By Hunter Perez

I rode my bicycle up the driveway to my pal Jock’s home and found his garage was open. Parking the bicycle next to his Mercedes, I ventured into the garage and knocked on the door to the house.

“I’m downstairs, Bingo,” Jock yelled from the basement. “Come on down, I want to show you what I created.”

I came inside and found Jock at the bottom of the stairs to the basement. He was wearing a blue baseball cap that caused the ends of his reddish-blonde hair to curl in the most adorable manner, while his white t-shirt and black shorts hugged his tall muscular body.

“So, what do you want to show me?” I asked as I descended the stairs.

“You’re the first to see this,” he said in an excited voice. “It’s a prototype, but if it works I think I can make a fortune from it.”

I came into the basement and found a large wooden pillory at the center of the space. I pointed to the pillory and asked, “Are you building that for the Renaissance Fair?”

Jock laughed and directed me to walk around the other side of the pillory, where I found a large metallic box with a telephone keypad and timer display was attached to pillory.

“Meet the future of self-bondage,” Jock declared with a melodramatic hand flourish toward the device. “This will be the world’s first self-timing pillory.”

I looked at Jock, then looked at the pillory, then looked at Jock, then looked at the pillory, then looked away in confusion. Jock stood in front of me, clasping his hands and grinning with an elevator pitch salesman-level of confidence.

“Think about it, Bingo,” he explained. “A pillory is a great bondage device, but you need to have someone who can lock you and then unlock you. But what if you don’t have a partner? You could try to lock yourself in, but even if you could it would be impossible to get out unless someone was there to help you. With my invention, you can have fun on your own without being at the whims or mercy of your partner. You can set the timer for however long you want to be locked in, then you put yourself into it. The pillory automatically locks and you’re in for the time you set. When the time is up, it releases and you’re free. Genius, yes?”

I tried to come up with a polite response. “Jock, is there a market for something like this?”

“There could be, provided it works,” he said. “I’ve tested the timer and the locking mechanism, and they work. But I did those tests with an empty pillory. What I need to do is test it with someone in the pillory. I have to make sure the timer is able to withstand whatever pressure or agitation the pillory’s subject brings to the device.”

Jock tilted his head to the pillory while pointing to me. I slowly began to step backwards.

“Why don’t you get your rich friend Ralphie to stick his head in that?” I said. “Maybe he’ll put his money into this?”

Jock shook his head and chuckled. “I want to get Ralphie to invest in this. But I’m not showing this to him until I know it’s perfect.”

“And what do I get out of this?” I asked.

“Well, I could take you out to dinner,” he answered.

“Oh, no,” I responded. “The last time you offered to take me to dinner, we wound up in McDonald’s.”

“Hey, I’m a shareholder in McDonald’s,” he said, a bit defensively. “Besides, little guy, it’s my duty to reinvest my dividends back into the company.”

“Don’t call me ‘little guy’ – I’m five-foot-eight,” I complained.

Jock laughed. “You’re five-foot-five, Bingo. We’ve been through this before – I’m one foot taller than you.”

I turned and began to reach the stairs when Jock’s hands clamped down on my shoulders. He slowly pulled me back, wrapping his muscular arms around my chest.

“Come on, Bingo,” he said in a lullaby whisper. “You know that you mean the world to me. And if you can help me today, I’ll be glad to make you a nice big dinner. You know, there’s a roasting duck in refrigerator with your name on it.”

Jock sealed his arms across me as I was pressed into his body. While that was exciting, I was even more thrilled at the prospect of a roast duck dinner – he was the best cook I knew and being at his dining table was the greatest treat imaginable.

“I know how much you like when I make roast duck,” he continued, whispering in my ear. “I can also make you some dumplings – I know how much you like those.”

I found myself in the most exquisite torture imaginable – being held prisoner in Jock’s grasp while being tempted with the promise of his extraordinary cooking.

“Roast duck, dumplings,” I muttered, resting my face on his muscled arms.

“I also picked up some okra at the grocery store,” he added. “Isn’t fried okra your favorite?”

Jock squeezed me tighter as I clenched my jaw to prevent my salivary glands from overflowing at the prospect of the promised meal.

“Shall we talk about dessert?” he cooed in my ear.

I pushed my head into his chest. “It’s okay, you can lock me in your pillory. I agree to the terms. I’ll even wash the dishes.”

Jock kissed the top of my head and released me from his grip. We walked to the pillory and he opened the top board of device.

“Put your neck in the center indent and your wrists into the other indents,” he said.

I followed his instruction and once I was in place Jock slowly lowered the top board down until I was enclosed in the wood boards.

“I built this model for your height – and, no, I’m not making short jokes,” he stated. “I didn’t want you hunched over or up on your tippy-toes. I figured if this works, I can do customized models for customers. Are you comfortable?”

“It doesn’t hurt,” I said. “I’m sure I look silly.”

“No, you don’t,” Jock said, stepping to the far end of the basement to drag a large mirror for placement in front of me.

“Egad, I do look silly,” I sighed as I gazed upon the reflection of my head and hands sticking from the pillory boards. “So, how does this thing work?”

Jock stood in front of me and pointed to the metallic box on the front of the pillory. “As I said before, you would set the time that you want to be in the pillory. Then you would have 30 seconds to get yourself into the pillory. Since you already in there, I’ll set the timer.”

Jock began to push the keypad’s buttons and a series of little beeps began to erupt.

“The beeps run for 25 seconds,” he added. “Then there is a long beep and then you’ll hear the pillory lock.”

As he previewed, the device’s little beeps gave way to a long shrill beep, followed by sound of a metallic click.

“And now, you’re a prisoner,” Jock said, clapping his hands in triumph. “When the time is up, you’ll be freed. Try to push up and see if you can get out of it.”

I attempted to lift the upper board with my neck and wrists, but I could not move it. I tried to shake the pillory, but it would not move.

“I like what you’re doing,” he observed. “That’s my main concern, that any movement or pressure would cause the timer and the locking mechanism to malfunction. I’m just going to leave you here to relax. I’ll be upstairs – I have some business calls and emails to take care of.”

Jock moved away and I looked at myself in the mirror he placed before me. I tried to read the timer’s display, but I had the double problem of a faint display that was backwards in the mirror.

“Jock, is that a nine or a four?” I asked. “I can’t quite make it out.”

“No, it’s a four,” he answered. “I was a little concerned the display was too small. And it is not as bright as it should be. I might have to make it larger for the next version.”

“Okay, so I’m locked in for four minutes,” I said.

“Oh, no, you’re in for four hours,” he stated. “I need to see how a long-haul usage will impact the mechanism.”

I gasped and started to hyperventilate. “You locked me in this damn thing for four hours?” I yelled, trying with all my strength to break out. “You didn’t tell me how long you were locking me in for.”

“You didn’t ask,” he said, trying to stifle a grin. “And go easy, I don’t want you to break that thing. I put a lot of work into it.”

“Cancel the session and let me out,” I begged.

“I can’t,” he said. “There’s no override function – after all, this is for self-bondage addicts, and once you’re locked in you’re not supposed to be able to get out. But come to think of it, that is something I probably should add for the second version in case someone needs help or gets stuck. You see, Bingo, you helped me improve the device with your input. I have to reward you – what do you want for dessert, pecan pie or pistachio ice cream?”

I couldn’t answer – the shock of a four-hour imprisonment in the pillory filled me with dread. I kept trying to push my way out of the device, but it was hopeless.

“Come on, Bingo, think happy thoughts,” Jock suggested. “What would JimmyUSMC do if he was in your shoes?”

“He could have my shoes if it means standing in this thing,” I yelled.

Jock walked behind where I was standing and tapped my back. “I know how to give you happy thoughts,” he said as he unbuckled my belt.

“What are you doing back there?” I asked as I felt Jock open my pants and slowly pull them down.

“I’m giving you happy thoughts,” he called out. “Just relax and leave everything to me.”

My pants and then my underwear was lowered to my ankles. I felt Jock’s hands begin to massage my balls in slow clockwise swirls and then he slowly stroked my dick as if he was caressing a rare treasure. The dread and anxiety I felt after being trapped evaporated as a warm and tender sensation took over my groin. For a few minutes, there was no talk – Jock rubbed me the right way, bringing me to a glorious erection that he tickled into pre-cum. Internally, I found myself in a strange state of calm – the pillory was no longer a torture trap but a happy hammock where my upper body was held in a firm position while my lower body rocked in glee.

“How do you feel now?” he said in a half-whisper.

“We need to do this more often,” I sighed. “That’s the first time you ever touched me like that.”

“Silly me – and I thought the only thing you wanted from me was my fried okra,” he laughed as he let go of me and walked in front of the pillory. “Now, I need to take care of work upstairs. If anything goes wrong, just yell for me. This will be over soon. And remember to think happy thoughts.”

Jock smiled and tousled my hair before exiting up the stairs. I looked at the mirror and waved my trapped hands at my reflection. I squinted and deciphered the timer display.

“Three hours and fifty minutes,” I said aloud. “I can do this. Just think happy thoughts.”

I closed my eyes and slowly gyrated my lower body. The erection faded but the memory of the sensation of Jock’s touch warmed my thoughts. I listened to the loud creaks from the ceiling created as Jock’s heavy footsteps plodded across the floor above me. I heard his voice but couldn’t quite decipher what he was saying – he was probably on a phone call, as there were long pauses between his bursts of talking. I started to giggle as I looked in the mirror – here I was, locked in a pillory in a basement while the hottest guy I ever knew was one floor above me.

“What would JimmyUSMC do if he was in my shoes?” I said to myself. “I would say, ‘Get your own shoes, Jimmy. I’m working this dungeon.’”

I became so lost in my thoughts that I forgot the concept of time. I was able to adjust to being held in a stationary position, which had a curiously relaxing feel. When I finally heard Jock’s footsteps coming down the stairs, I glanced in the mirror and saw that I had two hours and thirty minutes remaining in the pillory.

“Look what just arrived in the mail,” Jock said as he extracted a pair of large paddles from a box. “Have you ever played pickleball?”

“No, of course not,” I said. “I’m not good at sports, the way you are. That’s why you’re Jock.”

“The only reason I’m Jock is because you keep mispronouncing my name, Jacques,” he laughed. “Oh, Bingo, you’re such a knucklehead. We should get into pickleball. It seems like everyone’s playing it. They installed a court in the park – we can sign up for court time and practice. And I want you to be my pickleball partner – there’s a doubles championship tournament coming up this fall. Besides, there’s a cute trainer at my gym who’s giving pickleball lessons. I figured that we can have some fun with him.”

I closed my eyes and slumped my head. “Now this feels like a torture. No, I don’t want to be your pickleball partner. I’m a terrible athlete – you know that. I’m horrible at sports. I’d only embarrass you.”

Jock put one of the paddles back in the box, which he dropped to the floor. Holding the other paddle, he began to make sweeping gestures into the air.

“Well, I’ll give you a choice,” he said. “You can either be my pickleball partner or you can be the ball.”

I opened my eyes and looked at him. “What does that mean?”

“I’ll show you,” he whistled as he walked around the pillory. Looking into the mirror, I saw Jock stand directly behind me and raise the paddle into the air. Within a second, I felt the paddle smack into my exposed butt.

“What the hell?” I screamed. I wanted to fall forward, but the pillory held me tightly as my legs started to buckle.

“Well, do you want to be my partner or do you want to be the ball?” he asked.

I looked into the mirror and saw Jock repeat his motion, followed by another whack into my butt. I screamed again and a few seconds later another whack resonated.

“Okay, I’ll be your partner, I’ll learn pickleball,” I groaned. “I don’t want to be the ball.”

“That’s my Bingo baby,” Jock cheered. “Okay, one more for good luck.”

The paddle whacked me again and I gritted my teeth. Jock’s hand then gently rubbed my burning backside as I tried to steady myself.

“Give it five minutes and you’ll love how it feels,” he said as he picked up the box. “I’ll be back later. Be a good lad.”

Jock hurried up the stairs as I furiously shook my backside, trying to alleviate the burning sensation from the paddling. But then he quickly came back and moved right into my face.

“And if you ever again say that you’d be an embarrassment to me, I’ll whack you harder,” he said in a solemn tone. “Nothing could ever be further from the truth. Stop denigrating yourself, Bingo, you mean the world to me. If anything, I’m an embarrassment to you.”

Jock quickly raced out of the basement and up the stairs. The ceiling creaked mightily as Jock raced across the floor above me. I looked at myself in the mirror and half smiled.

“Think happy thoughts,” I said aloud as the burning from my rear began to dial down.

I closed my eyes and tried to meditate. I was feeling a soreness in my shoulders for standing so long in a locked position, but as I concentrated harder on my meditation while doing deep breathing exercises I felt a greater ease on my body. Time blurred and I had no idea how long I had been in that state. But when I finally opened my eyes, I saw myself in the mirror but noticed something was missing – the timer’s display went dark. I tried to push into the upper board of the pillory, but it wouldn’t move.

I began to call out Jock’s name. There was no immediate response. I called out again louder, then even louder. After a few minutes of my repeated shouting, he came racing down the stairs, looking bleary-eyed, disoriented and disheveled.

“Are you okay?” he said frantically. “I had a couple of beers while watching golf on TV and I fell asleep on the living room couch and didn’t hear you. You’re not hurt are you?”

I quickly explained what happened and he examined the timer box. His breathing was frenetic, as if he was on the verge of a heart attack.

“Were you rocking the pillory when this happened?” he asked, his voice sounding slightly slurred.

“No, I was actually meditating, all calm and peaceful,” I replied. “When I opened my eyes, the display was gone. Can you open this?”

Jock pulled on the pillory but could not pry it open. He began cursing and he looked anguished as he peeked around the timer box at all angles before picking at the bottom and removing a plastic sliver.

“I’ll be back in a sec,” he said, tousling my hair before disappearing up the stairs again. He returned a minute later, looking very upset while fiddling with a pack of batteries. He stuck a finger into the timer box and scratched out two AA batteries, which he then replaced. Once the new batteries were installed, he exhaled and wiped a thin veil of sweat from his forehead.

“Well, that shows you how dumb I am,” he said sorrowfully. “That’s what happens when you buy cheapo brand batteries. I should have thought of that from the beginning.”

I could smell the beer on Jock’s breath and I wondered how much he really consumed. But I opted not to ask and instead said, “So, can you open this thing?”

Jock shook his head and frowned. “No, unfortunately, and I have to work on that for the second version. This thing needs an override function. That’s the big flaw. But the new batteries are what it needs – the display is much brighter. I’ll have to set the timer again and have it open once the time runs its course. I’m so sorry, but this scared the hell out of me. I was afraid you got hurt in that thing.”

While I had been with Jock on more than a few occasions when he dipped into inebriation, I had never seen Jock look so frantic and agitated. “Jock, relax, it’s okay,” I said. “I’m not hurt. In fact, some of it was kind of fun. Just calm down.”

Jock shut his eyes and wiped more sweat from his forehead. “Okay, Bingo, I’ll set the timer. How long have you been in there, pal?”

I clenched my left hand and extended four fingers from my right hand. “It’s been four hours. One minute on the timer and I’ll get out. And you better pull yourself together – you’re a nervous wreck and I think you’re a bit drunk.”

Jock nodded vigorously as he pushed the buttons on the keypad. “Four hours, one minute, yeah,” he muttered to himself. “You’ll be out this time.”

The small series of beeps began and Jock announced, “I need to go upstairs and take a shower – this scared the hell out of me. And no more afternoon beers for me. That’s a promise.”

I watched Jock walk up the stairs as the long beep blared, followed by the metallic click. I closed my eyes and listened to Jock walk across the floor above me. Opening my eyes, I looked in the mirror and saw the timer display was brighter than before – and it showed that Jock set it for four hours and one minute.

“Really?” I said, shaking my head in disbelief. “How do I get myself into situations like this?”

The End