strapped the sleeves in to place at the back.  Next, Brian looped and locked a strap that vertically wrapped around Mike’s arms in the front.  He then strapped a belt that ran horizontally along his arms in the front.  The new jacket’s design prevented Mike from moving his arms too far up or down.

“This thing is so soft.  It’s just like butter,” Brian stated, “You could press past the leather right now if you wanted.”  Mike defiantly tried pressing his hands past the butter soft sleeves but they held him in to place.  Brian began tugging at the crotch straps and looping them around Mike’s crotch.

Joey saw this and said, “Nah Brian, just like the shirt, we have to do this right.”  Brian cocked his head and smiled at Joey and moved his hands away from the crotch straps and on to Mike’s waist.  As Brian’s fingers found the button on Mike’s pants, Mike jerked his hips.

Brian stated, “Joey’s right, we can’t let your pants snag up the jacket and let you think the jacket works.”  Brian unsnapped the button, slid down the zipper, and began wedging Mike’s pants down his ample thighs.  Brian then placed his hands on to the upper edge of Mike’s boxers and tugged them straight down exposing Mike’s cock and balls to the crisp air.

“Hey man, not my boxers too!” Mike exclaimed.

 

Volume 3, Chapter 2

 

As Brian cupped Mike’s balls with one hand and began wedging one of the crotch straps between Mike’s balls and right thigh, Brian responded, “You know the routine; man, if I had a dime for every boy’s balls I’ve had to handle…” Joey immediately grabbed hold of the end of the crotch strap and securely buckled it in the rear.  The vulnerability of his tool being handled by Brian sparked a more intense fiery in Mike’s struggles and he bucked and squirmed in the jacket.

As Brian and Joey completed the second crotch strap, Mike protested, “It’s not budging for me guys, can’t you see?”

“Nah, you’re putting us on; you’re not even trying,” Brian mocked.  Mike began tugging and straining his arms forcefully but they went no where.  The jacket held them firm in its embrace.  Brian put his hands around Mike’s biceps and squeezed.  “C’mon, squeeze back.  Just squeeze back and you’ll press past the weak stitching,” Brian instructed.  Mike struggled to flex his bicep which slightly pressed the three leather layers of skin against Brian’s hand.  “You’re not flexing back, Mike; don’t put us on,” Brian ordered as he greatly increased his hand’s firm squeeze around Mike’s bicep causing it to de-flex.

“I can’t flex when you’re doing that,” Mike squealed.

“Stop lying,” Brian ordered, “This jacket sucks and you known it.”  Joey started tugging on the final strap: a thick leather collar belt.

“I can’t believe you’ve let us get this far Mike,” Joey taunted as he firmly pressed the leather belt around Mike’s neck locking it in to place.  “You better stop playing and get out,” he continued as he slapped Mike’s chest playfully.  Both Joey and Brian stepped back and watched Mike struggle.  He strained his arms in all directions but nothing budged.  The leather simply stretched minimally and pulled him back in to place.  The crotch straps were wedged up Mike’s ass and he could not get them to slide down.  His fingers could not feel anything except soft supple leather.  The three layers of leather around his fingers were just too much.  Mike twisted and contorted in all directions, but nothing helped.  He was stuck.  He was so glad that the jacket was not breaking but so mad that neither Brian nor Joey had conceded defeat.  Surely they must see how strong and powerful the jacket was.  “Oh man, you’re unbelievable, “Joey explained, “I can’t believe you’re not letting yourself out yet!”

Brian added, “If I was in that thing, I would have been out before all the straps were even done up.”

Joey eyed Brian: “Not that you’d let anyone put you in a strait jacket man!  You’re not that stupid.”  Brian moved over to Joey’s side and punched him in the gut.

“Watch what you say Joe,” Brian ordered.  Joey’s side recoiled.  Brian reached down in to Joey’s leather duffel bag and pulled out a massive leather gag.

“What are you doing?” Mike weakly asked.  Brian moved over to him surely and steadily and raised the gag up to Mike.

“Now this, Mr. Director, is something tried and true.  Unlike the strait jacket, you won’t be able to get it out.  So if you don’t want this in, you better get your hands out and stop us.  I’m tired of you playing like your strait jacket isn’t anything less than mediocre and low quality,” explained Brian.  Joey moved behind the director and held his body steady.  Brian pressed the thick gag up to the director’s lips and Mike began shaking his head back and forth.  Joey clipped Mike’s nose closed from behind and soon he had to open for air.  Instead, he got a mouth full of leather as Brian firmly pressed the gag deep inside.  Joey tightly jerked and strapped the gag’s belt to the back of Mike’s head.  As Mike began suckling on the gag in order to prevent choking on his own saliva, he heard a soft knock at the door.  Joey anxiously opened it and in walked Rob.

“Is he ready?” Rob asked.

“See for yourself,” Brian motioned towards Mike.  Rob eyed Mike from head to toe.  The rough brown leather contrasted with the thick black shiny material.

“Damn,” Rob commented, “these new strait jackets really do the trick.”

“Our new director really knows how to pick um, don’t you Mike?” Brian asked as he rubbed Mike’s shoulders.

Joey added, “I thought two layers of leather was enough, and these new hard core jackets have three!  Man oh man!”

“You brought the stretcher?” Brian asked Rob.

“Yeah, the new ones,” Rob winked at Mike, who was beginning to panic big time.  He tried to scream and yell for the three to un-restrain him, but all they could hear was a soft muffling.  He tried to kick and scream as the three moved him over to the stretcher, but the jacket held his arms firmly in place.  Brian alone could have handled him, but all three securely strapped him down.  Once Mike was firmly tied down, the three wheeled him down in to a leather cocoon room.  The walls were thick black leather and had deep brown reinforced patches.  He had been so stupid to let Joey and Brian get the better of him and Mike soon realized that Calm Crescent was, once again, under new leadership.

Joey kicked back on a leather couch in Mike’s office as Brian methodologically sorted through various folders and stacks of paper.  Joey commented, “You think Mike’s realizing that it’ll take a whole hell of a lot more than he was able to do to get us to give those two up?”

Brian smiled as he placed the papers he was working on back in to a filing cabinet and answered, “Definitely.  Mike would be happy with us though.  I’ve made everything ‘right’.”

Joey chuckled, “You is ‘da Man, bro!”

Brian walked up to Joey and straddled the over-sized leather armrest next to him.  Kneading his hands in to Joey’s shoulders, Brian suggested, “Now, let’s go have some fun.”

Tucked deep inside their leather prison of thickly padded black leather walls and tucked tightly inside the newly styled black thick leather strait jackets with brown leather reinforcing laid Mark and Ryan.  Once they heard the sound of the three deadbolts swinging open, they both began to stir inside of their strait jackets, which were even more frustrating to try to deal with than the old ones.  The thick brown reinforcing made the already tight jackets even tighter.  The contrasted brown color psychologically made them both feel more helpless.  It was as if they had even more to deal with than before and served to make them both feel like they should give-up.  They both knew they would not be able to work past the first layer of black leather, let alone the second black layer and third brown layer.  Their fingers felt even more wedged together inside the deep thick padding of the sleeves because the third layer of brown leather around their hands was stitched tighter than the previous jacket’s version.  The wide yolk that encompassed the area around their neck and tapered down to their stomach glistened against the black leather and weighed heavy on their lungs.  The jacket was just too much to bear and they had both become more submissive in their states of mind.

As usual, Joey and Brian struggled against the thickly padded unsteady floor to get to Ryan and Mark.  Joey picked up Ryan; Brian picked up Mark.  They secured them both in to wheel chairs and took them down the hallway.  It was Joey who stopped first and began unlocking a door.  Brian stopped Mark’s chair two doors down and began unlocking a similar door.  “Goodnight Joe,” Brian smiled.

Joey gleamed, “Have fun.”

Brian swung open his door and glided Mark inside.  Brian switched on a light, dead bolted the door, put the brake on Mark’s wheel chair, and disappeared through a doorway at the opposite end of the room.  Mark took in his new surroundings.  The room was not your standard Calm Crescent room.  It was more like a normal bedroom that you’d find in any normal house.  The floor was carpeted, the lower half of the walls were wood paneled, and the upper half was covered in solid burgundy wallpaper.  There were wooden framed pictures along the walls showing majestic scenes that featured animals such as deer and bears.  There was a large bed with a large soft burgundy comforter with a night-stand at each end.  A mahogany chest of drawers sat perpendicular to and a vanity chest sat opposite the bed.  There was a large burgundy leather couch and chair at the opposite side of the room with a sturdy chest in between them that served as a coffee table.  There were burgundy throw rugs at various locations around the room.  Mark soon heard the sound of water and started to see steam coming from the door Brian had existed.  Mark soon realized that Brian was taking a shower and that this room must be his personal bedroom.  Mark couldn’t help but feel a sense of privilege to be inside Brian’s personal space.  Despite the complete control and trickery that Brian and Joey put Mark through, Mark still possessed admiration towards his “fixation.”  Nonetheless, Mark was unsupervised at the moment and couldn’t stop himself from trying to escape.  He struggled and strained with his jacket as well as the restraints holding him sunken in to the wheel chair.  As always, the leather gave a fraction of an inch, squeaked a little here and there, and gently pulled Mark back in a firm embrace.

Brian returned to the bedroom with a large burgundy towel wrapped snuggly around his waist, which emphasized his supple six-pack.  He held a smaller towel up to his head to finish drying off his hair.  “Still trying to get out, huh, buddy?” Brian smiled at Mark.  Fully gagged, Mark could not respond.  Brian turned his back to Mark as he neared the chest of drawers and began pulling out various articles of clothing.  Mark was surprised as Brian let his towel fall to the floor exposing his smooth bare naked ample butt.  Brian stepped in to a pair of black boxer briefs and pulled on a black tank top, which hugged his body and further emphasized the mass of his biceps.  Brian then turned to Mark with a smile, “Ready for bed, kido?”  Brian moved towards Mark and patted his head with his hand before placing both his hands on Mark’s shoulders firmly kneading them as he had down countless times before.  Brian then crouched down in front of Mark and began tugging off his restraints.  Once Mark was free of the wheel chair’s straps, Brian pulled Mark up from the wheel chair and positioned him alongside his bed and began un-strapping the back of Mark’s strait jacket.  Once all the back and crotch straps were released, Brian extended his arms around to Mark’s front and undid the straps holding his arms in place.  Finally, Brian helped Mark pull his arms out of the jacket.  Brian then un-strapped Mark’s gag and gently pulled it out.

 

Volume 3, Chapter 3

 

Mark was not sure what to do.  He knew he would not be able to get past the locked door and was too happy to be out of the strait jacket to try to give Brian a reason to re-restrain him.  Brian then opened up his comforter and said, “Go ahead Mark, climb in.”  Mark did as he was told and Brian entered the bed behind Mark.  Once Brian was on the bed, he began pushing Mark towards the center of the bed.  Brian began tugging in to the bed’s sheets and soon wrapped his arm firmly around Mark’s waist.  Mark closed his eyes and took in the nice feeling of Brian’s arm as well as the soft sheets.  He was so glad to be out of the sticky hot straight jacket.  Mark soon realized that Brian was again tugging in to the sheets and had pulled a belt around Mark’s waist.  Mark heard some clicking and Brian next gently grabbed hold of one of Mark’s wrists and guided it to his side.  Soon Brian locked a belt around it and began tugging at Mark’s other wrist.  Brian locked a belt around this one as well.  Mark was now strapped to the inside of Brian’s bed via built in leather cuffs.  Brian next crouched down over Mark and belted his ankles before finally returning to clasp his arm once again around Mark’s waist.  With Brian gently snuggling against Mark, the two soon feel fast asleep.

Upon waking up, Mark soon realized that he was being wedged back inside his strait jacket.  Upon fully restraining Mark in to the jacket, Brian then picked Mark up and placed him back inside the wheel chair.  Brian took Mark back to his leather cell which was already holding Ryan as well.  Once Brian had left and locked the deadbolts, Mark asked, “How you doing Ryan?”

Ryan responded, “Oh, I’m okay.”  He continued, “It was so weird.  Joey let me sleep with him last night and didn’t even keep me in the strait jacket.”  Ryan tugged against his strait jacket.  Mark soon discovered that Ryan had undergone the same experience.  He too had been released from his strait jacket and had been allowed to sleep with Joey.  He had also been restrained in to belts that were built in to Joey’s bed.  Ryan described Joey’s room similar to Brian’s, although the color was done in blue, not burgundy.  Mark and Ryan both tried to brainstorm ways to escape from Calm Crescent, but no new plans came to mind.  Nothing they had ever thought of worked.

That afternoon, inside a plush downtown office with sunken black leather couches sat a restless young unshaven man.  Above him stood an older composed cleanly shaven man in a neatly pressed suit who stated, “I’m sorry; my unofficial efforts just are not working.  I thought we’d be able to get them released but the director stopped returning my phone calls.  It’s like he’s avoiding me now.”

“So what do we do now?” exclaimed the young man.

“Look Rick,” the lawyer answered, “we’ll just have to go through the legal process.  Remember those forms you filled out?”

Rick nodded.

The lawyer continued, “Well, I had filed them as our back-up plan.  And, I just got word that the courts have accepted our case.  We meet with Calm Crescent’s representatives before a judge tomorrow morning.  Now, let’s go over all the details of our case.”

That night, once again Brian and Joey took Mark and Ryan to their bedrooms.  Once again, Mark saw Brian take his shower and change in to his underwear.  This time, Brian put on his white boxer briefs and a white tank top.  Brian again removed Mark’s strait jacket and helped him up in to his warm bed.  Soon Brian’s arm was once again wrapped tightly around Mark’s waist.  Brian began moving Mark’s wrist in to the leather built in cuff.  Mark was expecting Brian to loop the buckle which would lock his wrist in to place.  Instead, Brian moved his lips next to Mark’s ear and whispered, “Can I trust you tonight?”  Mark lay still before nodding, “Yes.”  Brian pressed his forehead in to the side of Mark’s head and gently nibbled on his ear.  Mark slowly moved his head away and lowered it near Brian’s ample chest.  Mark gently nestled his head in to Brian’s pectorals and Brian smiled.  He firmly pressed his chest back against Mark’s head and gently wrapped his arms around Mark’s body.  The two feel fast asleep in a firm supple embrace.

Hearing somebody knocking, Mark began to wake.  His head was still gently resting on Brian’s bare chest.  Brian soon also began to wake becoming conscious of the knocking at his door.  Brian gently eased his body away from Mark stating, “Stay put.”

Brian stepped out of bed and unlocked and opened the door.  In stepped Joey, who, upon immediately seeing Mark, stated, “What’s he doing out of restraints?”

“It’s okay,’ Brian informed, “What’s going on?”

“Well, I wasn’t so lucky with Ryan last night.  He tried to escape so I had to put him in high stress seclusion.”

“The pressure cooker?” Brian laughed.

“Yeah, but he’s all ready to go now,” Joey stated as he reached back in to the hallway and pulled out a regulation looking strait jacket.  It was cream canvas with brown straps.  It was the least heavy duty looking strait jacket that Mark had ever seen.  It was definitely more “standard issue” than the black all leather strait jackets.

Brian turned to Mark: “Bud, we’ve got some business to take care of today.  Will you go willingly for me?”

Mark slowly got up out of bed and walked towards the two.  He started to extend his arms and Joey eagerly raised the thick canvas up to him.

“That’s it buddy.  Such a good boy,” Brian commented as he pulled the canvas around Mark’s back and securely began fastening the thick leather straps.  Soon they folded Mark’s arms around his body and restrained the single crotch strap.  The jacket was definitely looser than any strait jacket he had ever been in before; yet, Mark could still feel a sense of vulnerability.  He didn’t think he’d be able to get out of the jacket if he tried.  And, he was feeling a special bond with Brian and Joey and felt glad to be given the chance to show them that he could be trusted.  He wasn’t about to risk loosing that trust by tugging on his restraint.

Brian and Joey guided Mark in to the hallway where a leather wheel chair awaited him.  After Mark sat down in to the chair, he was surprised that neither of them restrained any of the multitude of straps that dangled from all directions of the chair.  They simply began wheeling him down the hallway.

They passed through several corridors and took an elevator up before entering the main lobby area that Mark and Ryan had unsuccessfully used to try to escape.  Rob once again was sitting behind the front desk.  Tightly restrained an in identical wheelchair to Mark’s, in an identically looking strait jacket sat Ryan.  Rob was gently rubbing Ryan’s thighs as he looked up at Brian and Joey.  “All set?” Rob asked. Brian nodded.

Rob wheeled Ryan down a back hallway and Brian and Joey followed with Mark.  Rob stopped at a massive door and proceeded to unlock several deadbolts.  Once the door was open, Mark could see that the space outside resembled a loading dock.  The back of an ambulance awaited them.  Rob unlocked and opened ambulance’s rear doors.  Inside, all Mark could see were thick white canvas walls.  The entire space was a padded cell.  Joey began helping Rob un-strap Ryan from his wheel chair and then lift Ryan up in to the ambulance.  Brian guided Mark up in to the ambulance also before closing the doors and locking them shut.  Mark and Ryan could hear the three entering the front of the ambulance and began feeling their new padded cell moving.  Mark tried to talk to Ryan but Ryan did not respond.  His eyes were glossy and drool ran down the side of his mouth.  “He must have been sedated,” thought Mark.

About a half an hour later, the ambulance stopped and the doors opened.  Rob, Brian, and Joey helped Mark and Ryan out of the ambulance.  The new environment made Mark extremely conscious of his strait jacket because he appeared to be in a public space of a city.  They were in a back parking lot with tall buildings surrounding them.  Brian grabbed hold of Mark’s shoulders and escorted him towards the back entrance of a nearby building.  Joey and Rob helped Ryan to follow.  Mark noticed Joey was carrying his usual thick black leather duffel bag over his shoulder.

Soon they were all inside the building and entered a small room with several chairs and a small table.  Brian left the room and returned several minutes later.  “We’re all set to go,” he informed.  They all re-entered the hallway and made their way towards a larger main hall.  Rob propped open a large door and Brian and Joey escorted Mark and Ryan in to a room.  It was a medium sized court room.

Brian veered Mark towards one side stopping just short of the front row.  As Brian firmly pushed Mark down the second row of seating, it was then that Mark noticed a familiar face in the front row of the adjacent side of the court room.  It was Rick.  Rick darted up out of his seat and anxiously eyed Mark and Ryan.  Once he realized they were both in strait jackets, anguish crossed his face.  “Ryan!” Rick shouted.  But Ryan remained silent.  His eyes were still glossed over.  Rob, Brian, and Joey paid no attention to Rick.  Rob and Joey pushed Ryan down the second row of seating and sat him down between the two of them.  Rick’s lawyer placed his hand on Rick’s shoulder and motioned for him to sit back down.

 

Volume 3, Chapter 4

 

Several minutes later, the court session began with the usual standard court room proceedings.  The judge entered and performed several court room formalities.  Soon Mark realized that Rick had filed a case against Calm Crescent and the judge was going to determine if Mark and Ryan were legally and medically bound to remain at Calm Crescent or if there was some wrong doing and should be released.  A lawyer representing Calm Crescent as well as Rick’s lawyer presented various types of information to the judge, who finally said that she wished to speak with Mark and Ryan independently and alone.  She returned to her chambers and a police guard neared the end of the second row next to Mark and Brian.  Brian helped Mark out of the seating and escorted Mark back to the judge’s chambers.  Brian helped Mark sit down in a chair before the judge’s desk and the police guard escorted Brian out of the room.  Returning back inside of the room, the guard closed the door and stood next to it.  The judge faced Mark and began, “I’m going to make this quick and simple.  I am here to keep your best interest in mind.  I just want you to tell me your version of what is going on here.  Why are you in Calm Crescent; are you being fairly treated there; do you think you should be released?”

Mark wanted Brian to be in the room.  He wanted to be back in his bed with his head on his chest and Brian’s arms wrapped tightly around his waist.

Mark finally answered, “I think I am there because they found something wrong with me concerning my mental health.  I like Calm Crescent and am treated fairly.  I think I should be released when they say I am better.”

“So you are not mistreated?” the judge asked.

Mark shook his head, “No.”

“Do you know of any instances where patients are mistreated?” the judge added.

Again, Mark shook his head, “No.”

“Is there anything else you wish to add that I should know about before I make my ruling?”

For the third time, Mark shook his head, “No.”

“Very well, see him out,” the judged finished.  With that the police officer opened the door and in walked Brian.  Mark was surprised at Brian’s stance.  Within the judge’s chamber, Brian’s stance was no longer authoritative and self-assured.  Instead, Brian appeared to be carrying a small sense of vulnerability on his shoulders.  It was small, but it was still there.  Mark was relieved to have Brian clasp on to his arms through the jacket and help guide him upwards and out of the room.  They passed Joey, who was escorting Ryan to the chambers.  As Brian guided mark back down in to the second row of seating inside the court room, Mark noticed the nervous anticipation in Rick’s eyes.

Ryan and Joey did not return for some time.  Mark had only visited with the judge for about five minutes.  It seemed like Ryan was in there forever.  Finally, Joey and Ryan returned to the second row.  Moments later, the judge returned.

She began, “I have received all of the evidence the two sides have wished to present in addition to all comments the patients would like to submit.  I do not take such a case lightly.  I have nothing but great respect to our city’s psychiatric establishment and do not like to see complaints against the institution, which has until now held a spotless record of excellence.  Further – “

“Excellence?” Rick screamed as he stood up and continued to shout: “What the fuck?  You call this –“

Rob immediately stood up and charged towards Rick as Rick’s lawyer tried to calm Rick down.  The judge immediately began pounding her gavel and ordered Rick to silence his outburst.  Joey followed Rob as they both darted towards Rick.  Brian grabbed on to Ryan to make sure he’d stay seated.

Rick continued, “Calm Crescent has been nothing but –,” and Rob tackled him forcefully pinning one of his arms up behind his back.  Joey grabbed hold of Rick’s second arm with one hand and wrapped his other arm around Rick’s neck.

“Calm down,” Rob ordered, “or we’ll have to put you in restraints.”

“That is enough,” the judge demanded, “Need I remind you that this is a court of law.  I will have no further outbursts.  Is that understood?”

Joey responded, “We can put him in to standard restraints your honor.  We’ve got ‘um with us.  It’s no problem to us at all.”

“That will not be necessary.  Will it?” the judge asked Rick.

Rick began to settle down and nodded his head, “No.”

As Joey and Rob began releasing their firm holds on Rick, Rob whispered in Rick’s ear, “Keep it up and we’ll drag you off with your brother.”

Rick greatly resisted the urge to sock Rob square in the jaw.  Rob’s prophecy was one Rick did not wish to help fulfill.

Joey and Rob returned to their seats on either side of Ryan.  Brian returned his attention to making sure Mark was safe.  Rick hesitantly sat back down and the judge continued, “As I was saying, Calm Crescent has had a spotless record and should not be labeled as having any part in any wrongdoing without sufficient evidence.  At the same time, patient rights are something that the courts must work hard to ensure.  Thus, I will need to carefully go over all that has been submitted.  You will have my ruling tomorrow morning.  This court is adjourned.”

Once the judge had left, Rick tried to approach his brother, but Rob stopped him short.  Joey and Brian swiftly escorted Mark and Ryan away from him.  “You’re really asking for it, aren’t you Rick,” Rob taunted.  Rick noticed the police officer eyeing him and hesitantly backed away.  Rob followed behind Joey out of the courtroom.

Once back at Calm Crescent, Joey and Rob disappeared with Ryan.  Brian wheeled Mark down a familiar corridor.  Mark recognized it as the one that led to the leather cocoon padded cell.  Brian unlocked the door and pulled out one of the heavy duty new leather strait jackets: black with reinforced brown leather.  Brian silently began un-restraining Mark from the standard more innocently looking strait jacket and placing him in to the new heavy duty one.  Mark could have tried to dart down the hallway; he could have put up a fight.  He could have protested.  But Mark went willingly.  He eased his arms deep in to the leather sleeves of the strait jacket.  Mark couldn’t help but notice Brian’s stance.  Much like inside the judge’s chambers, Brian’s stance was somber.  There was a small sense that Brian had lost a small amount of self-assuredness even though his masculinity still shown through in every way.  His white shirt stretched across his pectoral muscles and Mark’s gaze got lost in Brian’s body much like the time he had passed Brian in the hallway at school.  Mark had been transfixed by Brian’s leather jacket, which had been unzipped revealing his pectorals stretched tightly across his chest.  Mark had looked up from Brian’s chest in to his eyes; Brian’s eyes had held Mark tightly.  Just like that day at school, now halfway in to his heavy duty strait jacket, Mark once again moved his gaze from Brian’s sculptured pecs up to his eyes.  Brian’s dark brown eyes locked on to Mark’s.  Ironically, Mark felt that this time, Brian was trapped by Mark’s gaze.  Mark could sense Brian breaking.  Brian’s eyes quivered and his lips slowly moved as he released: “I might loose you, Mark.”

Immediately, Mark outstretched his leather-covered arms and clasped them around Brian in a firm hug.  Brian felt taken aback and surprised, but slowly began to return the embrace.  Slowly and softly, Mark released: “Brian, I love you.”

Brian nudged his head against Mark’s to contort Mark’s neck towards Brian.  Brian managed to get Mark’s head in the exact position he wanted.  Mark closed his eyes as he felt the soft supple lips of Brian meet his own.  Innocently and slowly, Brian began sucking.  Mark dared only a slight suck on to Brian’s lower lip.  Upon feeling Mark’s mutual return, Brian took off like a tiger.  He swiftly picked Mark up holding his ass against his crotch.  Mark’s legs dangled behind Brian’s back.  Brian swiftly took Mark down the hallway and up the elevator to his room.  Brian lowered Mark on to his bed and swiftly tugged the thick leather strait jacket off of Mark’s arms followed by Mark’s shirt and pants and let them drop to the floor.  Brian removed his own shirt and pants.  He only stood in white boxer briefs.  Brian gently pushed Mark down on to the bed and planted himself on to Mark’s chest.  Brian bent his knees placing his thigh muscles on either side of Mark’s face.  “I’m not going to force you,” Brian informed as he stroked Mark’s hair.  Mark raised his chin and gently kissed Brian’s cockhead through his underwear, which caused Brian’s underwear to massively stretch.  Brian smiled and slowly lowered his hips down to Mark’s.  He scooted Mark towards the center of the bed and gently pressed his underwear covered cock up against Mark’s butt.  Brian gently hugged Mark’s body resting his hands on the outside of Mark’s underwear.  His hands cupped Mark’s balls and cock through Mark’s underwear.  Mark found his favorite spot against Brian’s chest and Brian pressed his chest firmly against Mark’s head.  In their firm supple embrace, they both, for the fist time ever felt truly at home.  Brian felt completely in control.  Mark felt completely controlled.  Like leather, their embrace was firm and supple soft.  Playfully, Mark tried to arch his hips away from Brian’s cock.  Brian’s hands, still firmly holding Mark’s package, allowed Mark to move a fraction of an inch away before they gently pulled him back closer than ever.  They both felt they could completely trust the other and fell peacefully in to a deep sleep.

“After careful consideration, I’ve made my decision,” the judge informed the next morning before Calm Crescent’s and Rick’s lawyers, “I hold nothing but respect towards Calm Crescent.  Going against them as an institution is not something I ever want to do.  Ryan’s testimony was strong.  I also feel that Rick is sincere and has nothing but love towards his brother.  My decision stands as follows: Mark and Ryan are to be immediately released from Calm Crescent.  Case closed.”

“Hell yes!” Rick exclaimed to his lawyer in the main hallway.

“This police officer will escort you to Calm Crescent immediately,” the lawyer informed Rick.

 

Volume 3, Chapter 5

 

The police officer wasted no time in getting Rick to Calm Crescent.  He even fired up his police sirens to expedite the trip.  The guard hut at Calm Crescent presented not one problem.  The guard who had strip searched Rick during his very first visit smugly rushed open the main gate and the police officer and Rick trotted up the hill to Calm Crescent’s main entrance.  Through the glass doors, Rick could see Rob get up from behind the front desk and walk over to the entrance.  He took his keychain from his belt and unlocked the two deadbolts of the doors.  “I have a court order to pick up Ryan and Mark!” Rick ordered.

“I understand,” smugly stated Rob.  “But they are not here,” he continued.

“The hell they aren’t!” Rick demanded.

“I am sorry Rick; they are not here.  Now, don’t make a scene Rick or we’ll have to restrain you,” Rob continued as a beefy orderly approached them from behind the desk with a massive strait jacket dangling in his arms.

“Where the hell are they?” Rick demanded.

“They were released this morning,” explained Rob, “Before any court ordered them to be released, Calm Crescent found them to no longer be in need of our care.”

“Where did they go?  Where are they?” Rick demanded.

“I don’t know Rick.  I assume they went home.  You should go home.  Your brother will probably be at home waiting for you,” Rob predicted.

“Where is Joey?” Rick further demanded.

“Rick, he’s not here,” Rob further explained, “Joey and Brian gave their notice of resignation this morning.”
“What?” Rick searched for words, “They didn’t leave with my bro did they?”

Rob hesitated and eyed the orderly with the thick leather strait jacket.  Rob continued, “As a matter of fact, yes.  Yes, they did.”  Rob returned his gaze to Rick’s eyes, which were now filled with a combination of fear and sadness.  Rob finished, “They said they were going to take them home.”

 

Epilogue

 

Two years later a young man on a motorcycle pulled in to the driveway of a modest split level suburban home.  As he removed his helmet, the man neatly tugged off his leather gloves and folded them up in to a small compartment.  Next, he emptied out all his pockets placing his loose change, wallet, and pocketknife in to the compartment alongside the gloves.

The man took a moment to reflect on all the events that had happened over the last two years.  Most notably, how he had struggled and dealt with his sexuality and how lucky he had been to meet the guy of his dreams.  With a smile on his face, he dismounted his bike.

Crossing the driveway to approach the front door, he took note of the black jeep Cherokee parked in the driveway, the three deadbolts on the front door, the lack of windows on the lower level, and that if he looked closely in to the double glass of the front window, he could see the faint image of a sofa: oversized, thick, black, and made completely out of leather.

He was anxious and excited to see his little brother as well as his brother’s best friend, who had become a second little brother to him.  Hell, the guys who they both trusted were beginning to grow on him too.

 

The End

TRUST US BOTH FOREVER

This story is Copyright © 2001 and 2011 by Mark

Metal would like to thank Mark for sharing this story with Metalbond readers.

 Metal would also like to thank chastity slave Marknorth (who bears no relation to Mark, the author of Trust Us) for helping prepare the text for posting.

The 10 Year Special Anniversary Edition of TRUST US continues with this original Blog Review from Straitjacketed of the Strait-Acting blog.

 

Don’t worry.  You can always TRUST US.

A review by Straitjacketed

Bondage fiction: The ‘Trust Us’ Trilogy

Be warned that these stories contain near-obsessively fetishistic descriptions of leather, restraints and non-consensual imprisonment, as well as elements of man-to-man sex. If you’re under 18, steer clear – and, while you’re at it, bugger off out of my ‘mature content’ blog!

Trust Us 1 (Trust Us) was, I think, written in 2001.

Trust Us 2 (Trust Us Both) is a more recent sequel, appearing toward the end of 2006.

Trust Us 3 (Trust Us Both Forever), the concluding segment, followed soon after.

The author is something of a man of mystery, using different aliases on different sites. From his writing, it’s clear that he’s strongly attracted to straitjackets, leather and the idea of being easily subdued, overpowered and manhandled into restraint by dominant, physically imposing, leather-clad Psychology majors who moonlight as attendants at the “Calm Crescent Psychiatric Institute for the Mentally Ill”. And who can blame him? It’s a scenario that certainly pushes my buttons.

The first Trust Us installment describes the not-uncommon situation of Mark, a young man led by his fetish and getting in too deep. It contains perhaps the most detailed description I’ve ever read of someone being strapped into a leather straitjacket – detailed to the point of being overwritten if you’re not specifically drawn to those interests. Luckily I am, and I appreciated the sensuousness of the writing, particularly in the straitjacketing scene.

Trust Us 2 develops several of the themes touched upon in the first story. It takes place a fortnight after the original ‘abduction’ and is initially told from the viewpoint of Ryan, a friend of Mark’s. Ryan and his overbearing brother Rick (both of whom are suitably leather-gloved and jacketed) hear of Mark’s admission to Calm Crescent, and visit him there. Naturally, they fall foul of the authoritarian guards and attendants there. This installment is the longest and has some excellent psychological twists and turns before reaching its perhaps-inevitable (but still satisfying) conclusion.

Trust Us 3, the conclusion of the trilogy, takes place shortly afterwards. This one opens with the young Director of Calm Crescent calling our favourite attendants into his office to express concerns about recent admissions. There follows one of my favourite scenes in the whole series, as the Director is provoked into donning one of the “new extra high security model straight jackets” (now triple-reinforced with brown leather as well as black) in order to demonstrate that it isn’t shoddy, readily-escapable craftsmanship. It’s not too hard to imagine what happens next…

I really like these stories. Do check them out.

 

Metal would like to thank Strait-Acting for letting the review above be published here on Metalbond.

The 10 Year Special Anniversary Edition of TRUST US continues with this never-before-released, behind-the-scenes insight from the author:

Behind the scenes of Trust Us

By Mark

Don’t worry.  You can always TRUST US.

Trust Us was heavily influenced by the straitjacket stories of the now defunct UK Institution website.  Such stories include “Officer Swift” and “Jacketed.”

Trust Us marked the first fully developed fetish story written by the author, who was just 19 and attending his first year of college.  Written in his college dorm’s computer lab, it was the first time the author had full access to a computer.  To date, the author has written six other fully developed fetish stories, not including subsequent chapters, since Trust Us.

Originally, Trust Us involved the main character following his fixations on a bus and ending up at their house.  The author’s fondness of mental institutions led him to abandon this original draft.

The character names of Joey and Brian were named from members of popular boy bands at the time.  The character Ryan was named after Ryan Philippe.  The character Rob, who first appears in Trust Us 2, was named after a hunky co-worker at the author’s first job during high school.

The characters Joey and Brian were based on real people the author was admiring in college.  They were in his Economics class, not a Psychology one.  The guy based on Brian actually wore a thick heavy black leather jacket to class daily and the author did indeed encounter his enticing dominant gaze while passing by him in the hallway.  Just like in the story, the author looked up from admiring his pecs to his eyes realizing he had been caught looking.  The guy did not seem phased at all by his admirer.  Just like in the story, he could not be made unsure of himself.

In the story, the main character wants to meet Brian in the hopes that his leather jacket might brush up against him.  In real life, this actually did happen.  The Economics class had stadium seating and one day the author, wearing shorts, sat directly behind his fascination.  Once the guy took off his black leather jacket, parts of it began spilling over the back of the seat and rubbed up against the author’s bare legs.  It was an intensely satisfying experience.

Trust Us has been plagiarized.  The story’s overall plot as well as large chunks of its text appears in the story “You Can Trust Us.”  At times text lifted from Trust Us contradicts other text of the “You Can Trust Us” story.  The author of the “re-imagined” story denies all allegations of borrowed material.  The author of “Trust Us” maintains that imitation is the best form of flattery and actually enjoys seeing a different take on the Trust Us theme.

The word “supple” is perhaps the most over-used word in Trust Us.

During the completion of Trust Us 3, the author became so engrossed in finishing the series, that he requested the day off from work.

All three stories of The Trust Us Trilogy received rave reviews by the infamous Strait-Acting blog.

The concept of a Trust Us trilogy was heavily influenced by the popular Scream trilogy series, which also was the target of many imitations including Scary Movie.

Will the upcoming release of Scream 4, which breaks the trilogy rule, mean a release of Trust Us 4?

 

Thanks, Mark, for 10 years of enjoyment that so many have received from this fantastic story!

 

By Kiggle

Chapter 6

It must have been three or four weeks after the episode in Jim’s playroom that I was on my way to do a bit of shopping in the village shop when I heard Pete calling me from behind. There he stood, stripped to the waist, up on a bit of scaffolding doing some sort of building job. He looked down on me smiling broadly, and said “Jim has some new building equipment he wishes to try out and suggests that you could help, if you liked.” I didn’t understand for a moment, then realised that this was a coded message for another session in Jim’s playroom. After the penny had dropped, I said “Oh. Oh good. What time? When?” Pete’s reply was that this evening was as good as any.

So later that day I went round to Jim’s place, where I found Pete in the apple store. This time he was clad in black leather, very tight fitting and it made him look a little menacing. He took me through to the playroom. Jim was not about at all. Pete said that what Jim wanted to try out was an arrangement with the scaffolding cube in the centre of the playroom, and what was needed was a patient ‘victim’ whilst variations on how to secure and restrain were worked out. I was perfectly happy to be that willing victim, but wondered why Pete needed to dress so powerfully. First off he wished me to try on a straitjacket. It was heavy, and very oppressive looking. It seemed to have more buckles and straps and D rings than ever, though altogether it was not so very bulky as the previous one I had tried. I slipped my arms in the sleeves. Pete did up the back straps and the collar. The leather was more supple than that of the first jacket and it clung to my body with a peculiar feel. One important difference was that the back had a lacing arrangement, and Pete started lacing the back together from the top down, pulling the lace tight as he went. This made the jacket even more restrictive. But before he got too far down he put on a very substantial suspension harness, and pulled it very tight. Then we came to the sleeves of the strait jacket. Instead of them being fastened together with a strap and buckle they each had a reinforced eyelet which Pete laced into the general lacing up the back. The length of the sleeves was such that the arms were pulled tight, and being laced into the general pattern of lacing could not be pulled up or down. Pete completed the lacing right down to the crotch. I was very securely fitted into that arrangement.

Then, Pete explained, Jim wanted to see how best to secure a person in such an arrangement to the scaffolding cube. So we went over to the cube, and there were numerous chains attached to it. I stood in the middle and Pete fixed chain after chain to the various D rings which were a feature of this jacket and to the harness. The result was that I could not move an inch. I was standing upright at this time and secured at every conceivable point.   Pete then said that the first experiment was complete. He was satisfied that the arrangement worked and was secure, but would it prevent a determined person from moving, yet alone escaping? He stood there in his black leather, just looking at me, running his eyes over the details of the arrangement and virtually disregarding me. I felt more than a little uneasy. “Right” said Pete “that looks OK: it’s just a matter of Jim seeing this.” This prompted me to ask where Jim was. “Don’t know” said Pete. “I think he’s gone out for the night. Should be back sometime.” He sounded quite unconcerned, so I asked about me, was he going to release me. “Oh, no. You can stay there as long as it takes, and if you get really frustrated you can try to get out. If you don’t then that will prove it is effective.” I was really worried by now. How long was this going to go on?

It was then that Pete coming up close to me said that to-night’s little exercise did not involve Jim at all. It was a private venture of Pete’s, he said, as he wanted, just for once, to be the one who was in total control and took the initiative. So he wanted me to be totally dominated by him: he had dressed accordingly, and he was going to have his fun to-night. Pete did look menacing: he was, as I have said, a strong well built guy and I was entirely at his mercy.

Then we commenced a whole series of other ‘experiments.

First I was hooded with a very tight hood, which was locked on. My feet were secured with a strap and they were fixed to a rope or chain and were lifted off the floor. Some of the other chains were loosened and my shoulders lowered. Before long I effectively was upside down, and didn’t like it. I begged to be lowered but Pete wouldn’t. Eventually he adjusted the chains so that I became horizontal, face upwards (I think!). Given that all the chains were attached to the numerous D rings all over the straitjacket, and that the leather was supple, the weight of my body helped to draw the material of the jacket, tighter and tighter about me. Then a long period where nothing happened. I just sort of lay there. I shouted for Pete – no response. It soon became apparent that he wasn’t around any more. I did not like being by myself in that position. Why was Pete being difficult, and why was he dressed so powerfully and menacingly? What would Jim’s reaction be? None of this speculation helped me. I was indeed securely bound, no amount of struggling could free any part of my restraints, and I had to admit that with no one around I was totally and absolutely unable to do anything to help myself. And I was a little frightened and upset.

However, I suppose I eventually calmed down a bit and whilst I hated being so frustratingly restrained I began to realise that firstly, deep down, I did trust Pete, and secondly that whilst I might have been tricked a bit, this was for real -and I was enjoying myself. All that was upsetting me, really, was that I had been misled. Pete was in complete control – I was totally under the control (and care!) of another man. Yes, that was the comforting part. It was thrilling to be under another man’s control, and very stimulating, but there was also that element of care. It seemed a long while before Pete came back. He was not at all communicative or relaxed. In fact he was difficult almost to the point of bullying. He said he was ready for the next experiment. I don’t think I was. I wished Pete would return to his nice comfortable self, and we could ‘play’.

Instead, Pete manipulated the arrangement of the chains so that I was at least upright again and on my feet. My neck had a strong metal collar locked on it, and I was released from the straitjacket. What next, I wondered. Pete came very close again and looked very menacing; I could smell him strongly. Did it indicate that he was all worked up?. “We’ll see how you like it hot” he said. What did that mean? Well I was soon to find out. First Pete produced an all over rubber suit. It was made of very substantial black rubber and my feet went in first – they were completely covered. They went in through a slot in the suit that was on the back and between the elbows approximately; it ran up the back of my right arm across my shoulder blade area and down the back of the left arm. It had a substantial zip to fasten it. Having pulled it up my body a bit, my arms went in. My hands were then in mitts which were part of the sleeves. It was cold and it felt a bit clingy and tight. Then Pete fixed both wrists in metal cuffs, locked them and attached them to a chain which lead to one of the scaffolding bars. This was only so that he could safely and securely take off the metal collar, which he then did. There was nowhere I could go, I was firmly fixed to the scaffolding; then my head was also pushed in to the slot. It emerged into a hood fixed to the suit, and the hood had only two very small pin prick eye holes and a hole for the nose. It was rather tight fitting. Pete then pulled the zip shut. I was totally enclosed in rubber – and it was the first time. It felt cold and restrictive and not altogether comfortable. I wondered if my wrists were free would I be able to reach that heavy zip at the back of arms and undo it. I didn’t ever find the answer to that as Pete quickly took a short piece of chain, whipped it round my upper arm at the end of the zip and padlocked the chain and the zip’s slider together. If I could ever have reached the zip it was locked shut. I was totally enclosed and getting used to the feel of the rubber. It was getting warm and a little damp, and as I moved a little it felt much nicer, all slidy and smooth. It was some recompense for the heat I was beginning to generate. Then the collar went on again – Oh No! Not again! But it did. Then Pete produced another straitjacket: this time of rubber and more menacing than the suit. It was thick and heavy. And it did not look as if it was at all pliant, or had much give. From what I could see I would think it was made of a thickness of rubber about the same as that used for the inner tubes of huge lorry wheels. In other words – very thick. I put my arms in the sleeves – almost freely because I had by then concluded that there was little point in resisting Pete, I would probably only have irritated him and made him a little more strict in what he was about to do. He fitted the jacket very securely and tightly; as I guessed, it was not pliant. And, as he pulled the back securing straps very tight it expelled all the air. The same with the sleeves. They were a little more roomy than the usual straitjacket sleeves, but again the air was expelled completely when the arms were drawn tight. They had almost a suction effect which was restrictive but not unpleasant. I was beginning to enjoy the feeling but getting warmer. After I had been completely trussed, my feet were secured together and several other belts put round my body. Then Pete produced a heavy canvas bag which he put my feet into and pulled up my body. I dared not resist as by this time my arms were secured in the straitjacket and my neck had on the metal collar secured to the scaffolding. The bag was pulled up to my neck and secured by a chain round it. The collar was taken off the scaffolding but remained on my throat, and I was laid on the floor. My feet were chained and that chain was secured to the scaffolding. I could roll side to side but do nothing else. Pete said ‘Now for the heat’ as if I wasn’t hot enough anyway. In the barn there was one of these machines used for drying hay when it has been taken from the fields a little damp. The machine generates hot air and blasts it through the hay. Pete started up the machine and directed its blast straight at me. The heat must have been searing close up to the machine, but it was at some distance so the air did not quite scorch or burn me, but it was very very warm indeed. The heat in my rubber suit began to build up and so did the sweat. It was slippery to the extent that I could move, and very clingy. Pete then slowly massaged me through the rubber. The sensation was electric. It was so very tingly and so very silky that it was hard to imagine that rubber could have that effect. It was very stimulating and yet at the same time relaxing.

Then Pete asked me if I was enjoying it all that evening. I made up my mind to tell him the truth whether he liked it or not. So I said I had been a little frightened at being tricked by him originally and I was upset at him, especially as we had seemed to have been getting on so well after both being in straitjackets together. I said that I had argued myself round to realising that whilst I was indeed under his control he would take care of me. And I told him that my first experience with rubber had worried me at first as I thought that I was in for another piece of trickery or surprise, but that now I was in the gear I rather liked it. ‘Did I realise that I was from start to finish under his, Pete’s, complete control?, he asked. I answered truthfully “Yes”. This seemed to please him very much and he explained that whilst Jim had not been around he had approved of Pete’s activities that evening. It had all been done apparently to make me realise that in bondage scenes the ‘victim’ did not always have the facility to ask to be let out, and that sometimes a little frightener was very stimulating. In fact it could cement the trust that two people had in each other. I began to realise what Pete was getting at. It certainly had been a ‘little frightener’ taken against the experience of being bound together in straitjackets only a week or so previously! As I have said we had always got along reasonably well, and more so in the last few weeks. That evening did bind us together rather more; and whilst Pete came up with surprises in future I had learned not to regard them as tricks.

I was of course eventually released from the rubber straitjacket and suit, wringing wet and pink all over: but I was really pleased to have made the discovery that I had and to have come so much closer to Pete through a process that I would never had thought to have had that effect!

 

Chapter 7

 

After my experiences with the rubber suit and straitjacket I did wonder what else Jim and Pete might have in store. Until one Autumn evening we were all in the pub and Jim said he was bored and wanted a little fun. He said he thought that I was ‘coming along nicely and learning, but needed to go through the barrier’. What barrier, I thought. The pain barrier perhaps? I admit I was a little concerned, but the thought of trying something new had started to stimulate me in all the right places.

So, off we set for Jim’s barn. Now, I had seen the inside of the padded cell with Pete, but had never been allowed anywhere near the left hand cell made up of bars, and I wondered if this might figure in to-night’s entertainment. Well, as things turned out it did. When we arrived Jim found all sorts of very heavy metals restraints; leg cuffs, a heavy belt, a heavy metal collar and wrist manacles, together with several lengths of formidable looking chain. Naturally, it was me that had to strip naked and had them put on him and I was led to the cage or cell thing. As I had noted earlier there was a great variety of hooks and rings and fixings on the wall – very versatile. Strangely I was not hooded. Why not? I had often been hooded before? As you might well have guessed I was chained to the wall, virtually immovably. I noticed that as the padlocks were fixed to the chains to hold them to the staple things in the wall there was a technique of slipping the chain through the staple and affixing the padlock to the far link of the chain but not to the staple as well. The fact that the padlocks were substantial meant that they would not pass through the staple and the chain was quite securely fixed. Naturally, having an enquiring mind, I had to ask about this and Pete told me that if the chain was fixed to the staple or hasp by the padlock alone it put a strain on the padlock’s mechanism: but if all that happened was that the hasp of the padlock came up tight on the staple on the wall a great deal of the strain was removed. Anyway it meant it was less likely that I could damage the padlock and escape. Much hope of that!. So there I was spreadeagled to the wall with the collar fixed on a short length of chain to the wall and the heavy metal belt by a short piece of chain on either side. I had a limited amount of movement. The cell door was closed, the built in five lever lock was turned and two heavy duty padlocks were fixed to additional staples and hasps on the door. That was secure!

‘What next?’ I thought. How long shall I stand here. I was getting quite a hard on as Pete was again in his menacing black leathers, as was Jim. Neither was being particularly friendly or caring I thought. After they had had a coffee and sat chatting for about half an hour there was the sound of several quite high powered motor cycles outside, and then in came some of the village bikers. I knew most of them, and was rather ashamed for them to see me how I was. Suppose this got all round the village. Jim was being difficult, and what was this barrier thing?  Well with me standing there naked and chained to the wall they all started playing cards as if for some prize. Then gradually realisation dawned. The prize was me or something to do with me. What could I do? I liked Jim and Pete and was beginning really to place great trust in them and to feel safe and more secure with those two than anybody else on earth. Were they about to betray that trust?   The card game went on for what seemed to me to be hours. Eventually a winner did emerge. I knew him by sight around the village, and he had always seemed a decent sort of person. If I was to be ‘his’ what on earth would he do with me or to me? The whole group came over to me and examined me rather like an animal in the zoo. I was a bit scared, especially when I saw there were one or two whom I knew slightly. The cage was unlocked and the ‘winner’ given the keys to the padlocks, and he came in. The rest of the crew then locked the door – a little to his annoyance at first, though I think he rather liked the idea of being locked in himself with somebody under restraint. The first thing he did was to tighten the chains even further so that I was unable to move an inch.

He was a nice well built lad, with a strong, friendly face and a nice grin. He was of course, being a biker, in leathers. He advanced on me and started slowly and very erotically stroking my naked body all over with his gloved hands. I started to become very hard. Then he grabbed me bodily and pressed the whole of himself up tight on to me. With every pore of my nakedness I could feel the smoothness and the toughness of his leathers. He hugged me so tight I scarcely could breathe, and I found I did not resent it. There was nothing I could have done if I had resented it! But his approach was so soothing, so firm and yet so much in control I just wanted him to carry on almost being part of me. Then he held my head very firmly and kissed me so firmly and yet so caringly. I was almost bursting to cum, and didn’t really want to, I think. Then he started work on my dick, and he was an expert. I was beginning to lose a sense of reality and the fact that the rest were there all encouraging him became very very unimportant. I wanted to please him and be part of him, and he obviously wished to pleasure me. Well he did , and after slowly working up to a wonderful climax I just came in bucket loads.

This was my first experience of anyone doing anything like that to me, firstly against my will, but then willingly under restraint. I suddenly knew what Jim meant about the barrier – I had certainly gone through it.

They left me there for about fifteen minutes whilst they all had coffee in great mugsful. I had none! Looking back I think being kept there in chains and not just at that time joining them was an act of kindness. It gave me time to gather my thoughts and to work out all the competing emotions. Not least how I was to deal with meeting any of the gang on the street in the village! I need not have worried. I was told that they were all like minded guys, all bikers, all friendly, and very supportive of each other. It was the first time, I think, that I realised that was a special kind of friendship and indeed a brotherly love to be found in places where you don’t normally look for it. I have never dared to ask Jim whether I was to be a sort of prize, or whether the card game was a sort of elimination contest to decide who should initiate me into being made to cum whilst under restraint. It would no doubt not have been good for my own self esteem, either, to know!

That evening I went home – on the pillion of one of the bikes – not only on a physical high, but on a mental high too. Trouble was I found it difficult not to ask Jim to put me straight back into the chains. But it gave me a whole range of new friends in the village and opened up things I had never dreamt of!

 

Chapter 8

 

Having made a number of new friends in the village, I was beginning to enjoy life more than I had before. I was still studying for professional exams and I hadn’t a motor cycle or the wherewithal to buy one. My father might have bought me a car because both he and my mother had a ‘down’ on bikes, but I didn’t want a car. My new friends were very understanding and caring. To many in the village I think they were just a bunch of leather clad yobs. True, some of them were a little bit rough and tumble but they were the very ones who, when they thought I had been working at my studies a little too much and too often, were round to see me. Not to persuade me to give up my studies by any means but to remind me that ‘too much work makes Jack a dull boy’. So I did quite frequently find myself going out on a spontaneous motor cycle outing on a fine day. And I enjoyed that, and I really did enjoy their genuine company. Bikers are the salt of the earth, and I wish the ‘earth’ would wake up to that fact sometimes. Gay bikers are even better fun – as I was about to find out.

I think it must have been a Whitsun Bank holiday (nowadays it doesn’t happen at the moveable feast of Whitsun but is the Late May Bank Holiday). Anyway, it was miserable and cold. There had been persistent showers and it was not conducive to a happy run in the country on the bikes. The ‘gang’ were a bit bored and there was a spare day or two to kill. Jim was around and equally bored (incidentally, he employed more than a few of the gang: he was a good employer and had a good relationship with his workers). He suggested we repaired to the barn – not essentially to play, but because it was warmer, there was tea/coffee making and a place where we could all be together and simply enjoy each other’s company. Well, that is how it started.

Then, mid afternoon, someone said ‘I’m fed up with cards, What I’d like to do is to play an old fashioned game of Snakes and Ladders or Ludo’ Many laughed at him at first, and then one or two said that it might be a bit of daft fun. Then Jim (always in command) said ‘I have something much better. I have a bondage game’. He went to his home next door and came back with the Rules and two dice. I won’t explain the game now but it involves someone being put into bondage, and it being left to chance and the throw of two dice to determine just how long he will stay there, come hell or high water.

We threw dice to see who scored least. Just for once it wasn’t me! We put the guy who had scored least into a strait jacket and hood, and secured him in a prone position to one of the bondage devices. The dice then showed he was to be there for four hours: which he said he had never managed before but would try. ‘Ha Ha: try?’ they all said and that made them get devious. In fact they did keep him there for six hours: he thought it was a little longer than he expected but as he didn’t know the clock time when he went in he had no idea by how much they had all increased it. We all enjoyed it.   The next throw made me the one with the lowest score. I wondered what they had in store for me. By now they were getting all enthusiastic for this game, without any of them having looked a bit further than the next guy to score low.! I was stripped naked and placed in to what I now know to be a leather sleep sack. It was wonderful: I slipped my arms into the internal sleeves which kept them very snug and away from anything interesting inside. The sack was fastened up and then strong rope was threaded down the length of the front through eyelets, thus lacing it up tight and very snug. Then horror of horrors six very substantial thick wide leather straps were placed around me and drawn very tight indeed. They went through ‘D’ rings along the sides, designed to ensure that they did not slip down the body. There was a long zip right down the front with three sliders which meant that a gap could be made at the strategic places. It was so snug and comforting. Then I was hooded! And it was locked on, quite unnecessarily. No way could I have got it off. The ‘D’ rings at my shoulders were attached to a suspension bar and I was drawn into the standing position, but the sleepsack had been drawn up sufficiently to make it even tighter whilst not taking my feet off the floor. In fact the sack took a lot of the effort of standing out of the situation. Then they threw the dice. It was announced I was to be there for ten hours. I was daunted. But as time went on, I could hear other people having drawn the lowest score and they were all restrained in one way or another. It dawned on them that eventually there would only be two left. As indeed there was. And, believe it or not, Pete was the sole survivor. By this time he had all of the gang – some eight or nine of them – all in various restraints – throughout the barn. I could not see what happened to the others (I did find out afterwards) but there were deep sighs of contentment to be heard from time to time.

As for myself I went into a reverie. I dozed, I went into that half awake state that you get before you have to get up in the morning. I was ‘away with the fairies’ and I went through a lot of my favourite fantasies. I don’t know how long this went on for but I was truly relaxed and refreshed. (Some of the City’s stressed out financial whizz kids should try a straitjacket or sleepsack as a form of relaxation. It is wonderful and long term would be cheaper than the shrinks they employ!) Then Pete came to me and carefully adjusted the zip sliders so that he could get at the essential me, pulling my dick and balls out of the sack. Then by a long process of lifting and twisting during which I was completely disorientated he hoisted me horizontally so that I was face downwards, and apparently four or five feet off the ground. It was cosy and very isolated. Then he went to work on me. My previous experience of being milked had told me what to expect. Pete was an expert, and his handling of me shattered all my relaxation. He brought me to the point of ejaculation many times, and then tortured me by preventing it somehow. It was a tease. but so stimulating. Eventually I came in great gobs, and fell back tired but elated into the hammock-like sleepsack. And then I went to sleep! It was the most odd feeling on waking. I knew I had had a good rest but it took me for more than a few minutes to recollect where I was. Yes, I was still there, but then I wanted out. I murmured a little and Pete (who really was very sensitive) took great pains to release me slowly and deliberately, giving me a great mug of sweet coffee at the end.

No: I had not been there for ten hours. More like six. Others were out of their restraints; a few had a while to go. We spent most of the next day swapping experiences (and getting hards on at secondhand). It was one of the most enjoyable Bank Holidays the gang spent together.

 

Chapter 9

 

It was nearing Autumn and it was getting dark just that bit earlier. Jim was busy with harvesting crops and the whole host of farming duties that occur at this time of the year. Most of his employees in the building business were also busy with jobs that customers wanted completing before the winter. Jim was also making alterations to his home and the outbuildings. In fact some of the more ancient ones were being demolished and the yard was nearly knee-deep in rubble that needed clearing.

Pete said to me how much Jim and he regretted not having much time to ‘play’ at this time of the year, but they recognised that ‘as a mate, I needed looking after by them’. I wondered what ‘looking after’ meant. Now by this time Pete and I had become very good close friends and whatever happened I knew I could trust and rely on him. Later in the conversation he told me that Jim had had to hire a great lorry to cart away the rubble and that I might find it interesting, if I asked the guy who drove it. He refused to say anything more. Naturally my curiosity was really aroused.

Come the day when the rubble was to be moved the necessary machinery arrived. A big yellow tractor-like thing with a bucket/shovel thing in front to scoop up the rubble and a huge lorry to take it away. This lorry was about the size of a container lorry. It was the same sort of height and had the same sort of secure doors at the back. Those that kind of fold in four and are then held in place with upright rods and handles which revolve and are secured by padlocks. The only real difference was that it had no top to it. The sides were about 12 feet high. It looked quite new.   I made a point of going to look at the lorry, and it seemed to me to be no more than a 40 foot long monster. The driver, who was about thirty, asked if I was interested, and I explained that I had never been in the cab of such a machine, and I asked if it were difficult to drive etc. He laughed a little and said that after one had been driving these things for years they became a bit boring, but they were fine machines. Would I care for a ride in one? I said ‘yes’ (remembering the instruction from Pete that I was to show interest). The driver was a quite handsome guy, well built, friendly smile but very heavily muscled and obviously used to heavy manual work or working out. He could have laid me out with one punch, I reckon. He said that the final run of the day was perhaps the best one to go on. It took the rubble to the dumping place and then he drove the lorry back to the yard and came back to the village on his motor cycle. I could ride pillion.

So later in the day I went back to take the ride. The rubble had been loaded into the back. I climbed up into the cab, which was much more spacious than I had thought. The seats were comfortable, the all round view was good. He showed me the various instruments, and the radio etc. He also referred to the amount of stowage space there was: no small glove box but places for locking away jackets and other personal belongings. Opening one such stowaway, out fell a pair of rigid handcuffs. ‘Oh’, was the remark ‘you shouldn’t have seen those really. I keep them just in case I meet any awkward types who may wish to hi-jack the lorry. It is very expensive, you understand.’ I replied ‘Yes, but have you had any other reason to use them?’ I got an odd look, and he asked if I was a mate of Pete’s. Naturally I said I was, and he said he now understood why I was so curious about the lorry. Odd remark. He put the cuffs down in the space between us.   So we dumped the load and went to the yard where the lorry was kept. It was quite remote from the village and well secured behind strong wire fences and gates etc. When we arrived it was well past going home time and the place was deserted. We got out of the cab and the driver secured it, we then went round to the back of the lorry and he said he needed to secure the doors, for which purpose he needed to get one pair open, make sure that there was no rubble etc left behind and then lock them all. We lifted the handles, swung them round and the doors were open. He padlocked the other two doors and suggested that I just stuck my head in at the level of the deck to ensure there was nothing in the lorry. There was not. But in order to do this I had to place my hands on the edge of the deck in order to lift up and lean in. Just then one of the cuffs of the rigid handcuffs was snapped on my left wrist. Those cuffs can be brutal, and when one is on, it is not advisable to resist too much. A slight twist by the guy applying them can readily control the ‘wearer’. Besides he was a much tougher guy than I was, so when he said put the other hand behind my back, bring the left hand there at the same time, I did as I was told. The cuffs were then applied completely. I was told to get up into the lorry – an almost impossible thing to do when cuffed behind your back: but with brute force we managed it.

The sides of the lorry were steel. Every so often there was a small corrugation all around, horizontally, but even with hands free it would not be enough to provide any foothold to climb out. And I was pushed right down to the far end of the lorry, away from the doors. The driver had me tightly grasped round my waist with his right arm and hand, and had his left arm under my crotch and was squeezing my balls with his left hand. I had little chance of doing other than what he wanted me to do. He said ‘You can stay here: get out if you can. Hope it doesn’t rain.’ He lowered me, not roughly, to the floor, beat a hasty retreat to the back end of the lorry closed the doors and padlocked them. I was completely shut in. The sides and doors were not scalable. The top was open so there was air. I could shout, but with no habitation or main road for a long way around who was to hear me? I tried, and felt foolish. I strained against the cuffs – perhaps they would yield – they didn’t, they were well applied and double locked.

It was beginning to get dark. There were a few stars in the heavens but there were a few dark looking clouds as well. If it did rain there was no shelter and I reckoned that the lorry would get a nice little lake in the bottom. Was I to be here all night? I hoped not – the cuffs were not particularly comfortable.

I strained: I yelled: I cursed. Then I began to rather enjoy this. I was really in a fix, I was imprisoned, I was handcuffed and I was beginning to get a really great hard on. Then there was a clap of thunder. Oh no! It was going to rain. And it did. Great sheets of rain, for quite a long time. The floor of the lorry, predictably, was a shallow pool. I was thoroughly drenched through. I was beginning to despair: I knew I was going to be there all night, because otherwise the driver guy would have been back to let me out by now. I sat down, I could stand up no more, anyway I was wet through already.

I must have dozed off because the next thing I knew was the sound of a car. So I yelled and yelled. Eventually I heard the sound of keys at the door. It opened and there were two security guards peering in. They laughed and said that they had been told to expect something out of the usual, and they reckoned I was it. They helped me down from the lorry and without taking off the cuffs (did they have keys, I wondered) they marched me to the small security building. Apparently they were to be on watch all night. They could not leave the site and I should have to stay with them. Unless of course, I would rather they phoned the police to come and take the cuffs off????? I said I would rather they didn’t. This provoked knowing looks between the two of them. I wondered what sort of night I was to have.

 

Chapter 10

 

There I was, being marched towards the security building in the yard by two security guards who were smirking somewhat. I was handcuffed and they showed no sign of being able, or willing to release me.

I asked them, instead of phoning the police to get the cuffs off, was there anybody else they knew who might do it? I was fishing to see if they knew Pete or Jim or were working for either of them. No response.  Until we got to the hut, when one of them said ‘You’re wringing wet: we must get those damp clothes off you.’ I don’t know how they proposed to do that with me handcuffed. However we went into the back room, which was full of building and demolition type gear – nearly all of it in the ‘regulation’ yellow. One of the guards selected a boiler suit type thing in brilliant yellow plastic. Tough, unbending and thoroughly waterproof. My jeans, socks, shoes, and underwear were all removed, and I was told to step into the boiler suit, which I did. Then one of them did undo one of the cuffs. I was still in no position to flee. My tee shirt was stripped off me and I began to feel better. I completed putting on the boiler suit, but one of them zipped it up fully and quickly put a short chain round my neck and padlocked it together and the pull of the zip with it. I was locked in: and the cuffs were re-applied. I was sat down on a bench and told to wait. I did, and eventually a mug of sweet tea was brought to me and I was helped to drink it. That was good.

Then a harness – one which I think is used for preventing a fall – was produced. It was put on me. They’re none too comfortable: they’re not meant for suspension as in bondage but merely to break a fall and hold you there for a few minutes. I had fears that I was to spend an uncomfortable night suspended in it. However the lanyard thing attached to it was fixed firmly to an overhead beam and I was left standing. I was getting a hard on, again. The suit was smooth inside, it was getting warm and slippery inside, too. I was not able to move very much, I was cuffed and I had two security guards virtually ‘in attendance’ on me. Next I was hooded very securely, and a crash helmet was placed over the hood. I could breathe but I could hardly see or hear.

There I stood, quietly, until one of the guards grasped my hard and very slowly and very deliberately played me. Sensuously slowly, then vigorously briskly, alternating until I was on the point of orgasm. Then stopping, then starting again. Time after time after time. Eventually I was brought to orgasm and allowed to cum. Such sweet relief I could have kissed the guy had I been able. What next, then? Had they done? No! What I imagined was the second guy had to use me. His technique was quite different. It was equally sensuous, but he played up and down the whole length of my hard, and was indescribably delicate with running his finger over the very head of it, through the tough shiny, slippery plastic of the boiler suit. Eventually I came again and was deeply, grateful to have been allowed eventually to have cum. The crash helmet was removed as was the hood. Standing there was the driver of the truck, who merely said ‘I did say you could come home to the village on my motor bike, didn’t I? I’ve come to fetch you.’ He gave me such a stunning smile and a hug that I forgave him there and then his part in that evening’s play.

It turned out that he was an old friend of Pete’s and that they did occasionally play together. Pete and Jim had arranged the evening’s fun for me, because they wanted to extend my bondage education but were too busy at that time of the year to do it themselves. The two security guards were friends of the driver guy – he had met them at the yard and had recognised like-minded guys. Those two were sometimes visitors to Jim’s place.

I expected to be released, but I wasn’t. It was now something like 1 a.m. I was re-hooded and the crash helmet put back on. I was still cuffed and in the yellow unbending and sticky hot overall suit.. Then I was put on the back of Mike’s bike (for such was the name of the lorry driver) and my cuffs were secured to the grab bar and my feet to the pedal supports. I then had one of the most terrifying rides into the village that I have ever encountered. I did not know the way, Mike was driving steadily, but the deprivation of any clue as to where we were going next was awful – but stimulating! We arrived at Jim’s place where I was released and Pete gave me such a great hug that I nearly fainted. I was allowed to dress in my own clothes.  Mike then drove me home quietly through the village and we parted as good friends.

In just a few months I had found a range of new friends. They were bikers, generally, but bit by bit I was extending the range of people I knew. From one small remark in Jim’s barn, I was becoming part of the rural ‘mafia’ of guys who liked bondage and who wished to play. There were many more people about who enjoyed such games than ever I imagined, and I was getting to feel secure with them.

 

THE END???

 

Metal would like to thank Kiggle for the story.

Kiggle says that if some kind soul with a perverted mind would care to have a go and take the story a stage further, go for it! Come to think of it, he says, there used to be some radio programme or other where a story was told in sections, each person taking a successive section. The point was that, at the end of their allotted time, they tried to leave the situation as complicated as possible for the next guy to have difficulties in compiling his bit. Bit of mental teasing here, perhaps?