Whenever I see a naked steel chain I get hard. I want to feel the cold metal around my wrists, around my ankles, tightly harnessing my chest, cradling my groin, and digging into my ass. I want to feel the torture of a chain-mail chastity squeezing my balls and delivering a shallow catheterization when my dick is undisciplined.
Leather? For me leather is a work uniform. My love of the feel and smell of leather is satiated by professional motorcycle racing where thick cowhide is necessary for safety. On racing weekends I’m encased in heavy, sweaty leathers while riding on pavements hot enough to make French toast. I love the animal skin’s shrink-when-wet behavior that requires peeling out of it after a race day is over. In fact, someone on my team has to help peel it off my chest (I can do the rest). Racing fans with pit passes sometimes seem to enjoy the show of a ripped torso that has struggled to keep the bike upright through lefties and righties, corkscrews, and the heavy traffic aiming for the hole shot.
When my team finished the race at Willow Springs, I headed up towards the Air Force base on my street bike to new Master’s rented home. His shift as an MP at the base stockade ended in about two hours, so I had the place to myself. I stripped off my jeans and T-shirt, went to the crate where the linked steel was stored, and began adding metal to my now naked body.
The house was locked and I only have access to an old shed, a rickety structure with missing siding and a sliding door with gaps between the boards. No privacy if a vendor or a cop or a burglar gets nosey and comes up the short driveway. The crate contained a canvas bag with the chains needed to fulfill Master’s orders (mailed to me last week), and a box that contained a bunch of small padlocks.
I started with the lower harness that fastened around my 28-inch waist. Top motorcycle racers like me have similar body types: tall enough to surround the bike, strong enough to muscle the bike around the course, and lean enough to keep the total weight of the mounted bike as low as possible. That puts me at six feet one and 160 pounds, a wiry guy.
Thick chains, the kind movie Roman slaves wear, are out-of-scale for me. I don’t have those massive muscles. Master chose smaller smooth links similar in size to collars for large dogs. This kind of chain is comfortable for him when he is fucking me or just spending time with an immobilized dude in bed.
Master assembles the chain harnesses himself with welding equipment in the shed. When we first met, after we rendered me chained and spread eagled to the rafters, he threatened me with the blow torch, singeing my pubic hair and warming up my rectum. I screamed and begged for mercy, after which Master turned off the torch, kissed and licked my body all over, and, after I got over the trauma, sucked me dry.
Master is a smaller guy with a Napoleon complex. He’s about five feet seven, fit but not overly muscular. His orders always include that I present myself to him while totally helpless. Sometimes he is gentle and soothing when he walks through the door, sometimes not. In the latter case I am likely to receive the attention of nipple clamps, butt plugs, and our most severe chastity devices.
I started with the lower harness, which is something like a chain jockstrap. I stepped into the leg openings, pulled it up, cinched the waist chain to a circumference smaller than my waist and pelvis, and set the padlock. Two chains connected tightly to the rear of the waist chain, two to the front. These were joined at the perineum – that’s at the bottom behind the balls. It felt great and got me hard.
Next I added the upper harness. I entered this assembly like a T-shirt, but with the neck just two short and unconnected chains joined at the back. After inserting my arms through the shoulder openings, I pulled the harness down over my pecs. Three chains circumnavigated my torso, above and below the nipples and at near waist level. Vertical chains connected the horizontals outside of the nipples as well as down the center, the whole assembly hanging from my shoulders. A padlock connected the neck chains to make a collar, more padlocks connected the upper and lower harnesses.
The last contents of the canvas bag were dog collar chains that I locked around my ankles and wrists. Master had specified that I attach a leg spreader to the ankle chains, but there was no such device in sight. As I searched the shed, the chains rubbing against much of my skin had me near a no-touch eruption. I had the good fortune of finding the spreader behind the crate. I positioned myself below a heavy chain hanging from the roof of the shed, then I locked on the spreader, and locked my wrist chains high over my head.
The final click of the padlock corresponded to the usual slight wave of fear and excitement of being totally helpless and completely unable to free myself. I could always yell for help from the semi-open shed, but who might respond? These thoughts made me squirm, the metal rubbed, and my dick hardened.
I enjoyed being stripped and self-chained in the shed waiting for Master. In what mood would he come back from his shift as MP at the Air Force Base? Would he treat me gently, or vent his Napoleon complex after a tough day at the Base lockup? Shortly after he arrived, I knew it was the latter.
I could see his Dodge Charger turn into the driveway from the gaps in the shed door. My arms had been chained high over my head for a couple hours and aching with a vengeance. I had both fear and excitement as he approached my helpless and exposed naked body.
He parked behind my Harley, entered the shed, exchanged a few words with me (Did I win the race?), and forced a gag deep into my throat. The gag is a home-made penis-shaped leather-wrapped tube about two inches in diameter with a one-inch opening. My mouth was forced open wide and my ability to yell was curtailed. This additional stress put my cock at high attention.
Master had to leave his weapon, helmet and other gear needed for MP duty at the Base, but was still in full military garb with boots and a tight fitting long sleeved multi-pocketed shirt. Looked good with his well-defined – but small – physique. Master was careful not to get it dirty while he further arranged my steel captivity.
Master teased my tiny nipples to erection, following this with claw nipple clamps that put me in agony. I temporarily forgot the pain as Master jerked me off, catching my cum in a Tastee Freeze cup. After my muffled orgasm I felt the tit pain even greater. My suffering seemed to please the Master. He delivers punishment as revenge for fate giving him a five-inch cock, maybe shorter. Before the clips came off, Master poured my cum down my throat through the gag’s hollow opening, completing the demonstration of his dominance.
The clamps came off with super pain, and was followed by installation of the chastity assembly. This shed-made device fastened to the chains on either side of the cock and balls, and to the waist chain. My dick was still in pain from the release as Master squeezed my cock and balls into the steel chastity chamber. The balls were splayed out to the sides while the dick got stuffed into a penis sheath that was temporarily open at the end.
The cock cage was designed to accept a variety of end pieces. This time I got the element that allowed me about three inches extension before self-catheterization took place. It would only take me a few minutes before I felt the smooth metal enter my dick.
Master teased my nipples again, the result being my dick grew to meet the probe. The pain caused withdrawal, which was followed by another extension and a desperate need for even more.
He inserted a polished cast iron butt plug that he had manufactured just for me. The plug was short with a ball-like business end. It had a ring welded to the outside end through which he threaded a chain connected to my waist. I forgot about my cock pain for a short time while the plug was being deployed, and remembered just after my rectum closed down on the lubed invader.
Next he connected the threaded chain to the cock and ball cage, fixing the plug in place. He reminded me that if I am not fully cooperative, the plug will be left to rust. I resolved to be very cooperative and attempted to say so although my gullet was still lubricated with my cum.
Master tapped the dick-trapping cage, the penis plug jamming in a little more. He left me to enjoy my restraining metal while he changed out of his MP uniform. He came back shirtless in jeans and boots, his diminutive body looking really great. After a rough tap on the cock cage, he mercifully unlocked my wrists from their overhead position.
The leg spreader kept me unsteady while Master locked my wrists to the back of the harness, high up. I knew I would be punished for accidentally leaned on him, but it seemed better than falling. He removed the spreader bar before re-clamping my nipples, which had stayed erect.
“This will help you withstand the circumcision.”
Metal would like to thank lithium500mg for this story!