By Hunter Perez

I squirmed on the bed, uncertain about what was going to happen next. Jock’s drunken gaze was indecipherable – I could not tell if he was laughing at my bondage or plotting about how to further humiliate me.

I tried not to show that I was afraid and thought to myself: “What would JimmyUSMC do if he was in my position?” I then unhappily realized the answer: He would probably be collecting a nice fee for his work. After all, JimmyUSMC gets bound up for a living – no wonder he’s always smiling while in chains – whereas I was involuntarily volunteered into a trap of handcuffs, rope and a ball gag.

After staring at me for what seemed like forever, Jock finally lumbered to the headboard and pulled at the chain connecting my handcuffs. He rubbed his fingers over the cuffs and scratched his fingernails lightly into my skin.

“And I thought you didn’t like jewelry,” he grumbled, his pronunciation slightly slurred. “I seem to remember how much you hated bracelets.”

Damn, I thought to myself, did he have to bring that up? One of the very few times Jock and I ever had a fight occurred two years ago when he bought me an elaborate Native American-style bracelet for my birthday. He knew I never put on jewelry – not even a lapel pin or cufflinks – and the clunky silver piece with onyx and turquoise stones was not something I would wear. I politely asked that he return it because I would not be wearing it and he got angry at me – and, stupidly, I got angry that he got angry. Unfortunate things were said, and he took the gift back in a huff, cursing about how I didn’t appreciate him while I responded that he ruined my birthday. We didn’t talk to each other for several weeks after that – and we probably would have remained apart forever, except that his horrid friend Ralphie gloated that I was no longer in Jock’s life, which made him upset and encouraged him to seek me out once more. We never mentioned the incident again, but having him bring it up while he was drunkenly keeping me bound was not a good sign.

Jock then began to tap his index finger into the ball gag that secured my mouth. “So nice not to have to listen to the sound of your voice, little Bingo Bingo,” he said, his face taking a grim expression.

Jock raised his right hand as if preparing to slap my face. My eyes widened and I whimpered through the ball gag. He started laughing and instead combed his fingers through his still-wet reddish-blonde hair.

“Who’s afraid of the big bad wolf? You are, little pig!” he cheered while stumbling around the bed. “I’ll huff and puff and blow…no, I won’t blow you. I know you’d love that – wouldn’t you, little pig?”

Jock sat the foot of the bed and looked at my legs, which he secured with rope. He slumped over and started rubbing my left leg.

“I wish Troy was here, instead of you,” he slurred. “And I liked him, too. I really liked him.” He glanced up to me and shook his head slightly. “I should have undressed you before tying you down. Oh, well, not the worst thing.”

Jock stood and pulled my sweatpants down to my knees, then walked closer to my upper body and rolled my t-shirt under my armpits. He started to laugh while looking at my chest.

“What itty-bitty nipples you have,” he exclaimed. “There’s not much of a chest, but those are really small.”

Jock clamped his hands on my nipples and squeezed them hard while turning them back and forth, as if he was fiddling with a shortwave radio. I bit into the ball gag as my body started to rock from the pressure he was creating. Jock began to roar with laughter at my predicament and he moved onto the bed, sitting atop my waist while he tortured my nipples. His weight created a pressure that I was not accustomed to handling and I groaned under his bulk.

Jock mumbled as he toyed with my chest – I could make out the words “yeah” and “sweet,” but otherwise he was impossible to understand. After a few minutes, he shifted his position and laid directly on top of me with his head at my chest. From there, his mouth replaced his hands, with his teeth torturing my nipples. The sensitivity provoked by his actions resonated through my pinned-down body and I moaned through the ball gag, creating atrocious sounds.

Then, all of a sudden, Jock seemed to deflate. He softly positioned his head on the center of my chest and framed his arms alongside my body. Within a minute, he began to snore dreadfully. At that point, I was stuck – I could slide my handcuffed arms back and forth at the headboard while I was able to move my head freely, but otherwise my roped ankles kept my legs in a tight position and Jock’s muscular weight ensured I was trapped under him.

I tried to yell through the ball gag, but the sounds I created did not wake him. A loud thunderclap occurred beyond the window, and that failed to arouse him. I looked to the clock and saw it was 12:45 in the morning – I sank my head into the pillows and angrily shut my eyes.

“Think happy thoughts,” I said to myself, trying desperately to remove my mind from a state where my body was stuck.

I started to recall the vacation Jock and I took last year over the Fourth of July holiday weekend. We went to Washington, D.C., and ran amok like two kids in an amusement park. We took endless pictures at all the monuments, enjoying the pandas at the National Zoo, oohing and aahing at the Lindbergh airplane and the Apollo space module in the National Air and Space Museum, and even getting into a protest demonstration in front of the embassy of a country we never heard of – a TV news crew came up to us at the protest and we gave interviews with phony accents, as if we were countrymen from the target of the demonstration. I also remembered venturing into an Ethiopian restaurant – it was the first time either of us tried the cuisine, which we loved, and the establishment’s manager sat with us to discuss his nation’s culinary tradition.

We shared a hotel room but had separate beds – we never shared a bed whenever we traveled. I then realized the lunatic imprisonment I was undergoing was the first time Jock and I were in the same bed. For the longest time, I hoped our friendship would evolve into a more intimate direction, but while looking at Jock’s sleeping head on my chest I realized the value of keeping things platonic.

I began to drift in and out of sleep – my physical condition prevented a full-throttle journey into slumberland – and I constantly checked the clock. By 3:45 in the morning, Jock’s snoring ceased and he started to yawn and cough. He slowly raised his head and blinked at me.

“Bingo?” he said softly. “Bingo, what…what happened? What happened to you?”

I started yelling into the ball gag and Jock rolled off me and quickly freed my mouth.

“What happened to me?” I screamed. “What happened to me? You happened to me! Don’t you remember what you did?”

Jock sat on the bed besides me and looked confused. “No, I don’t…I know…I know I was out with Troy and we had a fight. I know…I know he left me at the bar.  I remember walking here in the rain.” He then looked at himself and added, “Where’s my clothing? What did you do with it?”

“It’s hanging up to dry in the bathroom,” I said. “You don’t remember coming in here and wanting me to cuff you?”

“I said that?” he asked, not comprehending my question. “Did I…you’re like this because…”

“Because of you,” I said, finishing his thought.

Jock clasped his hands over his mouth and looked at me with frightened eyes. He then started to rub his hands frantically. “Please tell me that I didn’t hurt you, Bingo. You’re not hurt or anything like that?”

“No, I’m not physically hurt,” I said softly, trying to use my voice to calm him. “But I am upset that you got drunk again. Jock, either cut back on the drinks or cut them out entirely. If anything good came of this, you were in here and not out in public.”

Jock caressed my face. “Oh, Bingo, please forgive me. I swear, I’ll cut out the liquor. I could never forgive myself if I hurt you while drunk.”

“I am not hurt,” I said. “Although you did chew up my nipples before you fell asleep on me.”

Jock looked at my chest and gently pressed my nipples. “I don’t remember doing that at all. Shit, I really must have been wasted. I don’t even remember what they tasted like.”

Jock bent over my chest and gently ran his tongue over my right nipple. I exhaled dramatically at the sensation of his tongue’s warm, wet movement and he moved to the left nipple, repeating the action and getting an identical result.

“Tastes like cranberry juice,” he said, smiling slightly while reaching down my waist to my crotch. He wrapped his fingers around my dick and gently massaged it before saying, “I wonder what that tastes like.”

I looked at Jock with astonishment and he returned my gaze with a wink. He hovered over my crotch and his tongue slowly dropped from his mouth to tickle the tip of my dick. I started breathing heavily as my dick hardened under Jock’s aggressive licks. Within a few minutes, I had a full erection that disappeared into Jock’s mouth, where he gently combed my flesh with his teeth. He patted my roped-down legs as my lower body writhed with an ecstasy that was strangely enhanced by the immobility of my bondage.

“I wish you could feel what I’m feeling,” I moaned.

Jock removed his mouth from my dick and resumed to lightly massageit with his hands. “I hope this makes up for any awful things I did tonight,” he said.

I arched my back and crowed in pleasure. “More than makes up. If this comes with being your prisoner, then I’m yours for locking up.”

“I like having you as my prisoner,” he laughed as thunder rumbled beyond the bedroom window. Jock looked at the rain and said, “How long is it supposed to rain?”

“The forecast has it raining until mid-afternoon,” I said.

“You don’t mind if I stay here until it stops?” he asked.

“Of course not,” I replied. “Stay as long as you want.”

“I’m just going to take a couple of aspirin from your medicine cabinet,” he said, getting up and walking to the bathroom. I could hear the cabinet door open and close and the faucet quickly turned on and off. He was back within a few seconds and looked out the window.

“I love to sleep when it is raining,” he said in a tired voice – he seemed as if his inebriation was at least three-quarters out of his system. “The sound of the rain on the window is so relaxing. Between that and the way I feel, I could probably sleep until noon.”

Jock leaned over and kissed me gently on the lips. “I love you, prisoner Bingo,” he whispered. “Don’t be angry with me. I’ll be better.”

“I love you, jailer Jock,” I replied.

We kissed again and Jock carefully climbed into the bed, nestling besides me. I looked at him, then looked at the handcuffs’ keys on the dresser, and looked back at him. I clanked the handcuffs’ chain on the headboard’s brass bar where I was stuck and said, “Jock, aren’t you forgetting to do something?”

Jock looked up at me through half-open eyes and shook his head while grinning. He reached across me and retrieved the ball gag. I started to tell him that was not what I meant, but before I could speak the ball gag was in my mouth. He buckled the device tightly behind my head and kissed my forehead.

“You’re a great prisoner,” he said before returning to his previous position. In two minutes, he was snoring. I looked at the clock and saw that it was a few minutes past four in the morning.

“He could sleep until noon?” I wondered with dread. I looked at my manacled wrists, then at my roped ankles, then at the sleeping Jock, and then at the clock. I pushed my head deep into the pillows and wondered, “Seriously, how do I get myself into situations like this?”

The End

Metal would like to thank the author, Hunter Perez, for this story! Be sure to check out his book on Amazon, called The Friend Request.