By Bikermike

I must say that I can look back to what happened to me some six years ago with a degree of fondness and if I am honest, more than a soupçon of a sense of security. Strangely enough, I can remember verbatim the early conversations we had in the first few days of my captivity. Whether it was because of the shock of something terrible and new I have no idea. The following six years I remained as this guy’s captive seemed like a blur of memory; akin, I suppose to what some might refer to as “institutionalisation.”

I was eighteen and was hitch-hiking home from the city centre one night in the pouring rain. I cannot remember the type of vehicle that stopped; perhaps a Range Rover. The driver – I suppose in his forties and of stocky but muscular build reached over to let me into the passenger’s door. ‘Where are you off to, mate?’ he enquired. I explained that I lived a further ten miles up this particular road and would thankfully appreciate a lift, given the horrible weather. I climbed in and put on the seat-belt.

I can remember the guy rummaging in his glove compartment and pulled out a small box of what I supposed were peppermints: something like “Tic-Tacs.” ‘Here! Have a mint, mate, it’ll warm you up!’ he said as he shook two into my hand. I thought the taste was a bit odd – pepperminty but also bitter.

The next thing I remember was waking up in a dimly lit cellar, with a muzzy head, naked and chained by my neck to a hook cemented into the cellar wall. I wanted to pee. I called out in fear ‘Help! Please let me out!’ Silence.

[[WARNING: This story contains extreme elements that some readers might find objectionable. Continue reading at your own risk.]]

The cellar contained all sorts of contraptions cemented into the floor, attached to the other walls or suspended from the ceiling. Just off the side of the cellar to where I was chained was an opening. My chain seemed to be quite long so I crawled on my hands and knees (I was still feeling very dopey) and had a look. There was a WC, a hand-wash basin and a decent looking shower. I relieved myself then crawled back into the main bit of the cellar and fell once again into a deep sleep on the hard concrete floor.

‘Aaaagh!’ I remember yelling as the guy woke me up with a vicious kick in my side.

‘Ha! The wonders of Rohypnol! Heh! Heh! I’ll bet that your mother told you never to accept a lift off strangers, didn’t she?’ he jeered. He went on: ‘I won’t want a ransom or anything like that; I just want to torture you! Don’t worry, you won’t be harmed much; perhaps just a few scars and bruises. You’ll be fed and exercised so you’ll keep that lovely school gym hardened body, and of course you’ll be fucked up your arse and in your mouth as and when I want. You will always call me “Sir!” and you will never question any order that I give you. Now, for a start, lie flat on the floor and stretch those arms and legs out!’

Something inside me wanted to tell him to ‘Fuck off!’ but at the time I thought better of it. Instead I replied ‘Yes, Sir!’ and prostrated myself on the concrete floor, lying on my back.

The guy then produced some more chains and secured my wrists and ankles to eyelets that I hadn’t noticed embedded into the floor. This left me tightly spread-eagled, unable to move. He then rummaged in a corner of the cellar and selected a pair of metal clamps, attached to each other by a length of chain. They were smaller than those used on a car battery charger but about the same size as clothes-pegs. I let out an agonised gasp as he attached a clamp to each of my nipples and tugged on the chain separating them. He then reached round and started playing with my cock, which had involuntarily hardened. ‘You’ll wear these tit clamps for the next six hours,’ he said as he tugged harder on the clamp chain and gently wanked some pre-cum from my cock. ‘Hmm!’ he went on, ‘You seem to like it! You haven’t seen or felt anything yet!’

I was on the point of orgasm then he get go of my penis. ‘I’ll leave you now; see you in six hours!’ the guy said as he left the cellar and turned off the light.

Sleep overtook me once again; whether because of the pain in my nipples or in spite of it, I didn’t know.

I woke up with a start as Master entered the cellar, completely naked and shouted ‘Six hours is up! Now I’ll loosen up your arse. Ever been fucked before?’ I couldn’t help admiring his body: rugger player’s build, hairy legs, chest and arms, several days’ growth of stubble and a large, circumcised condom encased cock, standing fully erect.

The excruciating pain in my nipples quickly returned and I could manage ‘N-no I haven’t, Sir!’ by way of reply.

The guy walked over to a corner of the room and returned with what looked like a white plastic cucumber attached to the end of a wooden pole. With his free hand he applied what I took to be greasy lubricant to the cucumber. He laughed as he placed the pointed end in the entrance to my hole. ‘This is a dildo. You’ll get used to it and you’ll get to love it inside you!’ With that he pushed the wooden pole and the greased dildo entered me. I yelled as he thrust deeper and deeper inside my gut, arching my back in pain.

In and out, in and out he pushed and pulled; with me groaning in what I suppose was a mixture of pain and pleasure. With his other hand he once again slowly wanked my cock, which had become as hard as India-rubber. Again, he stopped wanking and thrusting the dildo just as I was about to orgasm. What a bastard! With the dildo still inside me he tugged hard on my nipple chain. I let out an agonised yell. ‘Please, Sir, take them off, PLEASE!’ I cried. With a sharp tug he ripped the clamps off my tits. ‘Aaaaaaaaaah!’ I screamed. I looked down my torso as best as I could. My tits were red raw and swollen.

Master then released my ankles from their shackles and barked ‘Lift your legs up!’ I did as I was commanded and he grabbed my ankles and bent my legs over my body exposing my hole. He then removed the dildo and without another word entered me and fucked furiously, panting with exertion and lust. He kept this up for several minutes while he and I became bathed in perspiration. Drops of his sweat fell onto my body as he thrust ever more violently until he came with a roar. He let go of my ankles and collapsed on top of me, totally spent.

‘Phew! Good boy!’ he said once he had recovered. ‘You’ll spend the night here fully chained to the floor. Ha! I have got a surprise for you! Have you ever felt the whip across your back?’

I replied ‘Please Sir, no I haven’t. Please don’t do it, PLEASE!’

He ignored my pleading and left the cellar, switching off the light.

I took stock of my situation: I was chained, spread eagled on the floor; also my neck was still loosely shackled to the wall. My tits were on fire as was my anus, still sore from the furious shafting it had just received. How hard was he going to whip me, and what was he going to use? With those thoughts in my head, to my shame my cock hardened once again, aching for release. I must have then fallen into an uneasy sleep.

I had lost all track of the time. I awoke, dying to have a pee but of course I was unable to move as I was spread eagled on the floor. Almost as if he anticipated it, the light came on and master suddenly entered the cellar, this time clothed in black leather jeans, boots and a white, tight Tee shirt. He then released my arms and ankles from the shackles and said ‘Get up! Have a piss and have a wash! I’ll bring you something to eat and drink later!’ With that he left the cellar, leaving me still chained by my neck, but able to reach the shower and the WC.

After I carried out my ablutions I returned to the main part of the cellar and sat cross legged on the floor, awaiting Master’s return. A bit later he returned with a pint glass of water, some bread rolls and an apple. ‘Make the best of this. Use the tap in there’ he jerked his thumb in the direction of the shower room ‘if you need any more water.’ He then turned and left, closing the cellar door behind him: something that I thought unnecessary since there was no way of me escaping.

I drank the water in almost one complete gulp; I was so thirsty. The rolls were fresh and the apple refreshing. I waited, waited, waited….

Time had no meaning for me, chained as I was in that cellar. I drank more water, peed, washed again. No one came. ‘Has the bastard left me here to starve?’ I said aloud. It seemed like hours passed. I felt the steel collar round my neck and then the heavy steel chain attaching me to the cellar wall. I then examined the contraptions fixed to the walls and floor more closely. Large rings were cemented into the concrete floor, along with shiny steel spikes of varying lengths and thicknesses. Hanging from the ceiling were more metal rings and chains with wrist shackles attached to the end of the chains, the latter being of varying lengths. Other shackles were hanging on hooks higher up the walls, one in particular fascinated me. It consisted of a solid steel bar, about a metre long with what appeared to be shackles attached at either end. Half way along the bar was welded another much smaller shackle. I guessed that these were instruments of torture, no doubt to be used on me at some stage. I lay back on the floor, shaking with fear.

A bit later, that feeling subsided and was replaced with one of curiosity. In addition, I was starting to feel randy. I felt my cock, slowly wiping my thumb over its tip, which had moistened. My arse was still a bit sore from the fucking it had received yesterday (was it yesterday?), but I had an idea. I walked over to one of the steel spikes embedded in the floor and rubbed the tip of my cock, now fully erect and oozing precum up and down its length. I figured it would provide sufficient lubrication. I then knelt and lowered myself gently onto the spike, gasping as its tip massaged my prostate. I worked my hips up and down, up and down on the spike and with my right hand began to wank myself slowly. Faster and faster I rode the dildo spike, relaxing my sphincter to achieve maximum penetration then tensing as I worked my buttocks upward. I wanked faster and harder, faster and harder, pumping my arse faster and harder, harder….I came with a shout and relaxed, spent, with the spike still inside me.

A few minutes later I was hard again. This time I wiped my ejaculate as best I could with my hands off the floor and lubricated another dildo spike, this time longer and thicker. I gasped as I slowly lowered myself onto it, thankful that my spunk was working well as a lubricant. I pumped myself up and down, slowly at first, but this time left my cock alone. Instead I played with my still sore nipples, one in each hand, working them harder and harder. My cock became fully erect once again. I took it in my right hand while I continued to tweak each of my nipples with my left. I wanked harder, tweaked harder and harder while fucking myself ever more vigorously. Harder and harder, rougher and rougher, rougher, harder…. ‘Aaaaaaah!’ I shot a second time, sending sperm high into the air.

I was bored. I suppose I wanked and fucked myself another half a dozen times before lying on the concrete floor and falling asleep.

A sudden kick in my ribs woke me up. ‘Wake up and hands behind your back!’ barked Master. He stood there, again dressed in leather jeans and tee shirt, holding a pair of handcuffs. I did as I was told and he secured my wrists. He then unfastened the chain from the steel collar and attached a shorted length of chain to the collar, like a dog’s lead. ‘We’ll play upstairs now,’ he said as he dragged me by my lead over to the door and up the stairs.

At the top of the stairs was a long hallway with rooms leading off to the left and right. Master led me into a large room; perhaps once a dining room. I looked round: it was equipped much as the cellar was with chains hanging from the walls and ceiling, a diagonal cross fixed to the wall and in the centre of the room there was what appeared to be a replica of a medieval torture rack. ‘Yes,’ Master said as he saw me glance nervously at the rack, ‘I am going to stretch you a bit, y’know, to loosen you up!’ he chortled, ‘Then you’ll feel the whip across your back!

‘Get on the bench, stretch those arms up!’ I did as I was told; stretching my still shackled arms up behind my back as far as I could. He then attached a hook, attached to a chain to the handcuffs and took up the slack with a turn of the rack’s wheel. He then shackled my ankles to fixed points at the bottom of the bench. Slowly, ever so slowly Master turned the wheel. My shackled wrists were pulled further and further up my back. ‘A bit more,’ he said as he turned the wheel a bit more.

My arm and pectoral muscles felt as if they were on fire. I could swear that I felt my shoulders dislocate with a crack. I screamed in pain. ‘Shut up! It’s doing you good! No harm will come to you!’ barked the Master, as he turned the wheel a little more. He then secured the wheel leaving me in a stretched, agonising position. ‘I’ll leave you now. Just lie here and look forward to your flogging later!’ Just before he left the room he playfully but brutally gave my cock a hard wank for a few seconds. In response it became fully erect. He left the room and closed the door, leaving me whimpering and grunting in pain.

After what seemed like hours Master returned and released the wheel of the rack. By then I had lost all feeling in my arms other than burning agony in my shoulders. He helped me off the rack and led me still handcuffed, to the shackles fixed to the ceiling. Earlier I had thought about fighting my way free once he had released my wrists. However, I felt too exhausted to resist. I allowed him to take the handcuffs off my wrists, then to fix them into the shackles hanging from the ceiling. He then fitted a plastic cable tie around the neck of my scrotum, hooked a bungee clip to the plastic and pulled the bungee tight and fixed the other end to a ring in the floor. I was stretched once again, this time vertically by my bollocks. Master produced a whip, which he twisted around my neck. ‘Look, boy!’ he said as he violently pulled it free, taking a bit of skin off my neck and shoulder. It was a single tailed leather device, about a metre long with several knots near the end. He said ‘Twenty lashes! Here goes! You count each lash and say “Thank you Sir! May I have another please, Sir?” after each one. If you miss count, I’ll start again.’

Crack! A tongue of white hot fire sliced across my shoulder blades and under my armpits, connecting with the sensitive flesh of my flanks, with the whip’s knots cutting into my still sore right nipple. I gasped ‘Thank you Sir,’ etc., as I had been instructed. The second lash cut me lower down, again the end of the whip hitting my flank. I jerked as best as my chains would allow me, forgetting about the bungee clip. I yelled as my balls received a hard tug.

‘Keep fucking still boy!’ said the Master.

I replied with the ‘Thank you..’ mantra as before.

At the twentieth lash I hung there, totally exhausted, and repeated my ‘Thank you sir…’.

‘I see you enjoyed that, boy, judging by the look of your cock!’

I looked down to see my penis, rock hard, dribbling ropes of pre-ejaculate, dripping onto my restricted balls, purple and swollen.

Master produced a mirror. ‘Here! See my whipwork!’ he said, holding the mirror so I could see my body. My flanks and what I could see of my back were well striped red and black. Here and there where one whip cut crossed another I could see trickles of blood where the skin had been broken. Making sure that the dog leash was securely attached to my steel collar he released me from my wrist shackles and cut through the plastic cable tie constricting my scrotum. ‘Back to the cellar now, boy. You will now give me a good blowjob! Put your arms behind your back so I can cuff your wrists!’

I welcomed the handcuffs. It meant that at least I would be spared more torture, for now anyway.

Master dragged me down the stairs onto the cellar. ‘See that device hanging on the wall over there boy?’ he said, pointing to the steel bar with the shackles that I had wondered about earlier. He went on: ‘That is a “kneeler.” You kneel, ankles shackled and the thing in the middle of the bar fastens round the neck of your balls. Neat, eh? It means that you can’t move from the kneeling position. Your face will be just the right height to suck me off! You’ll be positioned so your arse will be impaled on one of those dildoes in the floor!’ He then selected the largest and thickest dildo, walked over to a shelf and found a tube of lubricant. He applied a liberal amount to the steel spike then applied another dollop to my anus, working his fingers up and down, touching my prostate.

I got into position and lowered myself onto the spike with a gasp. Master shackled my ankles into the kneeler then roughly pulled my balls deep into their sac and fastened the middle, smaller shackle round the neck. The cruel bastard then found the clamps that he had fastened around my nipples the day before and applied them again. I grunted in agony as the teeth bit into my still sore flesh. He then stripped completely and stood in front of me, sporting a massive erection.

I guessed what I had to do. I played my tongue around the base of his glans, up and down, up and down. His breathing became faster. Then, with a lunge he thrust his hips forward until his cock touched the back of my throat. He clamped his big hands around the back of my head and thrust his hips in and out. I did my best not to gag. He suddenly withdrew and slapped my face with one hand then the other. ‘Fucking suck it, boy! Aaah!’ he gasped as he lunged his cock into my mouth once again.

I really wanted to hold his hard penis at the base so as to prevent it lunging to the back of my throat. It would make it easier for me not to gag and besides, I figured that I could give him more pleasure by gently wanking him as he fucked my mouth. I of course couldn’t do that as my wrists were secured firmly behind my back with the handcuffs.

I was in agony. The clamps felt like red hot brands on my nipples, my face was burning from the hard slapping it had just received, my jaw ached from trying to suck Master and my legs went into cramp through being confined in the kneeler.

All at once he yelled as his cock throbbed, releasing his sperm down my throat. He withdrew, still erect and said ‘Lick it clean, boy!’ I licked the residue of semen from the end of his cock, running my tongue down to its base.

Master then ripped off the clamps securing my nipples, making me scream. ‘I have one more little treat for you, boy!’ he said, ‘I won’t be long.’ He chuckled ominously as he left the cellar, still naked.

A little while later he returned smoking a cigar. He walked round me, still secured in the kneeler and impaled upon the steel dildo, appraising my body. ‘How old are you boy?’ he enquired.

‘Ei-eighteen, Sir!’ I stammered.

‘H’mm. You have a good swimmer’s body. Do you train?’

‘I do Sir, in the school gym and pool. I want to be a professional swimmer or a personal trainer eventually.’

He leaned over and blew cigar smoke into my face. It actually smelled quite pleasant. He then stubbed the cigar out on my right nipple, still sore from the application of the clamp.

‘AAAAAAAGHHHH!’ I screamed and sobbed.

The bastard lit the cigar again, took a few puffs then extinguished it on my left nipple. I passed out.

I awoke with him gently slapping my face. ‘Look at your cock, boy. Obviously you enjoyed that!’ he said, ‘Because you seem to be an insatiable masochist, I’ll give you a caning that you’ll never forget!’

I glanced down. Sure enough, my penis stood ramrod straight. If anything, the knowledge that I was soon to be tortured further made my cock ever harder.

Master then released my balls and ankles from the kneeler and I gasped as I eased myself off the dildo. He then led me by the penis over to one of the other contraptions on the far side of the cellar. I could see what it was: a caning bench. It had provisions for securing the victim’s ankles to one side with leather straps and his wrists to the other. This meant that one lay forward with one’s arse pointing upwards.

‘Get on it face down!’ he ordered. I did as I was told and he secured my ankles to the bench with the hard leather straps. He then released my wrists from behind my back and secured them, pulling the straps as tight as they would go, with the leather digging into my flesh.

Master then selected a cane from the shelf on the wall and flexed it a few times. He stood before me and swished it in front of my face. ‘Moisten it with your tongue, boy. Kiss it and be glad it’ll be connecting with your flesh!’ He presented it to my mouth and he ran the length up and down my outstretched tongue. ‘What do you say, boy?’ he asked ominously.

I replied ‘Please beat my worthless buttocks, Sir, as hard as you can. I deserve nothing more!’ I could see that my self-degradation was exciting him. He stood there in front of me still naked; his cock rock hard.

Crack! I gasped as the cane connected with my arsecheeks. I remembered the mantra: ‘One Sir! Thank you Sir! I deserved that! May I have another please Sir?’

The second stroke connected with a more sensitive area of my buttocks: a bit lower down. I yelled but didn’t forget to thank Master.

In all I had to count thirty-five strokes; the last few through clenched teeth. ‘Good boy! I’ll show you my handiwork!’ said Master as he walked over to a shelf on the wall and picked up a hand mirror. ‘Take a look!’

I could see my back and buttocks striped criss-crossed, red and black. He showed me the cane, which was red with my blood. He released me from the leather bindings and helped me off the caning bench. I had a fleeting thought about trying to escape from this torture chamber: however I was too tired, I still had the heavy steel collar fastened around my neck and if I was to be totally honest, I was enjoying the whole experience. He then fastened the chain from the wall to my collar then left me, crouching on the floor, trembling from the shock and the adrenalin.

Master returned a little later with a plate of food: this consisted of cold chicken, salad and an apple.

‘I have one more ordeal for you to endure,’ he said, ‘then you can continue with your training. I have a fully equipped gym upstairs that includes free weights, treadmill and resistance equipment. I intend to make you into a muscleman. It’ll make it more enjoyable for me to abuse you!’ I must admit that my cock hardened somewhat upon hearing this. He went on: ‘Rest now, sleep then wash. You will then be crucified!’

I ate the healthy food that Master had provided then I lay there, anticipating what it would be like hanging by my outstretched limbs from a cross. My cock was by then rock hard. I crawled over to one of the metal dildoes embedded in the floor and impaled myself. With my knees I moved up and down on the spike, with my right hand slowly wanking myself and with my left tweaking each nipple alternately. I became more and more excited. I flexed my back, which opened up the wounds from the whipping, which were just starting to scab over. What with the stinging pain of this, coupled with my tits, still sore from their clamping earlier; my anus being shafted plus the pain I was inflicting on my cock from vigorous wanking I came with a shout, sending sperm high into the air. I reluctantly eased myself off the dildo, crawled back to the side of the room and fell into an uneasy sleep, lying on my front.

I awoke naturally from my slumber and quickly took stock of my plight. I was chained by my neck naked; I had suffered a whipping to my back and a caning to my buttocks. My nipples remained sore from the abuse they had received at the hands of Master over the past few(?) days. That was another thing. I had no idea of the time nor did I have a clue as to how many days I had been imprisoned in this cellar. True, when Master had dragged me upstairs for torture it had been daylight but otherwise time held no meaning: I slept when I was tired, or when Master had no further torment for me to endure.

I heard footsteps on the stairs to the cellar. Master appeared, wearing leather chaps, jockstrap, boots and a white singlet. I must admit the sight of his somewhat stocky but well-muscled body excited me. My cock started to harden.

Master unshackled my neck but left the heavy steel collar in place. As usual he handcuffed me and then led me upstairs, firmly holding my erection in his left hand. He then led me into yet another room, seemingly toward the back of the house. It was either evening time or early morning, what I could see of the sky was dusk.

In the centre of the room lay a large wooden cross. This was hinged at its base to the wooden floor. At the top there was a chain linked to a pulley apparatus fixed into the ceiling; I guess that the victim would be affixed to the cross lying horizontally, then the cross would be hauled up to the vertical position allowing the victim to hang there by his wrists. Indeed, at the ends of each cross-member there were steel shackles of just the right diameter for a wrist. Lower down there was a strange projection attached to an adjustable bracket. This was shaped like a large carrot and seemed to be made out of plastic. At the carrot’s base there was a wide metal band, to which there was a wire soldered. I could only guess as to what that would be used.

‘Lie down on the cross, boy,’ said the Master, ‘You can see what you need to do!’

‘Yes, Sir!’ I replied.

I did as I was told, Master removed my handcuffs then I and spread my arms out along the cross-members, then he fixed my wrists into the shackles. With a chuckle he said ‘Stretch your body and arch your back!’ I did as he said then he adjusted the carrot device so that its tip just rested inside my anus. He then hauled on the pulley chain and the cross gradually assumed the vertical position. Naturally, my weight forced my arse down onto the plastic carrot until it was completely inside me. I groaned in pleasure/pain.

‘Now the best bit, boy!’ said Master as he connected the wire from the carrot to some electrical device. He then produced a vicious looking metal ring with what looked like adjustable spikes. Holding it up to me he said ‘This is a glans ring. It fits just under the head of your dick and look! I can adjust these screws with an Allen key so that it digs into your shaft. The harder you get the more it digs in. Don’t worry, it won’t puncture the skin but it’ll make erections just that little bit more interesting.’

By now I was feeling very uncomfortable, with most of my weight being supported by my almost horizontal arms. However some of my weight was being supported by the bottom of the carrot, where it was fixed to the bracket. Master then attached the spiked ring to my cock, just below the glans then tightened the screws. I gasped. He then attached another wire from the electrical device to a small hook on the underside of the glans ring. I guessed what would come next.

‘Yearrrgh!’ I screamed as electricity surged through my genitals. ‘Please Sir, NO PLEASE!’ I pleaded.

He simply said ‘Haul yourself off the metal band at the base of the dildo then you won’t complete the circuit.’

I did that as best I could, putting even more strain on my arms and shoulders. I had nothing to rest my feet on so I couldn’t force myself up using my legs. I hung there for one, two minutes then I felt my arms failing. Once more I sank down onto the spike until my anus came in contact with the metal band.

I let out another scream. My cock felt as though it was being fried. I hauled myself up again. I moaned through the pain in my arms and shoulders. Another minute then down…. ‘Aaaaaaagh!’ Up again…I could tell that my cock was fully erect because the spikes of the glans ring were digging into my sensitive flesh.

Master by then had pulled his cock out of the jockstrap and slowly wanked himself. As my exertions on the cross became ever more violent, he wanked himself harder and faster. Up and down I forced my body, screaming in agony each time my cock was electrocuted. Finally he ejaculated, his sperm flying through the air and onto my face and torso. He squeezed the last drops of semen from his softening cock and sucked his moist fingers. Still panting he reached over to the electrical device and switched it off. My body hung there, now fully impaled on the carrot shaped dildo. By then I was whimpering and gasping for breath.

‘You obviously enjoyed that, boy, judging by the look of your cock!’ Master said, laughing. ‘I think that you deserve a hard wank for that!’ He unscrewed the spikes from the glans ring then eased it off my erection. He then wanked me hard, with me rising up and down on the dildo as best I could in time with his hand. After a minute or so I came with a yell. Once again my torso sank down onto the dildo, totally spent.

Master then turned to the pulley and gradually I was returned to the horizontal position. He unfastened my wrists from their shackles then he helped me to stand upright.

 

***

 

From then on, my life became a bit easier. I was made to work out in the gym, which was situated on the upper floor of the house, every day. It was very well equipped: free weights, treadmill and resistance weights. It seemed that my captor was some sort of personal trainer so he assisted me in my forced training regime. However I was still his sex slave. Nearly every day he would both impale my arse on the dildoes in the cellar and force me to fellate him or else he would suspend me from the ceiling and fuck my arse. Once a week he would either flog my back or cane my buttocks (this would give time for my wounds to heal before the next beating) or crucify me in exactly the same manner as I have explained. He also never allowed me to shave: he would cut my hair and shave me once a fortnight. He told me that he particularly liked young musclemen with a short beard.

This was the unaltering regime I had to endure for the next six years. However there were two exceptions: on one occasion, I suppose three years into my imprisonment, when my muscles were almost fully developed, someone else came down into the cellar to abuse me. A few months later, the guy returned after an altercation with Master, which I could hear taking place somewhere upstairs.

On the first occasion Master entered the cellar with this other guy, the latter dressed in leather jeans, T shirt and full leather face mask. I can remember him complementing Master on the appearance of his muscled slave. There was something vaguely familiar about his voice and his cultured accent and his manner of speaking. Had I once heard him on the TV around election time? However there was nothing cultured in his language as he lashed my back with a whip as Master looked on. ‘Take that you fucking little piece of shit!’ as he wielded the whip mercilessly. He then stripped off his jeans and applied a condom to his hard-on and without preamble rammed his cock inside me and fucked me brutally. ‘Fuck! You’re a good shag, Slave!’ he gasped as he raped me violently. He finished his session with me with a hard caning across my buttocks, drawing blood.

The second time he visited I could hear raised voices as he seemed to be arguing with Master. I could hear the latter say something like ‘Your lot got beaten this time, didn’t it?’

His reply was ‘You watch! They’ll only serve one term; their economic policy is shit!’

Master: mumble mumble..

Visitor: ‘How much? Five hundred quid for an hour with your slave? Fuck off!’

Master: ‘I’m sure you wouldn’t want your leader to know what you get up to? Let alone the Press or your wife?’

Visitor: ‘You cunt! Here’s the money and fucking stuff it!’

Master: ‘Ah! You can take it out on the slaveboy downstairs!’

I waited in fearful anticipation. This politician guy (I assumed that’s what he was) was a real cruel sadist, much worse than Master. I daresay he needed to work out his frustrations on his victims and on this occasion it would be me. That said, the thought of what was likely to happen did cause my cock to stir, becoming fully hard when he burst into the cellar.

Master had prepared me for this session with the politician. I had been shackled (as usual) to the ceiling, having to stand on tip toe. The guy was wearing a face-mask, just like the previous time and walked round my hanging torso, prodding and feeling my muscles as he did so. ‘Fuck! You’re a fine specimen!’ he said as he slapped my buttocks with his hand. He then felt my abdominal muscles and delivered them a hard punch. I grunted in pain. He turned his attention to my nipples, tweaking and twisting them hard. I writhed in pleasure/pain. ‘Are you ticklish?’ he asked.

‘I – I am Sir!’ I stammered.

‘Good!’ he replied simply. He ran his fingertips up and down my torso, under my armpits and along the underside of my upper arms. I squirmed and twisted as best I could. He then tickled under my pectorals and ribcage, keeping this torment up for several minutes, with me writhing and yelling. I think I would rather have been flogged. He finished and I hung there, totally exhausted.

The guy turned his attention to my erection. Grabbing it in his fist he wanked me brutally, almost to the point of orgasm. He then stripped completely, applied a condom then lubricant to his hard cock, stood behind and entered me. He thrust vigorously and furiously, grunting and swearing as he went. ‘You cunt! You’re a good fucking cuntboy! Take my cock right up to the hilt! Grrrrh!’ and so on. He reached round and grabbed my cock with his right hand while tweaking my nipples, one after the other, with his left. Harder and harder, faster and faster…

We orgasmed together. Not content with an orgasm, Master handed him a leather cat o’ nine tails. ‘See this, slave?’ he said, holding the whip just in front of my face. ‘You deserve twenty lashes across your back! Eh?’ It was a cruel looking object: each tail was knotted with two or three knots an inch or so from the end. He continued: ‘You kiss the leather and moisten it with your tongue!’

‘Yes Sir! Thank you Sir!’ I replied. The guy took each braid and offered it up to my mouth. I moistened them one at a time. I knew that a wet leather whip would deliver more vicious stripes across my back, no doubt adding to his sadistic pleasure.

‘Not wet enough boy!’ said the guy. With this he wanked my hardening cock once again while inserting a finger up my arse. I orgasmed for a second time within half an hour. He captured my ejaculate in his hand, then rubbed it into the cat’s braids, leaving them shiny and glistening. Standing back a little, he took aim then Crack! White fire across my right shoulder. Crack! A venomous sting under my armpit, across the sensitive flesh of my flank. I bucked and writhed in agony. Crack! The third cut a bit higher, smiting my taut biceps. In all, I took the twenty lashes without crying out once. ‘Good boy!’ said the politician. Turning to Master he said ‘Fuck! Your slave certainly can take it! He loved it! Look at his cock!’

Sure enough, that severe beating had caused my cock to harden once again, ramrod straight and as hard as india-rubber. The guy then did something totally unexpected. He knelt down in front of my erection and fellated me, slowly but firmly, his tongue working on the underside of my glans. He kept this up for ten, fifteen minutes, bringing me just to the edge then subsiding. Finally, being unable to hold out any longer, I shot my sperm into my tormentor’s mouth then slumped in my chains, totally worn out.

The guy said to Master ‘Fuck! I suppose that was worth five hundred! I’ll come back again sometime!’

He never did return. Was he exposed to his party or his wife? I never knew.

Each evening Master secured me in the cellar with the steel collar and chain. One day I found a small piece of wire under one of the metal contraptions fixed to the ceiling. I had an idea. I would try to pick the lock securing the steel collar round my neck and try to escape. Master never locked the cellar door (it had no lock) and often went out of the house for hours at a time.

I waited until I was certain he had gone out then I bent the wire to form a right angle. I felt for the lock and inserted the wire. I panted in frustration: obviously I couldn’t see what I was doing, I was just probing around inside the lock’s mechanism. I spent what seemed like an hour then click! I very carefully and very slightly moved the wire a little further into the lock and wiggled it gently from side to side. Another click! I pulled on the collar and at last it opened! I was free!

Without making a sound I opened the cellar door and listened for several minutes. Quiet. I crept up the stairs into the wide hallway, listening all the time. Silence. Of course, I was naked so I would be unable just to leave the house without at least something around my waist. Luckily it was summer so I could walk outside wearing just shorts if necessary.

I went upstairs and found his bedroom. Looking in his wardrobe I found a pair of his jeans, a belt and a pair of trainers. He was a bit bigger than me so the jeans hung loose. Likewise, the trainers were a little too big. I also found a tee shirt in one of the drawers beside the wardrobe. Pulling this over my head I made my way downstairs into the hall again. How was I to get out of the house? I hadn’t considered that. The doors would no doubt be locked as would the windows. In any case the windows were barred, no doubt to deter intruders.

What had I done with my piece of wire? In the cellar? I prayed that that was the case. Luckily I was right. The wire was lying on the floor. I carefully picked the front door mortise lock and was at last free! I gazed outside, the first time in six years. I almost cried with relief.

I guess the house was situated somewhere on the Fens. All around was flat, with farmsteads and barns dotted here and there in the distance. I walked out of the house and along the driveway onto the open road. Where should I go? I had no money, no food, nothing. I walked to a tumbledown barn, situated about a mile along the deserted road and went inside. What the fuck should I do? I sat on the floor and thought long and hard.

Just then I heard a car coming along the road. My first reaction was to jump out and flag the motorist down. However, I did not. What if it had been my captor? He was a big guy and could easily overpower me. I peered out through the filthy and cracked windows in the direction of Master’s house and yes, the car pulled into his drive. I could also just make out him getting out of the car and approaching his front door. My heart was in my mouth. He would soon discover that I had escaped and would no doubt come looking for me. He entered the house but ominously, did not leave it again.

I sat and thought about my past six years. Had I enjoyed it? Was I sort of safe and secure there? What did my future hold? ‘Fuck it!’ I said to myself. ‘I’ll go back!’

I sang a song as I walked back along the road to Master’s house.

I stepped onto his drive and then the front door opened and there he stood, dressed in leather. In his hand he held a whip, with metal studs embedded in the last three or four inches of the tail.

‘Welcome back!’ he said.

 

The End

 

Metal would like to thank the author, Bikermike, for this story!