By Doug UK

I found myself floating, with some kind of forward movement as if in a tunnel, although not quite a tunnel, just blackness which surrounded and enveloped me. It was a sensation I’ve had before in dreams, and yet this was not a dream. Ahead, I could see a glow of light, and slowly, almost like flying in slow motion, I moved towards it.

There was nothing there but the glow of the light; not bright, not dazzling, and strangely warm. The movement had ceased, and I was still, resting and calm. The silence was broken by a Voice, mellifluous and gentle, also strangely warm, and very comforting.

“Welcome John; or perhaps you’d prefer to be called Johnny – all your friends used to call you Johnny. They haven’t missed you yet, Johnny, but they’re beginning to think you’re a bit late for the party. You remember? James and Michael’s anniversary party? You would have been the sensation of the party in those tight new bike leathers. So tight, so body hugging, so lovely to wear on a warm evening, no underwear and your erection pressing against the hot leather at your crotch as you powered into that corner. I knew that your new Ducati would be the death of you, that’s why I let you buy the 1098. I wanted you to enjoy the speed, and I planned for you to die in full leather, with a huge erection. The timing was perfect. Your body’s still lying in the field, Johnny, no-one’s found it yet. Such a pity to see such a beautiful motorcycle lying in pieces, smashed beyond repair; and you lying there, also smashed beyond repair, that expensive helmet shattered into two. Do you know how fast you were going?”

I hesitated. Floating in the white glow, unable to see anything with eyes wide open, I was unable to speak.

“You can speak out loud. It helps to talk at this early stage in proceedings. Do you know your speed?”

Feeling a little foolish talking into nothing, I replied hesitantly, “Probably about 120 miles an hour. I suppose it was too fast for the corner. I thought I could just put my knee down and do it. I could have pulled back on the throttle, but I didn’t.”

“No, Johnny, you couldn’t pull back on the throttle: I was holding it firmly for you. Your moment had arrived, and that, as they say, was that.”

“I didn’t have a choice?”

“No-one ever has a choice. When your time comes, it comes.”

“So I’m dead?”

“Yes, you hit the tree at 126 miles an hour, exactly 2 minutes ago. Just for the record, you died less than 3 seconds after the impact.”

“I died with a hard-on. I can still feel it.”

“Oh yes, that’s why the timing is so important. If you die with a massive erection, you’ll have that erection for all eternity. Only the young and beautiful are fortunate enough to die with such a massive cock!”

I didn’t reply for a while. I needed to think. Dead from a massive crash on the Ducati, and destined to spend all eternity with the hard-on I was enjoying when I crashed?  I was aware of my own breathing, although my body was still lying in a field in Essex. And I was calm, not frightened, fully relaxed.

“Johnny,” came the Voice again, “do you feel good?”

“Yes I do. I feel very good.”

There was an even longer pause. It didn’t seem to matter how long I took to form the next question, I knew somehow that the voice was waiting patiently for me.

“Where am I?” I asked eventually.

“Initially it helps to think of this as a kind of transit lounge. It isn’t, of course, but it will help for the time being.

“Am I in heaven or am I in hell?”

The Voice laughed. “They all ask that, sooner or later. Heaven and hell are ideas invented by man, nothing whatever to do with the reality of life or death. You are nowhere that a mortal can understand, but now you have arrived, you will slowly get to comprehend your situation.”

“So are you God?”

The Voice laughed again. “Another of man’s inventions. Let’s try a simple way of helping you. You died in new tight bike leathers, didn’t you? Can you still feel them?”

“Yes.”

“Are they warm and hugging every part of your body?”

“Yes.”

“And have you still got that great erection?”

“Yes, I have.”

“Well unzip, and pull out your cock. Got it? Now do something about it!”

Floating in the glow, I stroked my cock. My whole body enjoyed the tightness of the hot leather, and I could feel the throb of the Ducati between my legs. Suddenly I exploded.

“That was good,” came the Voice. “Worth dying for, I’m sure.”

My breathing was rapid, and I couldn’t speak for a moment.

“Now let’s get organised. Lie on your back.”

I lay back within the glow.

“Can you still feel the leathers?”

“No,” I replied, puzzled.

“Describe your situation, Johnny.”

“I’m warm and comfortable, very comfortable; very calm and relaxed. I’ve got the afterglow of a great orgasm, and my cock’s still big. I feel a little sleepy, and yet I’m not falling asleep. I like this transit lounge.”

“Can you feel a small square object in your hand?”

“Yes.”

“That’s your memory stick, or at least a representation of it that you can understand. The real thing’s not a small plastic box of course, but for now the little box will do. It contains every thought you ever had during your mortal existence. Every moment of fantasy, everything that went through your brain, has been recorded. And you, Johnny, had more moments of fantasy than most mortals.”

“Oh shit.”

“No don’t worry, Johnny. It’s greatly to your advantage to have had such a brilliant imagination. Every moment of bondage, real and imagined, every longing, every dream, they’re all here. Every story you read online, every photo and every video, every time you thought, ‘I wish that was me,’ all are recorded. Together, of course, with all the other thoughts and fantasies.”

“You mean, when I was in a backroom, on my knees and said, ‘Take me home master and lock me up forever and throw away the key,’ it’s all recorded?”

“Not just when you said it, Johnny, but every time you thought it: every flashing moment of your imagination. Just thinking, for a moment, that you’d like to spend a lifetime in that one’s cage, or this one’s straightjacket: it’s all recorded. And did you have an amazing imagination. Most people just dream of living on a luxury yacht, or spending a lifetime on Venice Beach, California; but not you. You spent every waking hour dreaming of bondage – tight, inescapable, lifetimes of bondage.”

“And what becomes of this record of my perverted mind?”

“You will live out every minute of every desire; you will experience every lifetime that you dreamed of. Your mind will come back here between each fantasy – about once every seventy or eighty years by Earth reckoning – and rest before the next fantasy develops. And just for the record, on one evening a few weeks ago, your total fantasies, spoken and thought, came to nearly half a million years. Just do the maths: six dreams a minute, every minute and every hour for nearly twenty hours, most dreams being of a lifetime of extreme bondage; let’s allow about seventy years per lifetime – are you still following me? – that’s four hundred and ninety four thousand years worth of fantasy. Now if just one day of your adult fantasy thoughts gives you half a million years of bondage, just think how many millennia will pass as you live though all your years of dreams and passions.”

“Most of them in pretty scary bondage, I suppose,” I said.

“Precisely,” came the Voice. “We’ll start from your eighteenth birthday. Do you remember that morning? You woke with a massive hard-on. How did your day start?”

“I’m not sure; I suppose lay in bed and masturbated, like most mornings, dreaming of bondage of some kind.”

“You certainly did. I’ve checked the record. You’re not going to like everything about the next few million years – indeed the next experience is but a taste of the terrors to come. But then, the kind of bondage you crave would be terrifying to most people – perhaps not so terrifying to you. You’ll soon find out. Here’s the first thought from that rather special birthday.”

Iron bands clamped tightly on my wrists and ankles. A massive iron collar was welded about my neck. Huge chains connected the iron bands, weighing me down so I could hardly move. And the thought came into my head, of my birthday wish – a lifetime in chains: I’d wished to spend longer in heavy, inescapable iron bondage than anyone had ever before me.

My comfortable bed was replaced with a pile of rough straw, and as I turned my head slowly, the massive collar preventing any quick movements, I saw I was in a cage. It was gloomy, but not dark, and beyond the cage I could make out a room built of rough cinder block; light filtered in through a small window. The chain between my ankles was welded permanently to a big iron ring set into the floor, giving me a very restricted area for movement.

A door opened, bringing a flood of sunlight into the room. “Are you awake, birthday boy? Ready for some breakfast?” I recognised the keeper from my fantasy, bringing a bowl of something to eat. “Welcome to the rest of your life,” smiled the keeper. “You’re the boy who wants to live in chains for the rest of your life, aren’t you? And you dreamed how heavy the chains would be, and how massive the collar. And you dreamed how every link in the chains was welded, and how you’d never leave this cage, living your life weighed down with the iron, passing each and every day struggling to move. You dreamed of bowls of food passed through the bars of the cage, and of nothing to sleep on except a pile of straw. You dreamed of remaining naked except for the chains, naked for a lifetime in a cage. And you asked to become the man who lived longer than anyone else had ever spent chained up this way. Well the last man who lived in this cage finished this experience when he was nearly ninety years old. He entered his chained life when he was almost thirty, so by our reckoning, he endured sixty years. I think you’ll be here for at least sixty-five years – and of course, we may find out about someone else, somewhere else, who has been chained for longer, so we’d have to extend your time. Enjoy your breakfast.”

I lay back in the straw. Eighteen years old, and chained up for life. With difficulty, with the massive band around my wrist, I felt for my cock.  Yes, there was still the morning hard-on. Slowly I pulled on my cock, feeling it rise and harden further.

Those years passed slowly. I never washed, shaved or had my hair cut. I resembled a chained ape, more than a man. If I’d had the strength to pace up and down, I would have done so, but I never fully conquered the weight of the chains.

Sometimes I would hear the Voice inside my head. “This is just the first of hundreds of fantasies which flew around in your head on your birthday. Some of them will be far harder than this to endure. Relax and enjoy your chains every hour of every day. That morning, just as you woke you for your birthday, you had so many fantasies. Within a few seconds of this dream, you were dreaming of something much worse, much more difficult to endure. And in about seventy earth years from now, you’ll find out just how perverted you were.”

The days passed slowly in that cage. Gradually I become stronger, and more unaware of the weight of the collar. The constant sound of the chains, which accompanied every movement, became the background to my life. With nothing to distract me, I spent much time trying to remember the fantasies of my earlier years. Just what had I imagined on that fateful morning of my eighteenth birthday?

As I became older, my mind was less alert, and my mental struggles to remember old fantasies faded. Each day was a physical struggle, a horrific workout of all my aching muscles, dragging the weight of the bondage in the small circle allowed by the chains. And all the time, that massive hard-on, all day, every day, crying out for relief. Every clink of the chain, every restricted movement of my head reinforced the hard-on, maintaining it in peak condition.

At last my time had come, and I felt the bondage release and vanish, the sound of the chains fade, and I was in that warm white cocoon, and the Voice was there to greet me.

“How was your life time in chains?” came the Voice.

“Terrible and wonderful,” I replied. “My body needs this heavy bondage, and my mind and cock respond constantly, but it’s hard.”

“And will get harder. But first, can you feel another of those little boxes in the hand?”

To my surprise, there was another box – tiny and smooth – which I had not noticed before.

“That’s a physical representation of the next memory stick. It’s the record of all those thoughts you had in the cage. All that struggling to remember and fantasise about the thoughts which flooded your brain when you were a young man, all those repeated imaginings, all have been recorded, and will form the second phase of your eternal life in bondage.”

“You mean every thought is recorded now, and in each re-lived fantasy life, is itself re-lived in the future?”

“You’re beginning to understand the meaning of eternity. You cannot stop thinking, and in your case you cannot prevent ever-more gross and extraordinary bondage situations. Every thought translates into virtual reality of the future. You will never escape your bondage dreams.”

With that, light faded. Gradually I felt my old heavy steel collar close around my neck, tighter than before. The welded chains appeared, shorter, and the wrist and ankle cuffs took hold of me – heavier and bigger in every way. But this was somehow different. I couldn’t move.  Flat on my back, there was no movement of any sort possible: the steel collar which clamped my neck in its vice-like grip was immovable. It was then that the same old keeper appeared.

“You poor sod,” he said, gently kneeling just outside the cage, and just within my vision. “To think of wanting a lifetime with your neck welded to the floor. I’ll do what I can to help you, but every day will be so hard.”

“How old am I?” I asked.

“Eighteen,” he replied, “just as you were when you first dreamed this dream. A few seconds after you dreamed the last dream of a life in chains.”

“How can I survive a lifetime welded to the floor of this cage?” I asked.

“With agony and difficulty,” the keeper replied. “But I’ve been assigned to keep you alive for the next seventy years.”

Staring at the ceiling, a smile crept across my face. The collar was agonisingly tight, and my cock agonisingly hard. Slowly and with great difficulty, I moved my right hand to find my cock, and settled down to enjoy this particularly challenging product of my perverted imagination.

Seventy years welded to the floor of a cage, each minute, each day, each year in agony. It was not long before I had little left in my cock, and my attempts for orgasm became harder and harder. Eventually I stopped masturbating altogether, and each long day stretched before me as a meaningless and motionless stretch of boredom. Sometimes my mind wandered, and I found myself dreaming of worse perversions and fantasies which reminded me of my ever-present and exhausting hard-on; and then I would shudder as I realised that all of my mental wanderings were being recorded just as my fetish thoughts had been recorded during my earthly time. My current thoughts would become experiences stretching eternally ahead of me.

At last the seventy years was finished. I was floating once more in the calm of the Voice. “I’ve checked the record. You thought of that situation many times over when you were living your earthly life. But now for something altogether more comfortable, although you’ll be even more totally immobilised. Be still now and rest.”

A rushing of air and a tight restrictive collar around my neck was puzzling at first. I was lying, it seemed in a bed, a warm and comfortable bed, an amazing and soothing experience after the horrors of the last experience. And yet I was completely immobilised.

“Awake now, Johnny?” came a man’s voice. Staring directly up at the ceiling, I became aware of a mirror placed over my head, and into view came a smiling nurse.

“What’s happened to me?” I asked.

“Have you forgotten?” he replied. “You came in last week with a severe case of polio, one of the worst this year. You’re in an iron lung. You’re paralysed from the neck down. This machine is doing your breathing.”

I closed my eyes. I remembered. I had fantasised about being in an iron lung. And yes, I had fantasised about being in one for my entire adult life. I sighed. I suppose this was the first day of another life-long fantasy.

“I’m never going to get out of this thing, am I?

“Don’t be pessimistic,” replied the nurse. “Most patients get out of their lungs within a few weeks, and most of the rest manage to breathe on their own eventually.”

“But some never do,” I said. “For some it’s a life sentence, isn’t it?”

“Let’s wait see,” he smiled.

I closed my eyes. I knew it was a life sentence, because I could now remember my fantasy. The collar held close about my neck was tight but comfortable; my situation was indeed pleasant. Inside the steel tank, I reached for my cock. Nothing happened. I had no movement in my hand. Without any ropes or bondage, I was fully immobilised. The polio virus had done what all the dungeon equipment in the world could not do. I was unable to masturbate. I imagined that my cock was still erect, but I could neither see it, nor feel it.

I opened my eyes and into the mirror came a different face, that of a handsome man.

“Do you remember me?” he asked.

“No,” I replied. “Do I know you?”

“I was the doctor you saw last week when we admitted you. You were delirious and incoherent, so it’s not surprising you’re confused. Over the next days and weeks, we will be assessing you, and working with you to see how we are going to get you out of this thing.”

“No, you won’t.” I stated smoothly.

“But we will,” he replied. “It’s usual at this early stage to be confused. Many patients quickly start to feel the iron lung gives them security, and they feel panic at the thought of leaving the lung. However, after a while, and however scared they are, we get them out and up and back to normal life.”

“You don’t understand,” I smiled, “I know how totally I am paralysed. And I know that I will be in this machine for the next seventy years. Now tell me what kind of sex life I can have.”

“I think it’s a little early to be thinking of that kind of thing,” replied the doctor.

“I never think of anything else,” I replied.

“It’s just not appropriate at this time,” he said. “I’ll talk again later.”

And he vanished from my vision, to be replaced by another young and smiling man. The new face winked. “I heard that,” he said. “Be patient, and we’ll see what we can do.” And with that he leaned forward and kissed me on the lips.

My eyes opened wide in surprise. “Shush!” he whispered, “Not a word. I’ll be back later.

Perhaps this lifetime was not going to be so bad after all. Had I really imagined a lover whilst in the iron lung?

I lay listening to the hiss of the breathing machine. It was louder than I had expected in my fantasy, and I wondered how I would live with this mechanical noise permanently filling my ears. The first day in the lung passed uneventfully, and surprisingly I dosed a little.

In the evening the face re-appeared in the mirror, again winking and smiling. He kissed me hard on the lips, then stood back.

“I expect you have already worked out that there are ports in the side of the lung, enabling nurses to attend to you. I can access one of these ports, and give you some massage, play with your cock, and who knows what. Unfortunately I can’t do anything except with my hand, so I can’t suck you off, even though I’d like to.”

“I wasn’t expecting such attention,” I replied. “Feel me, touch me, do all you can.”

“It’s my pleasure,” he said, “right now.”

“That’s wonderful,” I replied. “Please take your time.”

A lovely hard erection,” he said. “Can you feel it?”

“Yes,” I replied, “I can. I just can’t do anything about it.” At that moment, he suddenly stopped, and I felt his fingers on my nipples. “Yes, yes!” I exclaimed. “I’ve always loved people to play with my nipples. Grab my cock again, and twist my nipples!”

“Keep calm,” he replied. “I can only put one hand into the lung from this side, so on my own I can’t work nipples and cock. And anyway, this is just the first day. I understand you’re in here for a lifetime, so we’ll have lots of time to get to know one another, and explore what we can do. I love edge play – and you’re going to get an awful lot of that! Now open your mouth.”

His hand vanished from my nipple, and suddenly in the mirror I saw his naked body advancing.  As he got close, the mirror was taken away and his arse lowered onto my face. I licked eagerly at his hole.  Soon afterwards he turned and fed his cock into my mouth. I sucked hard, but the mechanical breathing of my iron lung limited my ability to suck him off. He didn’t linger long, and without cumming, he moved away again.

Swinging the mirror back into place, he said, “That’s enough for today. I just wanted to start exploring.  You’re trapped lying in this machine. I think I’m going to have a lot of fun with you. Sweet dreams, pretty boy.” And with a quick kiss on the lips, he vanished from my vision.

Mostly, I had had a great time with him, but his last remark left me with a little uncertainty. I hope the fun he was expecting to have with me would also be fun for me.

In the night, I heard the Voice. “Well, Johnny, how are you doing? Comfortable in your iron lung? Content and comfortable? Don’t forget that every lifelong fantasy you had during your earthly life will be lived out to its full extent now you are dead. That morning, when you awoke on your eighteenth birthday, you had a delicious rock-solid hard-on; and as you stroked it, many fantasies flashed through your mind. This iron lung fantasy is just the third that you had within a minute of waking up. You continued to imagine scenario after scenario. Using your earthly way of measuring time, just one minute’s fantasy has so far given you over two hundred years of bondage. Multiply that by all the seconds, and days and months of fantasy, and you will start to understand eternity. And while you are enjoying or enduring acting out the fantasies of your earthly existence, your brain is recording all the fantasies you are dreaming whilst in your current predicament. So you see, your dreams will expand expotentially, ensuring that you spend eternity in bondage, varying from pure pleasure to torture of the most severe and painful kind. Sleep well Johnny.”