| I was expecting Bob at around 2pm but to be quite honest I wasn't looking forward to it all that much. We'd emailed a few times, and he was into the usual things, but there just hadn't seemed to be much of a spark there for me. Plus the fact that this was the hottest day of the summer so far, and I was lethargic and everything was an effort. I was completely naked, and still hot. I probably should have put this guy off. But anyway, it was too late now.
I looked out the window at the sound of a car door closing, and there he was, walking up the path. It was the put-the-hood-on-in- the-porch routine, and I'd left the first leather hood I'd come across there, along with handcuffs.
I finished the paragraph of the book I was reading, sighed in resignation, thinking of all the other things I'd rather be doing this afternoon, and dragged myself to my feet, putting the book on the coffee table. He should be ready by now. What on earth was I going to do with him for three or four hours? My usually inventive and devilish imagination seemed to have deserted me today. The garden needed watering - the lawn was looking particularly brown at the moment because of the unusually dry summer - and I really did need to give the garage another coat of paint.
I gazed out of the window vacantly. The playroom was going to be hot hot hot, and it seemed criminal to waste this lovely sunshine and go into the dark, stuffy cellar.
Oh well, better go and make a start, I thought, before I fell asleep altogether. I pulled on my heavy bike boots and groaned at the weight of them on my feet. It's hard, sometimes, being a top.
I collected the collar and lead from the hall table on the way, and opened the inner porch door. He was kneeling where he should be, facing me, and there was a small bag by his side. He was wearing very thin, extremely tight black leather jeans, and a white teeshirt. It was very obvious that he had a hard-on under the leather, but I purposely didn't touch it. I fastened the collar around his neck, picked up the bag and pulled him to his feet. With what I hoped was a sufficiently dangerous-sounding growl, I told him to follow me.
This is a big house, and the playroom is in the cellar. The route to it is fairly tricky even when you can see what you're doing. With a leather blind- folding hood over your head you are completely dependant on the guy who's leading you, and if you were able to see from outside what was going on you probaby wouldn't even try it without a hefty insurance policy.
Bob's erection was still rock-hard inside his jeans, and as I watched, I saw it jerk once.
I led Bob forward - me walking backwards - along the hall, and then stopped at the top of the metal spiral staircase. This is great if you're wearing boots because the thing rings and clanks with every step.(I was wearing boots - in fact they were the only things I had on - it was so hot that I wanted to leave putting on my leather gear until the last possible moment).
Negotiating spiral staircases with your hands cuffed behind your back is difficult, and it's even worse if you can't see a fucking thing. I could have made it easier for him, but I had the perverse desire for him to suffer in this small way. We took it step by step, and I eventually got him to the bottom in one piece.
Another short walk down through the basement, avoiding the ironing board. Looking around the room, I mentally listed things that needed doing before long, like tidying up the tools - they were all over the place; and cleaning the back window. You could hardly see through it. But not until the weather cooled down a bit.
Now we came to the real bugger - the ladder. It's a metal ladder bolted to the wall on the opposite side of a three-foot square aperture between the airing cupboard and the washing machine (ah - the socks were done, I saw) and you have to step across this hole onto it.Clearly this was not possible for Bob with his hands cuffed behind his back, so I released them and re-cuffed them in front of him.
I cleared my throat, and, speaking in a gruff voice, explained what he had to do. I didn't mention the fact that there was a twelve-foot drop through the aperture in front of him. I leant him forward and guided his hands onto the rungs, then watched as he stepped onto the ladder and, with surprising agility, started to descend. "Move to the side when you get to the bottom and stand still," I barked. When he was clear I followed him down.
The playroom was even hotter than I'd feared. All the available ventilation was open and it was still like a fucking sauna down there. I stepped onto the concrete floor, my boots making a satisfying clunk and I led him forward, purposely allowing him to bump into the end of a wall, and to trip over a suspension bar that was lying on the floor. I hadn't had the energy to tidy up the place after the last guy - a squaddie - had been here a couple of days ago. I looked around at the room: the brick walls (which had once been white) were dirty and dusty, and there was a fine sprinkling of white powder on the floor at their bases (where does that stuff come from?) The whole place was a complete mess. The only good thing was the low-voltage halogen lighting, which had been installed by my ex - it was very adjustable and so could be set to hide most of the tackiness, if needed. Today it would be needed.
Turning him around to face me, I picked up the leather fist mitts and forced them over his hands, pulling the velcro down hard so that he wouldn't be able to use his fingers at all, but being careful not to rip the right hand one any more than it already was. Then I backed him up against the restraint table and fastened him down, buckling the leather straps tightly over his arms, legs and body. His arms were by his sides, his wrists fixed a few inches away from his thighs. One strap was missing. Where the hell was it? I scanned the place but couldn't see it. Shit. After a search I finally found it under a discarded boot. Whose was that, I wondered? I buckled the strap in place around his ankle.
From experience I knew that at this stage most subs who can't see anything think they're being fastened to a wall (the metal table is quite cold usually, and doesn't make much noise), but in fact the thing is pivoted in the centre, and capable of rotating 360 degrees. I wasn't planning on having him upside down today, so I hadn't bothered with the extra foot restraints. But he was still going to get a hell of a surprise when I turned it to horizontal later.
This was a good point to leave him for a few minutes. I was busting for a pee, and needed a cold drink. I leaned close to him, careful not to let my naked skin touch him anywhere, and went into growl mode again. "I'm gonna leave you here to think about things for a while. You ain't going anywhere."
On the way back up the ladder it occured to me that it would have been a fucking good idea to have put my leathers in the fridge earlier. Why hadn't I thought of that? Oh well, they could go in now for a few minutes while I had a pee and a cigarette. And a cold shower.
When I returned, Bob was moaning quietly inside the hood and pulling against the restraints. His cock was still as hard as a rock inside his jeans, and I thought I'd better actually do something to him before he lost interest completely. My brain really wasn't working and I had no idea what to do. Then the hood gave me an idea - the one he was wearing had a built-in throat microphone in the collar. I connected it up to the electrics centre (a very nice collection of devices all mounted on a moveable trolley) and unfastened his jeans sufficiently for me to be able to stick some electrodes on his balls and the shaft and head of his cock. Once that was done I held the wires out of the way while I zipped his leather jeans back up, and adjusted the controls on the machine. I switched it on.
Nothing happened, but I wasn't expecting it to. He would get a shock to his cock and balls - but only whenever he made a sound, which the throat mic would pick up. All I had to do now was to get him to make a noise. I pulled on some tight leather gloves and, making sure they were the only part of me that touched him, I gripped his nipples, then squeezed, hard, once. He grunted at the pain and then, when he felt the tingle in his balls and cock, gasped in surprise. This gasp was then picked up by the mic and converted into a rather more substantial shock - which made him yell again. I removed my hands - they were no longer necessary as his increasingly loud shouts were now shocking him into making yet more noise - and hence giving him more shocks.
It usually takes a sub a few minutes to realize what's happening - normally when they have to take a breath and the shock stops as they stop screaming. This is what happened with Bob. As he drew his second breath, he cottoned on to the system that was operating and, back in control once more, lapsed into silence.
I released the table catch and quickly rotated the 'wall' he thought he was strapped to, until it was horizontal. The unexpectedness of this movement made him yell - which of course was exactly what I'd intended. There followed another shock - yell - shock - yell - shock sequence. I grinned and, when he was quiet once more, I adjusted another knob.
One of the benefits of being a musician is that I have things like echo units and reverberration devices lying about. A while ago I'd incorporated a digital delay into the electrics system. If I set this to, say, five seconds, any noise the sub makes still shocks him - but five seconds later. The maximum possible delay is twenty seconds, but I set it to ten now. "Listen carefully," I whispered. "You better not make any noise, because any sound you make now will shock you ten seconds later. And I'm turning the current up a bit..."
I like this arrangement, because if a sub makes a noise, he has ten seconds to worry about it, knowing that there is absolutely nothing he can do to stop the shock coming - and that if he responds to the pain of that shock with more yelling, then another ten seonds later he's going to have to pay for that one... and so on. I let him think about that for a while, and then, when he was least expecting it, I punched him in the abs.
It wasn't a hard blow, and if he'd been able to see it coming, he probably would have made no noise at all, but I knew that he couldn't see it coming - he was blindfolded by the black leather of the hood. He grunted hard - more in surprise than from the pain - and I sat down and waited for the sequence to begin.
The counter on the delay line reached 1000 milli- seconds, and the electrodes pulsed the amplified energy of his grunt into his cock and balls. He tried not to respond, but the inevitable, involuntary shout came - followed by a quickly-stifled low moan of fear as he realized that he was going to feel that yell in another ten seconds.
Bob would probably keep himself amused for a while - and when he got used to it, I could set the delay time to random. That, and the odd unexpected nipple squeeze or abs punch, would keep him occupied for a while, so I picked up a copy of a restraints catalogue that was lying on the floor, sat back, and began to read. I wished I'd brough my book from upstairs, as I sat there looking at pictures of straitjackets, and scratching my balls absently. I was still naked apart from my boots, and I was still too hot. Idly, I wondered if I could get away without putting my leathers on at all.
By the time I'd finished the catalogue Bob was still yelling and struggling at the shocks. I hadn't had to touch him at all. What else could I do to him that didn't take much effort?
After disconnecting the electrodes and rotating the table back to vertical, I released his restraints but kept his hood on, and made him strip. I looked around the playroom for inspiration. Mummification? No, too exhausting for me - that palette wrap is hard work, and he'd probably cook inside it in this heat. What could I do that was easy? I sighed again. I hadn't a fucking clue.
The chair. Yes, that would do. That would have to do.
I moved him to the chair and ordered him to sit down.His cock was waving in the air, as yet untouched, but dripping precum all over the place. After strapping him in tightly, I used the electric hoist to raise it into the air a couple of feet, then pulled the rope off the winch roller and tied it off.
The chair has a large hole in the centre of the seat, through which any one of a variety of dildoes can be inserted. However, this was all too much trouble by half. Today I wasn't going to be doing the insertion - he was.I chose a dildo that wasn't too big, attached it to the holder which stood on the floor under the chair, and positioned it carefully directly under the hole. The dildo had two electical contacts on it: one forming the tip, and the second a circular strip which ran around the very top of the shaft, separated from the first by a quarter of an inch. I'd found that this arrangement caused a variety of different sensations as it was slowly inserted until it finally touched the prostate - and that was a whole new world of experience for most subs. Finally I took a bottle of lube and, using a finger, coated his arsehole well.
The only problem now was that I was going to to have to remove his hood - which meant putting my leathers on. Well, at least they'd been in the fridge for a while. I scowled, to help the gruffness in my voice, and told him I'd be back in a few minutes. His cock - still as hard as steel, jerked in response, and I wearily climbed the ladder up into the relatively fresh air of the rest of the house. My thighs were aching.
I poured myself a glass of cold orange juice and sat on a kitchen stool wishing I were anywhere but here right now. Minutes passed, and I finally pulled my leather gear out of the fridge.
Fuck that leather was cold! I breathed in blessed relief from the heat as I pulled on the jeans, zipped up the jacket and put my boots back on. It wouldn't stay cold for long, though. The mask was cool as I zipped it up, but as I started down the ladder again it had already begun to warm up. In fifteen minutes I was going to be roasting. I'd have to make him cum soon and bring the session to a rapid close.
I adjusted the lighting controls so that he wouldn't be able to see most of the tattiness down there. As I removed his perspiration-soaked hood, the sweat ran down his face. For a while he couldn't open his eyes in the light, which I'd arranged to be shining directly into them, but there was a look of pure bliss on his face. I hadn't seen his face before; as he'd had no pictures to email me, and I didn't fancy him in the slightest.
He looked around, and I could tell he was imp- ressed. It's amazing how careful lighting can make the dingiest place look good.
I waited until he could cope with the light, and then stepped in front of him. He gasped, taking in his first sight of me. I watched as his gaze travelled slowly up from my boots, over my leather jeans, jacket, and came to rest on my eyes - the only bit of my face he could see through my leather mask. He made some comment which I took to be complimentary, but I really didn't care what he thought I looked like. I would never be seeing this guy again after today, and although I felt duty-bound to give him a good time, it really didn't matter in the end.
I unstrapped his left hand from the chair arm, removed his leather fist mitt, and untied the hoist rope, giving it to him to hold. "Hold that very tightly. Look in the mirror. You let go of that rope and the chair goes down. There's a brake on the hoist, but even so, you don't want that dildo going in too quick - it's electric." I switched the dildo on.The look on Bob's face as he realized his predicament was wonderful. For the first time he noticed his reflection in the mirror and he saw the dildo under the chair. His grip tightened alarmingly on the rope.
The leather fist mitts are hot. They make your hands sweat like fuck even on a cool day - and his hand was very slippery. There was no way he could loop the rope around to get a better grip - not without letting go of it - and as I watched, the smooth rope was slowly sliding through his fist. Millimeter by millimeter the chair was going down. I bent down to check the positioning of the dildo. It was bang on: it was already touching the very centre of his arsehole.
He wouldn't feel the electricity until the second electrode - the one around the top of the shaft - touched him, but he was moaning in pleasure at the feel of the tip going in. I sat down in the armchair, out of his field of view, and waited, thumbing through the restraints catalogue again out of boredom.
His yell, and frantic pulling at the rope announced the contact of the second electrode, and I smiled slightly. His hand was far too slippery to pull himself back up again, but in his desperation, he was somehow managing to hold himself stationary. This wouldn't do - I was already getting hot inside my leathers. I took the bottle of lube and gently squirted a liberal amount onto the rope just above his hand. It ran down onto his fingers...
Things began to happen slightly faster then. The added lubrication made it impossible for him to hold the rope still. It began to slide through his frantically gripping hand, and the chair descended onto the electric dildo. Its progress was marked by a variety of yells, moans and desperate pleading - none of which I responded to in any way that would help him.
The dildo was about halfway in, and causing him more pleasure than he could deal with. I put the bondage catalogue down - I'd read it twice - and searched around for something else to pass the time. There was nothing. I stretched, and scratched an itch on my arse. I wanted to be out in the garden, pottering and relaxing in the sunshine. Wearily, I looked at him. In spite of the lube, he was managing to hold the rope still. I thought 'oh shit, will this never end? With a sigh I got up, and took a feather from the shelf. I used the point of the feather to tickle his armpit until he lost concentration and the rope began to slip again. A little more lube - this time smeared on the rope below his grip - ensured that it would continue, and I sat down again. I was beginning to sweat.
My intention had been to wait until the dildo was fully inserted, and then to wank him off - but in the event that turned out not to be necessary. As the rope slid through his fingers and the dildo was pushed fully home, hitting his prostate with electric intensity, he shot his load all over the chair. Thick gobs of boiling spunk arced through the air and landed on the floor.
When he was done I switched off the dildo, used the elctric winch to raise the chair sufficiently to remove it, and re-hooded him - before releasing him, taking him upstairs, and depositing him with his clothes and bag - the contents of which we hadn't used - back in the porch. I growled a goodbye, and dragged myself up to the bedroom to get out of these leathers and to collapse on the bed.
Thank heavens that was over with. A boring session, and an uninteresting guy. Well at least I wouldn't have to see him again.
I'd rather have been watering the lawn.
| The house was impressive, with a long path to the front door. Jim sounded a nice guy, although we'd never actually spoken, only emailed. He was very much into bondage and leather, both of which are major turn-ons of mine. My only worry was that I might have led him to believe I was a bit more experiemced than I really was.
I was really looking forward to this - I'd had a hard-on in my jeans since I'd got into the car to come here. I'd never actually done this sort of thing before - not been in a proper playroom, with a Master.
I had my instructions, and and I knew that when I opened the door I would find a leather hood waiting there for me.
I smiled as I saw it, and closed the door carefully behind me. I'd brought a small pack with me, containing a few things I thought he might be interested in using on me, and I left it on the carpet. I clicked one wrist into the cuffs, pulled the black leather over my head and zipped it up. Then, putting my hands behind my back, I got the other wrist locked into the cuffs. Kneeling there on the carpet in the porch, I breathed in the heady scent of leather, and revelled in the fact that it was covering my eyes, blindfolding me. I shook my head from side to side as if trying to get the hood off, but of course it didn't move an inch. In my present position I was already quite helpless. And I loved it. Inside my jeans my cock was dripping precum - and we hadn't even started yet! I was so horny, and very excited. It was a very hot day today, but I loved the heat. It invigorated me, and made me horny. I couldn't wait to get into his playroom.Inside the hood I waited for him to come and get me.
I heard the door open in front of me, and rough hands fastened a leather collar around my neck. My cock jumped in my jeans at the thought that I was now in the unseen hands of a horny leather guy who was going to play with me - torture me? - for the afternoon. What was he wearing? Were his leather jeans tight? Bulging? Codpiece, possibly! Oh yeah!! I wanted to see him very badly indeed - which made the fact that I couldn't, even more horny.
He told me to follow him. He had a gruff, deep voice - a voice which told me he was a man who knew exactly how to control a sub like me. I didn't know whether to reply or not (I think I whispered 'yes, Sir' quietly). He led me through the huge house, me blindly following his tugs on my lead, unable to see anything. There could have been other guys watching me for all I knew, laughing at my helpless progress. Where was he taking me? I felt very vulnerable and defenceless - and the feeling was incredibly exciting. My body was tingling, and my cock jerked again inside its thin black leather prison of my jeans.
He led me for a while, me shuffling forward with small, blind steps, and then, after a minute or so, Jim stopped, and led me slowly down what I realized was a spiral staircase! This was amazing! It was difficult, but we managed ok, he guiding and supporting me from in front. The metal stairs clanked with the sound of my boots - and his as well. I really was itching to see this leather Master. He must look awesome in his shiny black leather gear. Was he masked, I wondered? Leather jacket? Leather shirt? I wanted to reach out to feel his gear, but my hands were restrained behind my back and I couldn't.
The staircase wound to the right, so I stayed to the left, where the steps were wider.
After the staircase there was another walk - this house was labyrinthine - behind the leather of the hood I could almost see the oak pannelling, the crystal brandy glasses, the enormous fireplace... There was an unidntifiable, clean sort of smell to the place. I bet that Jim had slaves to keep the house clean and tidy. I thought I'd like to be his slave.
We came to a stop, and Sir (I'd started thinking of him as 'Sir' now, rather than 'Jim') said the next bit was more difficult. Apparently there was a ladder I had to go down! This was excellent - it was like going down into a medieval dungeon or something, or into a pit or a torture chamber. I loved the idea totally. I really was loving every second of this! Sir re-cuffed my hands so that they were in front of me.
That sexy, deep voice explained what he wanted me to do.It was no problem - although I was hooded I had a clear mental picture of the set-up. He placed my hands onto the cold metal rungs. Following his orders to the letter, I stepped across the gap (how much of a drop was there, I wondered?) and climbed down easily. At the bottom I stood quietly with my head bowed resperctfully and waited for him to join me.
It was hot down there! Sweat was running down my face already under the hood, but I loved it. I'd never felt so horny in my life. He guided me forward - I hit my shoulder on something and stumbled once or twice, but that just added to my feeling of helplessness. Our footsteps echoed around the place, and from the sounds I was fairly sure we were in a real stone dungeon. There were probably wrought- iron torch sconces on the walls and iron rings set into the stones. I could easily imagine suits of armour - or iron maidens - standing around. Oh how I wished I had a place like this - a real dungeon! I'd often fantasized about being held prisoner in a castle - oh I knew this wasn't a castle, but it had a very similar feel to it: we were underground, and I was far away from help of any kind. These stone walls must have heard screams of torment from helpless victims...
After a few more paces, we came to a stop. I waited He turned me to face him, and I felt some kind of gloves being fastened over my hands. Leather! Yeah! When they were in place I couldn't open my fists or use my fingers. This made me feel even more vulnerable. Then he pushed me backwards against a cold wall and started strapping me to it. One by one the thick leather straps were fastened over my body - there was one over each wrist, one above and below each elbow, one over my chest, another over my stomach, one above and below each knee, and a final one over each ankle. As the straps went on, I realized that each was making me progressively more defenceless. And each was making me more horny. This man sure knew what he was doing. By the time he'd finished, I was totally immobilised.
I struggled experimentally in my restraints, but I couldn't move at all. Oh god it felt good - completely helpless, vulnerable, strapped tightly to a dungeon wall and hooded so that I couldn't see a fucking thing. My cock was demanding attention. My mind was racing - what was he going to do to me? The thought passed through my mind that he might be a psycho - a murderer. If so, there was nothing I could do about it now. He'd got me exactly where he wanted me. But even that thought did nothing to make me want to be here less. I was in the hands of an expert and loving it.
I heard that deep voice close to my face. "I'm gonna leave you for a while. You won't be able to get away..." His sexy voice sent shivers up and down my spine. I was trapped. He'd got me. If he didn't come back I would starve to death. Even that thought made my cock jerk again inside my jeans. I heard his boots clomping away over the stone floor, and the sound of him on the ladder. Then I was alone.
While he was away I found myself unable to resist tugging at the straps, feeling the bondage he'd put me in. I tried to escape, I really did, and my total failure made my cock harder than I could ever remember its being before. I heard him returning, and knew that his carefully planned torments for me were about to begin. I felt his fingers remove my collar, and do something at my throat. Shortly after that he unzipped my jeans and attached something to my cock and balls. I suspected these were electrodes of some kind, and that I was going to be electro- tortured. I'd heard of this, but had never experienced it before.
He fastened my jeans up again. I loved the fact that he hadn't stripped me straight away - the idea of being worked on with them still on was new to me, and very horny. Again, I thought 'this man is an expert'.
There was a pause, a silence, and I readied myself for the pain. But when it came, it was from a totally unexpected place. I'd been ready for electricity on my cock and balls - but instead, I felt leather gloves on my nipples. One squeeze - sharp and very hard. I grunted at the unexpected assault - and instantly felt an electric shock in my jeans. The suddenness of this made me gasp a sharp "AHH!" Straight away I got another shock - this one a lot stronger. It occurred to me at that point that he was controlling the shocks, but that he was very fast indeed. Whenever I yelled, I got zapped. Was he teaching me keep quiet?
No. I realized that the zapping was happening too quickly for him to be conrolling it - good as he was. He must have connected me up to some kind of computer that monitored any noise I made and shocked me when I did. Oh, that was fiendishly clever. I managed to stop yelling, and I confirmed my theory with a couple of soft noises.
Suddenly, the 'wall' I was strapped to moved! It swung backwards and continued to move until I was lying on it, horizontal! The unexpectedness of it made me try to move my hands to save myself - which I couldn't do, of course - and it also made me shout out. The computer zapped me for this, and before I could stop myself I was yelling in response to that shock - and so it went on for several minutes. I realized then that I hadn't been strapped to a wall at all, but to some kind of table that revolved. This Master was indeed a master of playing with guys' minds. He must have planned every single event for maximum effect.
He spoke to me again, then., telling me that if I made any noise now, the shock would come ten seconds later, and that it would be more intense. I was determined to keep quiet this time. I waited, cursing the leather hood that prevented me from seeing what he was doing. It made me so fucking helpless to resist. I shook my head, trying to get it off, but it followed my movements, blindfolding me and making me defenceless, vulnerable. I tried to pull my hands out of the restraints, so that I could get to it, remove it - but the leather straps held me down. The waiting was torture in itself. I knew that something was coming, but I had no idea what, or when. My cock responded to this increased feeling of helpless- ness by getting even harder, if that were possible. Sir was fucking with my mind in a very effective way indeed.
"OOOF!" The bastard had punched me in the stomach! I cursed myself for making a noise, because it hadn't been very hard - just totally unexpected. That fucking hood! If it hadn't been for that, I'd have easily been able to keep quiet.
Then I remebered the delay, and began counting. I got to seven when it hit me. This time the zap was stronger, and before I could stop myself I'd yelled out at the pain. Have you ever stubbed your toe, felt the immediate sharp pain, and then known that in a second or two the real, punishing pain would arrive? It was like that. As I lay there waiting for the inevitable zapping that I knew was coming - and that I couldn't do a fucking thing to stop - I whimpered in fear. And then, of course, I knew I would get zapped for that as well. It was a devilish torture.
I don't know how long it went on, but every time I made a noise I swore to myself that I wouldn't make another - but every time I got zapped, of course I did. One of the problems was that the fear and frustration were mucking about with my sense of time, and so counting the ten second delay accurately was becoming increasingly difficult to do. The result was that every shock caught me by surprise.
While this was going on, part of my mind was imagining Sir carefully planning my next torture.
At last it stopped, and Sir released me. He kept me hooded, but now made me strip completely. It is not easy to take boots and tight leather jeans off when you can't see anything - especially when the jeans are sticking to you with sweat. I stumbled and almost fell over twice, and I expected to hear humiliating laughter from him, but I heard nothing. He was undoubtedly watching my every move and sniggering quietly to himself. Eventually I was naked, and after a pause, during which he must have been getting some other device ready to torment me, he led me by the balls to another part of the dungeon.
I felt cool wood behind my knees, and Sir ordered me to sit down. I felt some precum run down my thigh as he strapped me into it, and then there was a whirring, and the chair began to rise! There were straps all over this chair, and my arms, legs and body were completely immobilised by them. The thick leather of the fist mitts prevented me from using my fingers to try to free myself, and I felt even more helpless than when I'd been on the table. I had no idea how high off the floor I'd been raised, or what the purpose of this chair - or the fact that it had been raised - was. No doubt I would find out before too long, and no doubt it would be painful, humiliating, and horny.
It must be a complicated hoist system (or whatever it was) as I wasn't swaying at all. I wondered again at the sophistication of this obviously purpose-made dungeon, and at the cunning planning that had gone into preparing this afternoon's session for me. My cock was desperate to be touched, rubbed - but of course Sir knew this well, and was intentionally denying me what I needed. I jumped as I felt his finger lubing my arsehole - there must be a hole in the seat!
I heard him stand up again and lean close to me. That wonderful, sexy voice told me he was going to leave me again for a few minutes. Involuntarily, my cock jumped at the closeness of this leather- clad Master, and I listened to the sound of his heavy bike boots as he walked away and clomped up the steel ladder.
The heat was amazing. The leather hood was neither thick nor tight, but inside I was still sweating like a pig. I was in my element: I love heat, it makes me so fucking horny - I was strapped to some torture device whose purpose and operation I was being prevented from knowing until Sir was good and ready to tell me, and I was in the hands of a Master planner. I sat there happy and excited - he could have left me there for hours and I'd have been quite happy - but then I heard him returning.
While he was preparing whatever he had divised for me next, he brushed against my bare leg - and for the first time I felt his leathers! They were sexy - and cold! My cock jumped again at the touch. Now his fingers were unzipping my hood, and as the leather came off I squeezed my eyes closed against a brilliant light that was shining into my face. After a while my eyes adjusted, and I looked around in amazement. I couldn't see Sir - he must be behind me - and in fact I couldn't see very much of anything, but what I could see told me I'd been right about this place.Through the glare of the white light I could make out sort-of reddish-coloured stone walls. It looked very scary but also very exciting.
A figure moved into my line of sight, and then Sir was standing in fornt of me! I'd been right about him too - in fact he looked better than I could ever have imagined. He was a leather god. Heavy bike boots; skintight, black leather jeans with a huge, bulging codpiece right out of my deepest fantasies; shiny leather jacket, and a sexy black leather mask through which I could see only his deep blue eyes. He had a wonderful figure. and I longed to hold him, to press myself against his leather, to feel his strong, masculine arms around me. I wanted to be his .
He released my left hand and took the leather glove-thing off, then gave me a rope to hold. I wondered what it was - there was quite a bit of tension on it - and then I realized that it was the hoist rope! And worse - Sir pointed out the big electric dildo that was under the hole in the chair! If I let the rope go, I'd impale myself on it! He switched it on and I looked in horror at the chair, the dildo, and myself reflected in a big mirror in front of me. In panic I gripped the rope tighter, but my hand was sweaty and slippery from being enclosed in the leather glove, and I couldn't hold it still! However hard I tried to grip it, the smooth rope was sliding through my fingers! I almost cried out in panic, but managed to control myself. He had said there was some kind of brake on the hoist, and I trusted my Leather Master, but it was a very scary situation.
He checked the position of the dildo - I could already feel the end of it touching my arsehole - but so far it wasn't giving me any electric shocks. Perhaps it wasn't working...?
The rope continued to slip, and the dildo kept on boring its way unstoppably into me. It felt amazingly horny. Sir had disappeared again - I guessed he was playing with his cock as he watched me sinking helplessly onto it.
"AARRGH!!" Oh fuck - the first zap hit me.I hadn't been ready for it and the initial shock - directly on my sphincter - was intense. I desperately tried to pull the chair back up, but the best I could manage - and that only by a superhuman effort - was to hold it still. But my sadistic Master put some lube on the rope! I stared in horror as thes lippery liquid slowly ran down and worked its way between my fingers and the rope.
Now there was no way I could stop it moving.. The chair went down slowly in spite of any- thing I could do to stop it, and as the electrodes penetrated deeper the effect of the electric zaps kept changing, and making it impossible to get used to. Sir had thought of everything, every little nuance and unfairness to make the situation impossible for me to control.
Surely the dildo must be all the way in by now? But I continued to sink. My eyes were half-closed in ecstasy: the dildo fucking me, the pulsing and tingling in my arse was the horniest thing I'd ever felt, but I was still terrified of it going in further. I gripped the rope frantically, and managed to halt my descent for a moment. But Sir was ready for that. He did the most fiendhish thing - he took a long, pointed feather, and just gently tickled me under my armpit with it. Such a small thing, but it was enough to make me lose my tighter grip on the rope, and it started to slide through my hand again. To make absolutely sure I couldn't control it, he put more lube on the rope - this time below my hand, the sadistic bastard.
My descent was now more rapid. The lubed rope slid unstoppably through my fingers, and the dildo speared me on its smooth surface - the electrodes spitting ecstatically horny fire into my sensitive arse. Suddenly I felt the chair touch the floor, and at the same instant the most incredible explosion happened inside me. Before I knew it I was ex- periencing the most mind-shatteringly intense orgasm of my life I screamed with animal lust as I came and came and came. It was unbelievable.
With expert efficiency, Sir removed the dildo, released me, hooded me again, and took me back upstairs. With a perfectly-judged, gruff goodbye, he left me in the porch with my gear and closed the door. No doubt he'd gone to prepare for his next victim.
Sir had given me the best-ever experience of my life, and I would be asking for more as soon as I got home. When I find a guy like that I don't let go. It was obvious he was really getting off on me (he was probably wanking over the session right now) - and I'd fallen totally in love with him .