24 hours at the Hammer

By boyinacage

Chris stood in a dim lit corner of the back bar. It was leather night at the Hammer, the local fetish bar. Every few years, when passing through this city, he had dropped in. His score rate here was average, but even if he didn’t find a hookup he enjoyed the atmosphere.

At the moment he had his eye on a pair of boots. He had a passion for a man in boots. These were laced all the way up to the man’s knees. They were black and were shined to a high polish. Chris let his eyes slowly work their way from the top of the boots to the man’s package. Tight red rubber emphasised two well-developed thighs, which in turn helped to define a tight pair of arse cheeks.

Sweeping his eyes up further, the body was defined by a two-toned rubber military shirt. The shirt was obviously designed to enhance a broad set of shoulders and two well developed pecs. Above the shoulders was the lightly bearded face of a man in his mid forties. Gently he let his eyes travel back down to the boots. He could almost taste them as he pictured himself worshiping them. If he had a weakness, it was a great pair of boots, particularly when they were a natural extension of the wearer.

Chris cursed the 20mg of Cialis he had taken before coming out. Even though he didn’t need it at all, he enjoyed the sensation of the slightest provocation sending him rock hard instantly. Now, however, with a mind of its own, it was trying to force its way out from the rubber codpiece of his jockstrap in no uncertain manner. The fact that his rubber cock ring would not release the blood from his engorged cock was not helping the situation.

The codpiece was embraced by the opening of his chaps. Chris was proud of this recent purchase. Also made of rubber they were skin tight all the way to his ankles and emphasised both his thighs and calves. A pair of yellow stripes descended provocatively down the outside of both legs. With his stocky body, his arse was well framed. To top off the look Chris had chosen a black tit vest with yellow piping, to do for his chest what his chaps did for his arse.

Putting down his empty pint glass Chris navigated himself to the bar, via the man in the boots. The room was now quite crowded which meant that Chris had to slide through the crowd, gently moving people so he could make his objective. He purposely slid behind the man with the boots, who was now in deep conversation with a towering skinhead who looked like his bleachers had been painted on. As he squeezed by he murmured into the ear of the man in the boots: “Let me know if you want me to kiss your boots, and clean them with my tongue…”

Having delivered his message Chris continued to the bar to replenish his empty pint. With the fresh pint in hand he manoeuvred his way back to his post in the corner of the bar. As the night progressed there was no sign of the man in the boots and Chris pushed him from his mind, chatting with anybody who came close and wanted to engage. Eventually, he had to break his socialising and head to the urinals. With four or five pints under his belt it was time.

It was approaching midnight, the busiest time of the night, and the lines for the urinals were 4 or 5 deep for each. As he stood and waited his turn he felt a hand on his shoulder. A sensual touch. He breathed deep and waited to see what happened next. The hand dropped below his arm and a second hand did the same on his other side. Both hands gently rubbed his exposed nipples whilst slowly pulling him backwards into the body of the person behind him. His cock hardened instantly and he relaxed into the body only to feel a hard cock, encased in rubber, resting against his exposed crack.

With the sensual rubbing of his nipples a deep voice sounded in his ear, “boy, you made me an offer earlier, are you still interested in my boots?” Mesmerised, Chris realised this must be the man in the boots who had disappeared. He murmured his assent, almost a whisper, “Yes Sir, I am.” Whilst one hand continued to sensually arouse a nipple the other descended and stroked his engorged cock.

The voice continued in his ear, “There is a price, are you willing to pay it?” Intoxicated by the situation and thinking with his cock, Chris asked the price, the response came whispered in his ear: “24 hours as my toy, to do as I like, to humiliate you, tie you up, enslave you, display you publicly and to share my fun with my friends.” Chris moaned as the man in the boots stroked his nipples and cock. In his minds eye he could picture those boots over the red rubber encased legs. He barely heard the price, only registering there was no money involved – that would have been a step too far.

Chris was now next in the line for the urinal as the voice made its final sensual suggestion. “To signify your acceptance all you have to do is kiss my left boot and start running your tongue over it. And you need to do it right now — not in five minutes — but right now.” The body behind him stepped back and hand gently pushed his shoulder downwards. As if in a dream Chris sank to his knees and lowered his head to a boot. The urinal didn’t matter now, he was too hard with his Cialis enhanced cock pushing against his codpiece. He kissed the boot and ran his tongue over it. As he did so, he felt a wide collar being put around his neck.

Suddenly his arms were pulled back and his wrists cuffed. Dazed, he looked up as an o-gag was wrapped and strapped on. He looked up, his mouth now forced open by the gag, into the grey fathomless eyes of the man in the boots. “You’ve sealed our bargain, thank you. I do believe it’s your turn for the urinal, but as you’re incapacitated now, it’s my turn,” and with that the man in the boots unzipped his red rubber jeans, inserted his cock in Chris’s open mouth and proceeded to unleash a stream right down his throat. Chris gagged and piss went everywhere. The stream continued, uninterrupted.

When he was done a hand pushed Chris’s head back to the boots and commanded him to lick the piss off them. Shocked, Chris did as he was told, even though the o-gag made it difficult. When he was done, he was pulled to his feet by a strong set of unknown arms behind him. He was held there facing his captor, the man in the boots. The man brought his face close to Chris and kissed him on his mouth, still forced open by the gag. The man smiled at him, and ran his hands down Chris’s piss soaked front, till he reached the codpiece. He slipped his hand to the lower press stud and pulled hard and quickly. It came away in his hand, leaving Chris’s engorged 9-inch cock exposed for the world to see.

Chris’s eyes bulged when the man in red produced a chain leash from out of thin air and attached one end to his Prince Albert. Then turning on the heels of those oh, so beautiful boots, started to lead him out of the men’s room by his cock. Mortified, Chris had no choice but to follow. Attempting the first step he discovered another handicap, his low boxer boots were now cuffed by a short chain. The best he could do was a quick hobble to keep up. The o-gag remained in place, preventing him from complaining.

Re-emerging into the dark bar by the tugging of his engorged cock the embarrassment was humiliating. He was now at the mercy of the unknown man who led him through to the courtyard at the rear of the bar. As they headed to a darkened corner he spotted his captor’s tall skinhead friend from earlier, amongst a group of similarly attired men. Two muscular skinheads detached themselves from the group, grabbed him by the arms, and maneuvered him against the chain link fence that faced out into the car park.

Deftly he was roped to the fence. His face pressed against it as a padlock was used to connect his collar to the chains of the fence. His legs were uncuffed and spread wide before being locked into place. As he stared out silently into the car park another of the group materialised and pulled his cock through the fence, letting the chain mesh of the fence act as a second cock ring, establishing his enhanced hard on to be accessible to anybody on the outside.

When everything was secured the skinhead grabbed his cock and rubbed it sensually. Chris groaned through the o-gag, unable to respond due to the rigidity of his bondage. After getting the reaction he wanted his tormentor stopped, brought his face close to Chris’s, hawked and sent a gob straight into Chris’s mouth. Shocked, Chris watched as the man stepped back and sent another sailing into his face. That was the last thing Chris saw that night as a rubber hood was rolled down over his head from behind, laces pulling it tight.

Over the next few hours Chris went into a trance. Hands and mouths played with his cock and nipples. Sometimes pleasurable sucking, other times hard tweaks and slaps. Never enough to let his cock explode, but enough to keep him in the zone. For the longest time his exposed arse was played with, rubbed, slapped, the odd finger penetrating. All tease, keeping him on edge.

As the night progressed he could hear cars leaving, people laughing, and the crowds dispersing. Some played with him before they left, others whispered humiliating comments in his ears. As Chris began to wonder what was next he felt a rubber clad body press against his back. The mesmerising voice of the man in the boots whispered in his ear: “It’s just you, me and my friends now, everybody else has left.”

With that, he felt the man’s lubricated cock slide up and down his arse crack, teasing him. Slowly it started to press against his hole, a hole already loosened by fingers throughout the night. In and out it slid, a little bit at first, slowly gaining depth with every stroke. Chris moaned as the speed and depth accelerated. He felt the man tense as he pounded Chris’s arse, and then felt him relax as he climaxed. Chris was ready to explode but was too late as the man withdrew.

Gently, Chris was released from the fence. Exhausted, he slumped to his knees. Blind, due to the hood, he stayed on his knees, as his arms were re-cuffed behind him. A hand pushed him down so that his mouth was on a boot. He got the message and through the o-gag and the mouth hole in the hood, he finally got to lick those boots that got him into this mess in the first place.

* * *

Chris woke, desperately in need of a piss, his bladder at bursting point. He could not see, indeed he could not move his head. His arms were loosely stretched, and anchored, away from his body, held slightly Lower than his chest on either side.

He was on his knees. He tried to lift his arse only to realise he was impaled. As he tried to lift his arse something pulled on his balls, preventing him from rising further than a few inches. He slumped back down forcing the girth of the object to once again push into his hole. With the pressure against his prostate and the pressure of his bladder, his cock tried to come alive. Sharp pricks of pain pushed back, preventing his cock from raising. He realised he was wearing a cock cage. One that was way too small for his nine inches.

Slumping, he had no choice but to let the piss flow. The pressure on the object filling his arse slowly reduced. He began to focus, even as the smell of piss began to assault his nostrils. He had no idea where he was. He tried to adjust his posture, only managing to let whatever he was sitting on fuck his arse, and stretch his balls. Again his cock tried to respond. Chris cursed the fact that the Cialis would last three days, and would, at the slightest provocation try to expand his cock, even despite the pain of pin pricks.

Without warning a boot kicked him in the balls. He tried to yelp. He couldn’t. Whilst his mouth wasn’t as stretched as it was last night, it was now full. Now aware of the rubber pressing the sides of his mouth he took a deep breath and realised he could breathe through the gag. He relaxed only to be kicked in the balls again. With each kick he lifted and sunk, virtually fucking himself, which began the ball stretching and cock pricking cycle.

Through the hood he heard a laugh before piss started sliding down through the hole in the gag. Then he heard the voice of the man in red latex tell him not to panic because the piss was his own, captured as he had pissed earlier. There was nothing he could do, the gag went too far back, it pressed his tongue down, preventing him from using it to stop the flow. There was nowhere else for it to go, so Chris concentrated on gulping it down to prevent himself from drowning.

As he was trying to focus pain shot through his nipples, making him cough, forcing piss back up. His captor was twisting the rings in his nipples. There was too much going on, pain in his balls as they were kicked, piss flowing into his gullet, nipples shouting, his cock stinging and the relentlessness of the pressure in his arse. It was a hell of a way to wake up. And he still had no idea where he was.

The voice was back, whispering in his ear. Eight hours, he was only a third of the way through his payment. He felt the gag being removed, he relaxed, then the hood came off, and his head slumped forward. The grey eyes peered into his as the o-gag from last night was returned. A small laugh as he was told to relax as “we have company coming for lunch.” Over the gag a head harness. Then he was alone.

In front of him was a mirror. He could see that a chain was hooked to the head harness, holding his head upright. He was in a closet, entirely made from angled mirrors. He could see his arms connected to eyeholes in the side walls, his hands completely wrapped in tape, both forming fists. Due to the angles of the mirrors he could see the large dildo in his arse and the fact that a metal ball stretcher was also linked to an eye hole below him. He could not believe that his cock could fit in such a small metal cage, even though he could see the flesh pushing through the slits along its edge.

Chris woke with a start. He hadn’t realised it was possible to sleep in the position he was. Light flooded through the door, framing the man in the boots. Now, however, he was wearing rubber bleachers, white and blue splotched bleachers, his boots were again knee high but this time they were oxbloods, and his braces and polo were matching. Chris’s cock, despite everything, tried to come to attention, making his captor laugh.

The grey eyed skinhead unbuttoned his codpiece to unveil one of the largest pieces of meat Chris had ever seen. He watched wide eyed as the man moved forward, ramming his boots under Chris’s thighs, and slowly pushing the cock into Chris’s o-gagged mouth. The throat fucking started slowly, building up rhythm, Chris gagged, but was unable to stop it. Several times the man had to stop to allow Chris to heave, but eventually he had no choice but swallow the man’s load.

Exhausted, Chris slumped as best he could, as the door once again closed. When the man returned, he detached Chris from the wall, and slowly helped him off the dildo. The man bent down and rubbed him on the head and gave some small words of praise, indicating how impressed he was. He then pushed Chris’s head down to allow Chris to run his tongue over the boots. Chris relaxed, after all, this was what he had envisioned when he first saw the guy.

Slowly the man in the boots led him out of the closet on his hands and knees and out into the sunshine. On the back deck were two bowls, in one was dry cereal, the other empty. The man poured a can of beer into the empty one, lifted the other and drowned the cereal in piss. Removing the gag somehow from under the head harness he told Chris that if he spoke, or didn’t finish both bowls, he couldn’t be responsible for what happened next. With that, he attached a short chain from his collar to an eyelet in the floor, turned and left the room.

Once again Chris woke. This time on his hands and knees. Stomach resting on some sort of board, that kept his body correctly positioned. His thighs were strapped to the frame, spread wide enough to allow his balls to be pulled backwards without squeezing them, yet close enough together that his knees provide appropriate support. His arms were similarly strapped to supports at the front.

The point where he woke was as his head was being pulled back and the head harness was being attached in such a way that he was looking directly forward. He watched helplessly as a dildo was attached to a strut in front of his face, with one end in his mouth, forcing his lips around it. Suddenly the bench he was on swung around ninety degrees, allowing him to see another, similarly sized one start to be positioned in the same way to his arse.

Once everything was in place the whole contraption was rolled forward toward a ramp in the backyard, and as it moved, both dildos, working in opposite directions fucked his face and arse. In tandem with this his balls were pulled down and released up in the same rhythm. Literally as the contraption moved he was fully fucked. The man with grey eyes laughed and told him how beautiful he looked. Kissing him on the forehead, he turned and left to answer the doorbell.

Chris was both immobilised and mortified, not knowing who was at the door. He started to throw a boner, but once again the far to small cage inhibited him. Positioned as he was, watching the back door, he saw two of the skin heads from last night come through. Despite everything he could not take his eyes off their boots. One laughed, turned to the other and said that he hoped he would get a chance to fuck today, apparently the man who collared him hadn’t allowed it last night.

A laugh from his host, at the top of the stairs, indicated that he’d be fair game later in the day. The two newcomers came down and ran their hands over Chris’s body. Chris recognised one as the guy who had spat in his face last night, and at the moment of realisation, the guy repeated the gesture. The second guy whipped out an impressive cock, which using it as a hose, washed it from Chris’s face. At that juncture the host left for the door again.

Over the next few hours a group of around 20 had gathered. After an hour or so of playing with the day’s entertainment, pushing it around watching it do its thing, they settled into some serious beer drinking. So it wasn’t much longer before the front dildo was replaced with a funnel gag, and not much longer before the rear one was replaced with the real thing. Over the next few hours Chris began to fill with piss from one end, whilst the other end had a day like never before. Just as promised, he was humiliated, completely.

* * *

Chris was back in the mirrored closet. This time he was standing, or rather, balancing, on his toes. He was still clothed in the rubber tit vest, skin-tight rubber chaps and boxer boots he had worn to the Hammer. Thus it was probably more accurate to say he was balancing on the toes of his boxer boots.

Once again he had been relieved of the o-gag, which had been replaced by a stuffer gag, held in place by a head harness. The head harness was connected to a pulley in the ceiling, and he could clearly see in the multitude of mirrors the other end of the chain tautly supporting the arse hook. If he dropped from his toes, the hook rose, forcing his arse upwards, the deep probe having nowhere else to go.

Things had improved for his cock though. It had been released from the confines of the cage that he’d discovered on it this morning. It was now being held up via a chain that ran from his right nipple ring, through his PA and back up to his left nipple ring. Again, the chain was a little too short to be comfortable. His balls were also beginning to ache. The Cialis, the constant fucking, and the sexual stimulation had been building the pressure in his balls. What he really, really, needed to do was blow his load.

The closet door opened. The fathomless grey eyes of his consensual captor looked into his, and laughed. Unfortunately, Chris was unable to respond to the question that was asked: was the price worth it, to lick and worship those boots, so occasionally and sporadically?

As he swung from toe to toe his captor caught his balls and tugged. Chris gasped as he tried to step back. His hands, cuffed behind his back, prevented him from maintaining any semblance of balance, as his head was pulled up and the probe drove up into his arse, he hung momentarily with no foot support. There was a chuckle a spiked parachute was added to his balls. Weights were attached, painfully pulling down on them. It was excruciating. The door closed again. The lights went out.

It was to be hours before the door would open again. Chris had no idea where to focus. As he swung, dropped from his toes, and writhed for a better position, the pain shifted from his arse, to his nipples, to his balls and to his cock. There was no comfortable position. He may as well have been blindfolded it was so dark, and this meant nothing more than that there was no visual distractions for the shifting pain.

* * *

Once again Chris couldn’t see. Eventually, he had been released from his standing torment. Three skinheads had taken him down and removed the chains. They had wrapped him in layers of shrink wrap from the shoulders down. Once several layers had been applied they had him on his hands and knees. Once in position they had added more layers. Then they started on the duct tape. The black linen type that didn’t stretch.

Once they had applied so many layers he couldn’t move his arms or legs, they rolled him onto his back. His legs and arms remained fixed in their position. Still gagged, he blanched as one of them sat a naked arse on his face. It appeared this was for practical purposes as well as for pleasure as he felt pressure around his nipples as tape was sliced away to expose them. Just enough for the nipple and the rings to be pulled through. The same was done for his cock and balls, and also for his arse.

Completed, the arse was moved from his face, and he watched tape being added to secure the breaches to make sure the holes did not expand. With that the skinhead with the naked arse sat on his chest. In his had he held a rubber cock ring that had been turned into an o-ring gag by a duct tape strap. This was then used to replace the existing stuffer gag. Once firmly in place, with his mouth forced open once again, the guy jerked of into his face. This was the repeated by the other two. Once they were done, they rubbed what didn’t make it into his mouth, into his face. Just as he thought he was going to drown in the jism and his own saliva, they flipped him back on his hands and knees, allowing the build up to run out of his mouth. They laughed.

As he looked up he saw the boots that got him into this mess. Once again the boots had been topped with the red rubber pants and the well encased package. This time instead of the rubber military top he was wearing a rubber muscle singlet. He was still one hot man, and as he looked up Chris could feel his cock expanding to its full length and girth. There was no hiding how much this guy turned him on.

Chris, however, could not move a muscle. He watched, drooling, as the guy brought a box over and placed it under his head. A boot was placed on it, his chin just touched the top of the boot. A single word commanded him to worship. With the best effort he could, he pushed his tongue through the cockring and licked. First one boot and then the other. For half an hour he worshipped, worshipped to an ongoing litany of praise and degradation. His cock at full mast for the whole episode.

Having done what he had set out to do originally Chris began to feel positive. The boot worshipping had been glorious, even with the restrictions. However, boot worship, once done always came with a follow up down side he was coming to realise because when the boots and the box were removed the man in the boots unleashed a steady stream of piss onto his head.

Rather than waiting till it dried the skinheads returned and wrapped his head in shrink wrap. Poking a small hole into it every time they passed over his gag. The shrink wrap didn’t just wrap around his head, but also his neck, around his shoulders, chest and back. Slowly as his cum and piss stained head disappeared, so did his sight. Finally, he was lost in the dark as the duct tape completed his total encasement. Somewhere in the process tape must have been used to pull his head back because the final product was just an object with a hole facing forward (the tape had been applied to the edge of the gag to allow the full opening of the cockring) and a hole facing backward, with his cock, balls, nipples and their rings hanging down.

* * *

The truck stopped. Chris felt himself being lifted and carried. He was placed on the ground somewhere. He could hear voices, he could smell stale beer. Occasionally, he felt boots against his arms and legs. Immobile he had no idea what was going on, besides an occasional prod he was essentially ignored. After what seemed an eternity, which in reality was around two hours or so, he was lifted again. This time when he was put down it was on something higher.

It was the smell of urine that made him realise he was in a washroom. The full enormity of what was going on struck him. He was an inanimate object with two exposed holes in a washroom. Then the horror dawned as he heard that deep voice from the previous night whisper in his ear thanking him for his 24 hours of service, telling him he was now back where he was found, and free to resume his life where he had left it. As he felt a cock penetrate his arse he heard: We’re off to the Eagle, we hope to see you there sometime. Then, as he felt a cock enter his gag and tasted the first tepid drops of piss on his tongue, he realised he had to escape on his own. There was nobody with a plan to release him.

Metal would like to thank boyinacage for this story!

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4 thoughts on “24 hours at the Hammer”

  1. Oh my dear sweet goodness.

    So many kinks in this story which aren’t perfectly mine, but damn if this isn’t one of the hottest stories I’ve read in ages!!

    By the way, are you aware that the word “fetish” in Hebrew is the exact same as the word for “hammer” in Hebrew? Literally, if you ask a vanilla person to translate “יש לי כמה פטישים” to English, they will say, “I have a few hammers,” but if you ask a kinky person they will translate it, “I have a some fetishes.”

    So when your story started with, “…at Hammer, the local fetish bar…”, at first I thought you were making a Hebrew joke with your name for the bar!

    1. Glad you enjoyed. I was previously unaware of these linguistic relationships you mention. However, there may be some resonance in the universe because it was the name of bar run by a Jewish friend of mine back in the late 90s.

  2. Great, fantastic story with a lousy ending. Chris should have been returned to the Hammer exactly as he was before the 24 hours started. To leave him in a restroom in immobile shrink wrap and duct tape without a way to escape was cruel and heartless. This ending leaves a bad taste in this subs mouth!

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