A Drifter’s Tale
I’m a 29-year-old drifter and slacker. Those are my good points. I also happen to be extremely well-endowed in the genital department. This particular trait played a huge part in the adventure-story I am about to tell. In short, I was taken and “consumed” by a beautiful dominatrix whom I will never see again.
1
I’ll start at the good part and fill in as I go.
I found myself in the basement of a large mansion. Her mansion. The room was well apportioned, and well secured. There were no windows and only one heavy door. Sounds were muffled all around me, except for the ceiling. I could hear footsteps and muffled conversation above me but nowhere else. I wasn’t sure of what was happening upstairs, and I was certainly in no position to go see who was here or what they were doing.
I was naked, except for the “gear” that was put on me earlier. I say gear because it is not anything usual or common, and it is used for a singular and diabolical purpose – to keep me there. It was bondage gear, pure and simple, and lots of it.
When I first got to her mansion, my room was in the wing of the house that serves as servant’s quarters, I guess. A small room with nice, simple furniture and an expensive bed. A small but high-end full bathroom was attached. No windows, which was weird. I settled in my first night and slept like a baby. The next day I wandered around the estate to get a lay of the land and played video games in the rec room. Nice gig so far.
That night, however, I was awoken nastily by a burning sting to my neck. I don’t remember much after that, though. Blanked right out. When I came to, an Asian woman helped me get up and shower, toilet and choke down some water and a few pills. For some reason, my gut felt strange and I “cleaned out” so to speak. In hindsight, it was to help avoid unplanned accidents. Thank God for that. I decided right then that I was a prisoner, but a very well-treated one. Still groggy and weak in my dark room, I thought I should get the hell out of there. Before I could get to my feet, I was “handled” by a couple strong men who were forcibly handy with the “gear.”
When they finished, I was lying on a sturdy, padded platform in the middle of the basement room. It was elevated because I could see the ceiling closer than if I was on the floor. That’s probably why I could hear the noise from upstairs so well. My wrists and elbows were strapped with thick leather cuffs. The wrist cuffs were riveted together so there was no play, and my hands were crossed over each other, palms out. My elbow cuffs were joined by a short chain, pulling them together slightly. They were tight and stout. There was no way to reach the buckles. Thick leather straps were snug around my legs above and below the knee, with smaller straps cinching these through my legs. I appreciated this as it kept the chafing to a minimum. My ankles were cuffed and there was a small ring connecting them. I was securely bound. All I could manage was to roll back and forth to find comfort, but comfort was certainly not in the cards at that moment. Why? Because of the last two fucking infernal pieces of the “gear.”
I was gagged with a rubber ball that was just a tiny bit bigger than my mouth, and that was the problem. It forced my jaw to be open more than I would like it to be. The bottom half of my face was covered with a soft piece of leather that kept the ball in. All this was tightly strapped around my head and under my chin. There was no chance of scraping this thing off and definitely no chance of making any real noise. I hated it. I gagged and spat and sucked air. I couldn’t stand to have my mouth forced open. Being tightly bound was one thing, but to take away my last weapon of defense was another. No one would hear me if I had a problem! And the last piece of gear could have caused a serious fucking problem.
A men’s chastity cage is one of the most sadistic fucking inventions ever. I’d been looking down at mine for a while with disgust. Some are made of heavy stainless steel but, mercifully, mine was clear rigid plastic. A locking ring went tightly around my junk at the base of my balls and shaft. My shaft was slipped through a tube-cage that was firmly shaped downward and was small enough to only fit a smooshed, flaccid penis. I could pee out of this shitty contraption if I had to, but an erection was impossible. Hence the term chastity. Mine was expertly installed. Snug against my body, the locking ring was aggravating. Worse, my dick was holstered in a slightly ribbed cage that held me down and allowed for no movement or growth, even when the ribs rubbed against my sensitive shaft. The end of the cage was a domed piece that grabbed my penis head; mine had tiny bumps that tickled and rubbed as I moved. I was in hell. My balls were protruding from my body. I tried desperately to shake off the goddam thing, but it just would not…I stopped, frozen. She was home. She was here.
As soon as I heard that she had arrived home, I started to struggle. I couldn’t move easily. My bonds were way too secure, but I worked on them anyway, one desperate attempt after another to get free. My cock cage rattled and bumped against me. The ribs and bumps made me start to get hard and press against the cage. My arms and wrists were pinned so I couldn’t reach the fucking thing for any relief. My balls tightened. I strained against the straps with all my strength. It was useless to move, so I stopped and listened.
I knew, for a fact, that she wanted me to hear things upstairs. She was above me because I could distinctly hear her heels clicking across the floor upstairs. Those mother-fucking high heels. My kryptonite. My weirdest, darkest fetish. My obsession, even when I’m bound and gagged like a bad slave. Women in high heeled shoes are one of my greatest turn-ons, even if they’re not supermodels. The sound of a woman walking in heels can get me turned on like magic. I have followed women through supermarkets, parking lots and malls just to hear the sound of their heels on pavement, tile, wood flooring, whatever. Instant boner. What was wrong with me?
She, however, always looked good and dressed provocatively. Skin-tight dresses, leather, lace, all of that. What I loved the most were her shoes. She was never in anything but 4- or 5-inch heels. Tall stilettos in pumps or boots that make the most erotic sound. A sharp clack of the heel with a slight squeak of good leather, were aphrodisiacs for me. She was average height and was built well with mid-sized round breasts and small nipples that always seemed to be hard. Her legs were perfectly shaped if only a bit too muscular for my taste, but her ankles were slim and very sexy. Her red-brown hair was long and thick, framing piercing green eyes. She wore too much make-up and red lipstick, but I did not mind that at all.
She’s the one who hired me and brought me here. What can I say? I was broke and alone, with no prospects and little ambition to do anything. The job post at the tennis club said this gig paid fairly well, no experience needed and didn’t involve manual labor. When I came for the interview, I recognized her right off. She said she knew me from the tennis club I was working at part-time. I’d seen her a few times, as well. She was always dressed to the nines, and I never forgot the amazing heels she wore, which was strange at a tennis club, but whatever. I’m sure she spied me following her around and checking her out. She offered me the position of “personal assistant” and I eagerly accepted.
She paced slowly back and forth across the hard floor above me, the ka-thunk, ka-thunk of her shoes echoing down to me. She knew I was down here, listening and going crazy. That made me nervous. How did she know? My muscles tensed; I had no idea what she had planned for me. I struggled fiercely against the cuffs. If I could just get one hand loose, I could scramble and maybe cause a scene to escape, or at least, get out of this predicament. I thought about rolling off the platform, but the fall could hurt. I was as hard as I could get inside the fucking cock cage that rubbed and grabbed in all the wrong (right) spots, and that made me even more annoyed and angry. I grunted and moaned through the gag which made me sound like an enraged caveman. I wasn’t enjoying this bondage, but I was strangely aroused and surprisingly horny. I’d played some light BDSM games in the past without much interest, but this scene was NOT plastic handcuffs and a feather. I realized then that she could probably hear me struggle and growl as well as I can hear her. I got quiet. I had to think about this.
I decided that she must have known a great deal about me. At the time, I was pretty much a low-life drifter with an adult body and teenager’s mind. I was a 29-year-old slacker with a dim future because of this. I didn’t have ambition to do much, but I was up for anything. I wasn’t jacked or buff, but I wasn’t a lump either. I lived easy as a part-time tennis instructor, occasional swimming coach, and sometimes gym janitor, which kept me thin and toned, but weak. I didn’t have movie-star looks, but women seemed to notice me. Maybe she saw me as an easy mark, and maybe she even knew about my super-power, or more accurately, my super-curse, which was this:
I had been blessed and cursed with a surprisingly active undercarriage. My junk, my package, my goods, as they call ‘em, were a gift from the gods (or the devil). I was endowed with a well-above-average sized cock that worked extremely well. You could say that all my pipes were oversized. I was sporting nine inches of thick, veiny meat down there, and I was told that it had great form. I could get rock-hard in an instant and stay hard forever. I could pound away for as long as it took for a woman to get what she needed. The women I had been with (not a lot) had told me that mine was the most amazing, beautiful cock they’ve ever seen or felt. That was why it was also a curse.
When a woman has a man with what I’ve got, it often turns her, changes her. A meek, shy woman turns into a bossy hose-beast, always hungry for it. A confident, outgoing woman gets jealous and clingy, thinking I’m always out getting strange pussy to satisfy the beast. A kinky woman is the worst, always wanting to play her twisted games with it. My problem was, I always got hard, I always performed whatever these women asked for, and I always came. I was easy, shallow, and cheap. It’s no wonder I ended up in a basement, chained, bound, and caged .
Fuck, now she was coming down here. Upstairs got quiet and I sensed movement down the stairs. I gave one more violent struggle to break free. No dice. Pre-cum seeped out of my semi-hard prick. I would have to endure whatever she gave out. I was a little scared. Kinky women can be wonderful and exciting but cruel and heartless at the same time.
She stepped in quietly and walked slowly over to me. I rolled over to get as much of a view of her as I could, my caged, wet, throbbing cock in full view. I was pissed off and embarrassed at the same time. Goddamn she looked good. Tight, short white dress. Toned legs in white hose. Fuck, I couldn’t see her shoes, but she walked like the heels were a mile high, with swaying hips and careful steps. I got a little harder in the fucking cage, and it pissed me off. Her hair was up and her make-up was perfect – loud and slutty with dark red lips. She held a wine glass and tapped it with a long red nail. She ran her eyes over me and stopped at the cage and noticed the fleshy blob it was holding back. Her eyebrows rose and her eyes got big. Surprise! Her boy toy had a bazooka! I was in so much trouble.
“Well, well, well,” she purred.
I stared at her, breathing hard.
“The women at the tennis club talk a lot and they mentioned that you could be quite well endowed,” she said. “Although none of them actually knew for sure. I liked that. You’re not a club slut. The men say you’re a quiet weirdo with a blinding shoe fetish. Explains why you always followed me around like a shy little puppy dog.”
She set her glass off and walked slowly around the platform looking at every inch of me, a jittery, sweaty, smelly, tied-up mess. I wanted to disappear. She came back around to get another view of my ugly, swollen, caged crotch.
“Looks like the girls were right, big guy," she said with a smile. “But, to me, you’re just a gangly stray dog needing a good meal and a bath. So, I brought you home and now you’re my new little puppy.”
I shouted “Fuck You” through my gag and yes, it sounded like a gangly dog barking at a squirrel. I blushed and tried to turn my back to her. No good. Her hand shot out and grabbed the chain between my elbows and lifted. This stopped me from rolling and set me on my belly with my arms up like chicken wings. She was strong and agile. Her arms and shoulders were apparently as buff as her legs. I stiffened with surprise and WHAP came a hard spank to my ass that stung and shocked. I yelled again “OW” and that one had a higher pitch that sounded like a woman. That motherfucking gag.
“Not so fast, pal," she giggled. With one hand she held me steady and with the other, she reached under the platform and brought out something that sounded like a piece of chain. With that in her hand she gave my ass cheek a hard pinch. With my hands helpless, I lifted my feet to try to brush off this attack, and as soon as I did, she grabbed the ring between my ankle cuffs and pulled. The chain went SNAP onto the ring and now she held my feet against my butt, knees bent full. With her other hand she wrapped the chain around the elbow chain and back to the ankle ring with another SNAP. Oh, Sweet Jesus I had just been hogtied. This fucking BITCH!!
She let go and stepped back to admire her handiwork. I was now on my belly with my feet in the air and my knees bent. Let me tell you. When you are in a hogtie, the only things that you can move freely are your head and your pelvis. I did both, violently. I rolled to my side and strained at the bonds with all I could muster, grunting and cursing through the gag. My head rolled back and my hips jerked back and forth like I was trying to fuck a monkey. My arms and legs were held tight. In that position, the feeling of sheer helplessness was the worst. There was no pain, just total restraint and vulnerability. I looked down and was amazed to see that I was still kinda hard in the cock cage. Like I said, I was a performer! I’d been hogtied before, but only with flimsy rope that I could snap at will – a stupid game with a former gothy kinky girl. This time was full-grain cowhide leather and steel chain. I was going nowhere. I. Was. Fucked. This woman was fast, strong, and twisted.
She stared with a wicked smile. Her eyes went all over me. Fuckmeat. Boy Toy. My mind started racing as I watched her watch me struggle and moan and whimper like a little girl. I couldn’t move for shit. My cock was completely exposed. What would she do now? Choke me, stab me, or even worse, tickle me? I would absolutely die.
Will she grab and fondle me, like all the other chicks did? Scratch her sharp nails up and down my long shaft? Work my balls like dough? I love all these kinds of things, but some women have little subtlety when faced with a huge piece of meat. They think it can’t be sensitive when it looks like a hard, thick sausage. They’re dead wrong. I’m as sensitive to touch and friction as any woman’s clit, even more so, since there’s soooo much more surface area. My penis head is not too big or small, but it does stand out. When I’m hard, I’m completely hard and my head is right there. A few well-placed strokes around the rim and I go crazy. Enough of that and I explode.
She probably sensed that I was thinking all of this as my cock started to really push against the fucking cage and turn a darker shade of pink-purple. If I ever meet the inventor of this fucking chastity device thing, I’m gonna murder her. I dripped fluid all over the platform and myself. I was in hell, or heaven. I would find out soon.
She pulled a thin gold chain from around her neck and played with it.
“There’s been a change of plans," she began. “I was set to play with you all night, but I have to go to a thing later. I’m sorry, but we can do a little now and some more when I get home later tonight.”
“Wonderful.” I muttered. It sounded like “wu-fu.”
“That doesn’t sound very enthusiastic, does it?” she said. “I don’t wanna play with a pouty-poop. Maybe I can cheer you up a bit.”
She took off the gold necklace and climbed up onto the platform with me. I strained to look (I’m sick, I know) and saw that YES, she was wearing white leather pumps with 5-inch heels and tiny ankle straps. Jimmy Choo or Louboutin. She knelt next to me, and her heels stuck out behind her like little rifle barrels. Soft hands caressed my cock through the cage, and she unlocked the big ring. I was finally free of the torture device, as my cock slipped out of the tube. I felt warm blood sliding into my crotch and cool air over my shaft. What a relief. I was sure I was gonna get diamond-hard immediately, but I didn’t. I was still tightly hogtied and gagged. And now my tenders were out in the open for her pleasure or torment, whichever she preferred.
With quick movements, she straddled me and set her knee down on the chain that was hogtieing me. The platform padding must have made this bearable because she set her weight on it. This was bad. Very bad. I was now locked in a position on my back and side with my freed cock in the air. I couldn’t roll over. I couldn’t get on my stomach and bury my dick in the padding. I worked my arms and legs but now there was even less play in the restraints. She now had complete access to my dick and could bite it like a steak or twist it off. She did neither.
She crouched down carefully in position with both hands free and took me gently. She worked my shaft slowly while cupping my sack with a careful grip. I hardened, but slower than normal because I needed, wanted, the magic potion – LUBE. I did NOT like to be jerked or stroked without lube. I’m too big, veiny, and sensitive for lube-less, straight friction. Spit, pussy-juice, baby oil or hand lotion are all sufficient. Other lubes like Vaseline or Astroglide do nicely. I got harder. It hurt and I let out a whine from the fucking gag and she shushed me. I wouldn’t need any lube just now. She had that under control.
Her hair was already up. She crouched lower, bent to me, and popped me into her mouth like a bomb pop on a hot day. I immediately tensed up and grunted like a bear. I think: will she bite? Are her teeth like tiny chisels? Oh, shit, this could be bad. I was big and thick, and most women waaay overestimated the size of their mouths. This results in blowjobs filled with scrapy teeth grating my poor flesh. I’m a pig, so I take it, and come in their mouths or on their faces just the same. But it’s never really all that great. I tried my bonds again to see if there’s any chance to retreat, but nope. I was 100% hers.
After a few seconds, I realized she was a master. She knew exactly how to give head. With a steady rhythm, she got into it. She could suck extremely hard which made me tingle, while she simultaneously worked her tongue over and around my head. I got dizzy with pleasure. She could only take a couple of inches of me without touching her teeth, so the rest of me was massaged, stroked, squeezed, and pulsed with both of her soft, dainty, and terrifyingly strong hands. She was working me like she lost her diamond ring somewhere down in my ball sack. My eyes rolled back into my skull. I was consumed. I was as hard as I had ever been, despite being pinned by leather and steel with a ball jammed in my gob. I wriggled and squirmed in my bondage. My feet wagged back and forth, my hands writhed. I whimpered and begged and grunted through my gag like I was in agony. It was just the opposite. My noise and agitation were definitely pleasing to my new mistress. She was also making sounds of delight, and I noticed that she had taken one hand away from servicing me and moved to herself. She could get to her center easily as her short dress allowed access. She got more aggressive with her mouth and her one hand on me while she flicked and rubbed herself with the other hand. It was quick and quiet. She came with a squeak and a shudder. I was going to blast her in the face like a fire hose. I was nothing but nerves. My entire body went rigid as I got ready to come. I was wailing through my gag. My cock went super-hard for pre-blast readiness and she felt it. She pulled away and worked my shaft with both hands while she pointed it away to let me go. Wave after wave of euphoria hit me as I shot my wad all over the platform. It would not stop. I didn’t want it to. She wouldn’t stop. After an eternity, I was spent and she knew it. She eased off and relaxed. Thankfully, she had no interest in, or time for, torturing me post-orgasm. I appreciated that.
She was panting and hot as she gracefully climbed off me and off the platform. All I could see was her straightening herself up like she had just climbed out of a sports car. Not a hair was out of place. I couldn’t stretch or anything and post-nut clarity hit me. I was achy and cranky. I started arguing with her through my gag and worked to get situated but I was still fucking hogtied. My sticky, lipstick covered cock was deflating and now my balls were slapping against my thighs. I was begging her. I loved her and I wanted to strangle her. I wanted my freedom, a beer, and a nap.
“You fucking bitch! Let me go! Please! This fucking sucks, you goddamn whore!” I screamed. Muffled gibberish. She’s loving it.
“I’m a bitch and a whore, huh?” she asked. “That’s not very nice. Especially since I have something very special planned for you tonight. You’re a pretty awesome little puppy, and that’s a wonderful piece you have there. I bet the girls love you.”
She’s all fixed and straightened, like none of this ever happened. I’m embarrassed as hell that she actually heard my words through the fucking gag. But still.
She reached back under the platform again for something and walked around behind me. I was too exhausted to roll to her. I jerked when I felt a hard prick on my bum. Hypodermic. Daddy’s going night-night.
“I’ll see you upstairs after a while, babe.” was the last thing I heard.
2
The drug put me way down but not completely out. My head buzzed and my eyesight was off and on, but I heard some things and I was somewhat mobile. I was a zombie with no strength and no will. I vaguely remember being unbound and helped by the same two large men to a hot tub. I sat in the tub in a stupor while the Asian woman washed my hair. She stood me up and scrubbed me down with sponges and a body wash that smelled very expensive, paying special attention to my wet schlong that still ached a little bit. We stumbled back to my room and there was hot tea and food waiting. I was famished and I ate. Then I hit the bed and was immediately out cold. Then the two men came and visited me again.
Expensive drugs are wonders. Whatever I was dosed with put me completely out, but only after I was washed and fed. How does that work? Anyway, I jerked awake with a surprisingly clear head and when my senses came back to me, I quickly realized I was definitely in the middle of another jackpot. This woman did not waste any time.
Her bedroom, I assumed, was astounding. Airy and lush with top-end furnishings and accessories. I could only see a portion of the room, but I craned my neck as much as possible to get a glimpse. This woman lived very well. Was she trying to impress me? I could have been set up like I was in the basement room where the first romp took place. Or out in the street for that matter.
I was seated in a sturdy, well-padded, high-backed chair. I sat fairly straight up – this was no recliner, and my arms rested on padded armrests. The chair fit me almost perfectly and, if not for some other things, was quite comfortable. Yes, there were quite a few other things.
Where to begin. I was not completely naked this time. I was naked, however, from the knees up. My arms were strapped to the armrests at the wrists and below the elbows with thick leather. New thinner straps were above my elbows and fixed to the back of the chair. It was not an uncomfortable position, but I could not move except to wiggle my fingers. Straps that wrapped around my chest and midsection were also bolted to the chair. Luckily, the chair’s padding at the back kept me snuggly and comfortably seated for the entire performance. The coup-de-grace were my legs, and my other parts below the waist.
My legs were spread to the two front chair legs, and my ankles were set to the outside of each leg. There were no straps on my thighs above my knees. My ankles, however, were strapped to each chair leg. But that wasn’t the best part.
The bitch, whom I now loved more than ever, had dressed me in a fine pair of black, leather, lace-up, knee high boots with 4-inch stiletto heels and semi-pointed toes. I could see most of the boots from my position and I was impressed. Exquisite black leather polished and gleaming. Not too shiny like patent leather, no sir. The heels were a tiny bit chunkier than a woman’s heel, for extra strength. They were tight and well-tailored and just my size. They hugged my calves like a lover. I wished I were in front of a mirror.
Just above the boots were thin leather straps that grabbed my leg just under the knee. The cruel bitch wouldn’t even allow me the pleasure of hopping my feet up and down to test the heels and possibly make noise. But I tried anyway.
Wearing heels is fucking sensual for a guy with a shoe fetish. Watching women walk, stand, and sit while wearing high heels is an extreme turn on for me. I don’t know how or when it started. A woman doesn’t even need to be that attractive, as long as her legs, ankles and feet can handle a 4- or 5- inch heel. Thin, stiletto-style heels really do it for me, but a chunkier heel is also very nice. The boots she’d put on me checked all of those boxes. I had tanned, well-toned legs (thanks, tennis) without a lot of coarse man-hair. I actually had depilated them with removal cream recently to demonstrate the technique to some high-school swimming prospects, so I’d say I looked pretty damn good in those heels.
The feeling was unique. I marched lightly in the boots, as much as the straps allowed, and listened. The low carpet muffled the click of the heel, but it still sounded hot as hell. My arches were stretched and my toes were bent up considerably, which also felt sexy and strong. I was digging this sensation for a short while, until I realized what else I was wearing.
I was gagged again, but without a fucking rubber ball this time, something else. Another leather harness was strapped around my head, under my chin, and also up over my face and head to the back where it connected to the neck strap. A plastic whiffle ball filled my mouth. The straps were much tighter than before, and they pushed the ball securely into my mouth. It sucked, and I hated it. I could breathe much better, though. I could make more noise, too, but I’m sure no one was gonna hear me.
The whole time I was admiring the fucking boots and all of that, I was dreading what else the bitch had done to me. There was something knocking at my back door. Not knocking. Something had busted down the door and come inside. I could squirm just enough to sense that a plug had been placed in a very strategic location inside me. It wasn’t too big; it felt thinner and longer than a regular butt-plug, and it seemed slightly curved and set right where my prostate gland sits. This is gonna be interesting. I’ve had kinky-girls in the past that loved to get a finger up in me and tickle my prostate to see how my junk responds, and boy, does it respond. The right stimulation up my ass can make me come instantly whether I’m hard or soft. A tickle to the prostate when I’m being jacked-off can make me come way harder than usual, if done correctly. It’s an amazing little gland. She knows this and she’s gonna fuck with me big time, I can tell.
Fucking hell. This was not the worst of it. There was a contraption strapped to my crotch. With my legs spread nicely, arms tightly bound, lovely heels to keep me entertained, and a squishy plug up my ass, I had what looks like a big, cylindrical jock strap that encased my cock and balls. It was about ten inches long (custom made?) and rested on the chair seat in front of me. It stuck to me firmly with elastic straps holding it secure around my waist, around my upper thighs, and down through my butt crack. It was black and rather bulky. I shifted my butt around and it seemed to have tubes and wires attached that ran through the seat and under the chair. All I could feel is a ring or strap at the base of my dick and balls, similar to the fucking cock cage but softer and a bit more elastic. I wriggled in my bondage because I was now dead sure this contraption was a milking/sucking/fucking machine and it wasn’t coming off of me any time soon. I couldn’t feel anything on the rest of my tenders. The sexy boots did make me a tiny bit hard, and I could only feel my shaft resting on something knobby and well-lubed. Oh, shit, this was bad. Thank God I couldn’t feel anything holding my ball sack.
The last thing I notice before starting to really struggle is the big TV in front of me. It was equipped with a movable video camera just underneath it. No doubt, the bitch was gonna show me stuff, talk to me, and watch me and all that. I did NOT like this. I am very susceptible to visual stimulation, sounds, and most of all, people watching me. Women in my past always loved to watch and look at my giant prick. They grabbed and jerked and stroked and waggled it. They watched it grow and turn colors. They listened to me groan and moan and pant and cuss and all that shit. It was always great turn-on for them and aggravating as fuck for me. But I still got rock-hard and stayed that way until I eventually came, and they wanted to start all over again.
So, at this point, I was a little pissed and a lot scared. I worked my arms in the straps and gained nothing. The chair was bolted to the floor so no rocking or scooting. My legs were effectively pinned and spread, and the boots restricted any movement from my ankles. My heels thumped on the carpet and the sound reminded me of the bondage videos I love to watch where a woman bangs her high-heeled pumps on carpet with ankles tied and rope under each foot, keeping the shoes from being kicked off. Fuck, I loved that sound. I was horny and frustrated and angry. I growl through gag and the sound startled me. It was loud. The leather of my boots squeaked.
Through all of this ruckus, though, guess what? I was hard and getting harder. I was hopeless. I knew then that my cock was set inside a tube with oily knobs throughout. When (not if) I got fully hard, those tiny bastards were gonna set me off with the smallest of movement. Worse, I thought there was actually something around my balls. Very soft and not tight, but definitely there. I guessed that, in my squirming, I allowed my ball sack to drop into something waiting there. I whimpered and thrust my hips back and forth. Yep. Something got a hold on my boys.
My ball sack is mostly out of bounds. I don’t enjoy testicle-play. It’s tricky and I’m way, way too sensitive. One bad flick, knock, bump, thump, or rattle is a turn-off. The pain is frightening at first, and the dull throb afterward is horrible. Enough said.
As I struggled and spat curses, I became concerned about another thing. Through all of this “activity” I seemed to be getting hard for all the wrong reasons. I struggled; I got hard. The boots make me hard. The sudden sensation on my ball sack, and I stayed hard. This is not like me. Then it hits me. I’ve been roofied.
When a man takes a blue-pill or anything similar, it does bring on side effects. Nasal passages restrict; some get a mild headache. I get both, plus my eyes water a bit more than usual. Yes, I’ve probably been injected with the big V. My watering eyes looked down at my crotch. I was unusually hard inside the milker. My shaft felt very hard, but my head felt not fully engorged. This is common when the blue-pill takes effect. That fucking cunt had no business giving me dick-juice! I never needed it and I sure as fuck don’t need it now. I rage against the straps, grunting like a trapped wolf. Nothing. And, you guessed it, I was harder than ever. The struggle had rubbed my cock against the knobs and now the head of my penis felt as big and firm and sensitive as ever. Was I gonna come? I just might. More struggling and I could get close, very close. It wasn’t gonna happen, though. The juice also gives you unbelievable stamina. The feeling waned and I was soon back to bound, gagged, pissed and horny. Just then the TV goes on. Great.
It was her. Big as life. God, she was good looking. This was not a talking head view like a skype. The camera was away and I got a shot of her sitting on a simple chair with her legs crossed. Dark business suit with low cut blouse, professional length slitted skirt and black hose and black pumps. Red soles. Heels to the sky. Outstanding thick legs down to perfect ankles. She wanted me to see all of this. She was holding a small fob in her hand.
“How’s my little puppy?” she asked. “Looks like you’re just where I want you.”
“I hate you, but the boots are great.” I mumble.
“I heard ‘boots’ in there somewhere. I hope you like them. I don’t have time to chat. You’re gonna get what I was hoping to give you in person. See you soon! Enjoy!” she sings and clicks the fob and the screen goes blank. Then all hell breaks loose.
Everything seemed to activate with the click of that little fucking fob the bitch was holding. The TV screen jumped on and a video started. A beautiful blonde woman bound harshly on a bed, mewed and cried behind a big red ball gag. Thin ropes on her wrists, elbows, knees, and ankles were connected by a twisted cord running from her ankles to the other cords, effectively putting her in a very tight and uncomfortable hogtie. Purple stiletto heeled shoes were tight on her feet. Her blouse was open, showing big fake tits with giant hard nipples. Her tiny skirt was ripped open, and a pair of thong panties were hanging around her bound ankles. She struggled with her head and pelvis rocking, giving quick glimpses of her naked pussy with short-cropped pubes. A tight crotchrope was inside her front to back and it looked delightfully painful. She was amazing.
My crotch-works started shortly after the video began. First, there began a dull vibrating of my balls inside the little pouch. I jumped. There would be some pain coming soon, but not too bad, I hoped. I tensed and tried the bondage again. Nothing. Next, the same type of vibe hit the butt plug. Small and quiet but enough to make me gasp. The fucking thing was expertly placed. The stirring inside me was right on that sweet spot, making my cock ripple with stimulation. Oh fuck, what happens when these vibes go higher? I’m not ready for this shit.
I squirmed to see if I could escape the machines, but to no avail. Each piece held on. I tried to look away from the video, but hearing this woman squeal and suffer made me look and look and look some more. Videos of women in bondage with heels were my favorite. It seemed like she was in the next room experiencing the same torment I was under. I was full-on hard. The greasy tube held my thick girth and the knobbies scraped with even the slightest movement. I started to thrust my pelvis by instinct, but the tube moved with me, increasing my frustration. If I could just get my hand on the crotchworks, I could steady it and get some friction going! I huffed and cursed through the gag, which let me get plenty of air for all this struggling. I started to sweat.
The last bit of icing on the torture-cake was the vacuum. I heard the hum of a small pump just before the dick-tube suddenly and forcefully SUCKED my cock into itself. I let out a loud OOF and then felt the knobbies grab onto me like a fist. Holy shit, what the fuck is happening? This contraption is gonna pinch my giant, meat right the fuck off!
The rest of the machine took off immediately. The ball sack pouch turned up, and my sack was engulfed in a strong but smooth vibe; not bumpy at all. I didn’t like it, but it could have been worse. The butt plug went from small vibe to a pulsing, bumping routine that shook my guts, especially that small silly gland. It was not pleasurable, but certainly not uncomfortable, either.
I was thinking I might survive all this when the knobby-vac-tube went berserk. The vacuum started to oscillate, pulling and pushing my cock back and forth across the slippery knobs with vicious suction and pressure. Intense vibration started as well, but only at the end of the tube where my precious head got the brunt of that punishment. Every time I got sucked forward into the tube the vibes would rattle my delicate head, causing an intense wave of euphoria through my whole fucking body. Back and forth. Back and forth. This piece of shit machine was literally fucking me raw, and I loved and hated every second.
The video changed from the woman to a muscular and extremely well-hung young man chained to a fortified coffee table. Thick straps on short, heavy chains were fastened tightly to his wrists and bolted to each side of the table. His legs were bent over one end, and his ankles were wrapped with a ton of thick rope which was also knotted to the table, hobbling him good. Two giant belts went across his chest and belly and around the table, buckled snuggly. A tight black gimp hood was over his head, and an ugly thick bit-gag was firmly strapped into his mouth. This guy was in for it. His flannel shirt was ripped open, jeans pushed down to his knees, heavy boots on his feet.
This guy was very well-hung. There must have been a pillow under his ass because his waist and crotch were elevated. This made his junk thrust up for all to see. He was massive. Thickest meat I ever saw. It made me look small. At least ten inches and thick as a can of soup.
A petit little woman in a cat mask came into view and I knew he was fucked. She knelt down and just started to work. The sound of the lube squirting into her hand made him start to struggle immediately. He was soft at first and her handwork did not get him going. He was probably not into this, but he needed the money. She finally got him hard and went to town with both tiny hands. He lay still and groaned though the gag, awash in the stimulation.
This all transpired in about 30 seconds, which was all it took for me to go into pre-orgasm hysteria. The machines had all stepped up their intensity and I was being vibed and sucked and fucked without mercy. I writhed and shuddered in my bondage and moaned and cried through the gag, sucking air and waiting for death or worse, climax. It would not come. I could not come.
The meds she gave me had a serious delaying effect. ED meds often help postpone premature ejaculations. Some top-shelf meds not only keep you hard but help you stay horny, aroused, and eager. I was all of these. I was also pissed, scared, elated, and embarrassed. Great combination.
That fucking bitch had me so dead to rights! I was in agony and ecstasy, bound and gagged, naked with fucking awesome boots on, getting pounded, sucked, and vibed beyond belief. Straining and writhing against the best bondage ever. Minutes seemed like hours. What could happen next? Just wait.
I’m in the throes of all this so I don’t hear the person approach my chair. It’s the Asian woman. She stepped quietly in front of me and startled me a little bit. I must have looked ridiculous. She looked me up and down, in all my naked, bound splendor. I was still convulsing and panting through my gag, and she seemed to like this. She smiled hungrily at the sight of me.
Lightning fast, she reached out with both hands and grabbed my left nipple and pulled. She fixed a clamp down on it. WTF! OUCH! Next, the right one was stretched and clamped. OW, YOU FUCKING ASSHOLE! I jumped and fought the straps with everything I had. My fingers reached out to claw her to shreds, but she just stepped back a tiny bit to examine her handiwork. Her eyes bulged at the whole scene. She smiled. She was having fun! Now I’ve got two women to murder.
With a massive schlong like mine, and the wonderful way it works, women have never had much interest in my nipples. I suppose they’re as sensitive as the next guys, but I never thought they’d be subjected to this. My predicament has now changed dramatically.
If she could, the maid would probably have grabbed my junk and had some fun, but I was covered in vibrating machinery at the moment, so she tiptoed off and disappeared. I was back in the weeds. The vibes were hitting me everywhere. The pain in my nipples had subsided, leaving a dull pressing on sensitive tissue. It was annoying, but was it really? As I struggled, the sensation kind of fit in with the pain and pleasure of everything else. I didn’t enjoy it, but it did change all of the other stimulation going on.
The butt plug vibe brought me back to reality. The prostate stimulation took over, and my body was thrust back to work. The fucking nip-attack made me go soft a bit, but I was getting over that. The vac-suck on my cock returned and the knobbies were still doing their job. I had some numbness earlier and that was gone, too. The ball sack vibe had gone quiet. The bitch knew that ball stimulation was not necessary when the rest were working. The boys just needed to sit back and let everything else go. I loved her all over again.
I was in full stim-mode now. I was sweating again and I struggled against the bondage but with less enthusiasm. I must have become exhausted. The video showed the bound hunk shooting a gigantic wad of thick cum all over himself as the tiny chick giggled and wanked this guy into oblivion. He was wailing into his gag, slobber and tears all over his handsome face. Cum-shots got me off more than I’d like to say. I’m not gay, but this guy’s cock was fucking beautiful.
The meds do delay orgasm, yes, but when it does come, it’s very slow and builds steadily bit by bit. A man can always feel the start of an orgasm deep down. The meds make this even more feelable. I was now at the point where I was gonna come harder and longer than I ever imagined, based on the deep rumbling down in my nether region. It was gonna hurt and it was gonna be heaven on earth.
Something happened at that moment that I did not expect. CHING! The straps on my ankles and calves popped away from the chair legs. The straps fell to the carpet, leaving my lower legs free inside the lovely boots. At first, I didn’t move, I was in the beginning stages of a slow-earthquake orgasm. It was building like a thick tickle-ache inside me, from my ass to my balls. The vibes quickened and the sucking got stronger and quicker. You fucking, cock-sucking BITCH!! You’ve got me!
I set my booted feet in front of me and thrusted my pelvis like a cocaine-addled porn star. The crotch machine stayed on and firmly attached. The butt vibe buzzed loudly on the highest setting. My head rolled, I bit down hard on my gag, and the nipple clamps jumped.
It hits. I’m gone.
The first wave hurt like a bitch. A gallon of hot cum surged out of me like a volcano. I screamed through the gag, but my throat was clenched and dry, so it sounded faded and hoarse. The sensation of pleasure and euphoria took over and I shivered and spasmed. The next wave was right behind, and it didn’t hurt at all. More jizz, more sweat, more screams, more breath. My insides shuddered. My ball sack was shrunk up like two walnuts. I jerked a few more times as end-cum seeped out of me and into the tube.
All the machines stopped at once. I sat back on the chair. I had been holding my ass up off the chair, cheeks clenched, this whole time. I relaxed and breathed. The gag holes helped me get my breath. I was spent. I was sore everywhere. I didn’t care anymore. I wanted someone to just walk me outside and let me die in the front yard.
Again, she must have read my thoughts because the TV jumped on, to her. On her chair, again, looking as smug and beautiful as before. I hated her. I barely had the strength to look at the screen. I wanted to marry her and be her slave forever.
“Hey pup!” Have any fun in my little get-up?” she asked.
“Uhghhhh.” I responded with my usual charm and eloquence.
She giggled. “That’s good. I see you might be a little tuckered out, so my guys will get you sorted out and I’ll see you later on. Bye, little pup.” The TV went dark.
The two big dudes came in, unhooked me, and took me out of the chair. One helped me out of the bondage and boots and the other worked the camera under the TV. The whole ordeal was definitely captured in high-def video. I hoped she wouldn’t put it out on the internet. I must have looked like an idiot.
I was taken back to my room and had enough strength to drink some water, take a shower and get into bed. I slept with vivid dreams of strangling, masturbating, and falling backwards while sitting on a hard chair. Yuck.
The next morning, there was coffee and a big breakfast waiting for me. I ate like a horse. On the dresser there was an envelope full of hundreds, a card for a taxi service and a note that said, “Look in the bottom drawer.” I did, and there, in a box, nicely polished, were my boots. I got the message loud and clear. The two dudes were waiting outside my door. Too bad I’ll never see her again.
End