Email Trap Redux

By Straghtjacket

I read a story called Email Trap on METALBONDNYC. In spite of the ending I wanted to be the man in the story, but of course I didn’t want to suffer harm. I wanted the experience, and I wanted to repeat it.

I emailed the story to a couple of friends who are a couple. The top in the relationship is a thin, about 5’6” but muscular guy who can be a real sadistic bastard. His bottom will attest to that as I would, having experienced his devious ways. They live in a small industrial building in a rundown factory area that houses warehouses. They lease the building, so they haven’t put much into it. It already had a couple shower stalls and toilets as well as a big round factory hand washing sink. They built a kitchen on a wall on the other side of the bathroom. Luckily, the building came complete with a wall of heavy steel wire storage rooms that lock with chains and padlocks. They turned the largest one into a bedroom for themselves and left the others as is with a simple mattress and a small table.

Okay, about me:

I am a masochist, a bondage fanatic and pain addict. To quote Objectifier on Recon, “What is a masochist? A masochist is an adult man who has the courage to beg for and then submit to considerable (possibly extreme) pain and discomfort for his own pleasure and that of his counterpart. A masochist may feel deep fear, but still shows up and follows through with his commitments. I have deep respect for courageous masochists.”

That’s me! And on top of it, I love to be in self bondage, especially when I am doing it to be “discovered” by a top who will intensify the bondage, torment me and leave me bound until he gets tired of it. I also get extremely excited about binding myself as per the tops instruction, while he watches. I’ve done this on many occasions with Phil, who I absolutely trust with my life.

If you didn’t read the original story, it was called EMAIL TRAP, by Soldier’95UK:


I go into work early on a Monday. I like to do my weekend emails first thing Monday morning. I hate people who start work Sunday night and seem to have nothing better to do in life.

I was working my way down the list, mostly deleting them half read, when at precisely 8am a new message arrived. It was anonymous which the system is supposed to block and it was a picture no text.

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

Out of boredom I opened it. It was a soldier in DPM (camo) wet weather gear. The hood was drawn tight to obscure the face. Must be someone having a laugh. It was pissing down outside so it could be some lad emailing a friend who’d typed my address by mistake.

I didn’t give it another thought. I got to work Tuesday and at 8am another anon’ email arrives. This time the guy is taking off the DPM waterproofs and appears to be stood in front of a cage. The jacket is off and he’s starting on the trousers. This could be in a cellar or something. The camera angle is low so we are looking up at the guy’s face. The face has been blurred. Well the whether is slightly better could be another mistake.

Wednesday at 8 the guy has the waterproofs off and is taking a jacket (also camo) off. Face obscured.

Thursday he’s taking off a camo fleece to reveal more DPM underneath.

Friday 8am he down to a lightweight camo shirt/jacket that brit’ soldier wear.

That morning I ring system admin’ to tell them there’s a problem with unwanted email and a possible security breach.

Monday morning 7am there are two more pictures and the guy is down to a t-shirt. Even though his face is blurred I can tell he’s smiling and happily.

8am here it is. He is now kneeling down in the cellar but appears to be in a cage. The camera angle is such that we are at the right height to see what’s happening and looking straight into his face.

I wonder whether to phone admin again. They were supposed to be intercepting this stuff.

What nobody at work new was that I had this secret love of dressing up as a solider and pretending that I had been captured, was being interrogated/tortured and was heading for execution. It was a deep secret for me. No one knew. I dressed up in private and played alone in my head. I wasn’t part of any scene and not even my closest friends knew.

I looked more closely at the picture and blew it up to full size. The guy was in some sort of cell/hold cage and there were things on the floor in front of him.

I phoned admin’ and asked if there was any information about the pictures. They said the system was now blocking then and the service provider of the sender had been informed,

They clearly didn’t know that the pics where in fact still coming!

Tuesday week two and they get more interesting. The guy is wrapping a wide (about 3″) long (say 3 to 4 feet) brown leather strap around his ankle. The strap has one turn around the ankle in the middle of the straps length. He has the two ends in his hands.

Wednesday he is buckling the strap around his thigh, thus securing his booted ankle to his thigh. He is wearing genuine but old British army DMS boots. I love the zigzag pattern on the sole.

Thursday and Friday he does the other leg.

I make an excuse to visit work on Saturday and find him fixing a black leather belt around his waist.

On Sunday I join the other wage slaves wanting to impress the boss and have a look at what arrived that morning. The guy is gagging himself with a red ball gag, which he is fastening behind his head.

Monday of week three and I can’t wait to get to work. He’s blindfolding himself with a DPM bandanna.

Tuesday he’s kneeling there with his ankles strapped to his thighs and a tight broad black leather belt around his middle. He is gagged and blindfolded with his hands behind his back waiting for what comes next.

I was so excited I nearly came there and then.

Wednesday and he’s lying face down on what appears to be black plastic sheeting some on which is wrapped around him. You can see that attached to the back of the black belt is a pair of handcuffs, which he is wearing.

Thursday he is kneeling again and another wide brown strap is around his chest pinning the arms to his back.

Friday is a back view and another strap has been put around his upper arms and obviously pulled tight. The brown strap has been wrapped around one arm to keep it in place.

Over the weekend a belt is wrapped around his boots to pull the ankles together and a belt may have been used at the knees. Leg cuffs are added just above the boots and the chain threaded between the chain of the handcuffs.

Monday the guy is lying chest down on the plastic again and there is the most amazing shot. The camera must have been resting on his head. It is a shot down his back sowing all the restraints to the most amazing effect. That picture is just so hot. The rest of the week show pictures of the bondage in detail.

Cuffs, straps, back, front.

Saturday there is a picture of him lying out on the plastic sheet. He’s face down with all but the handcuffs removed. The lower part of the body is wrapped in the sheeting. That’s a disappointment.

Sunday shows the guy with no restraints kneeling down grinning into the camera he is holding his hands behind him.

On Monday morning there is nothing. I check the email every few minutes but there is nothing. Same Tuesday and Wednesday.

Thursday I decide that the fun’s over.

Friday there’s a picture. It’s the guy in full restrains again with a bag over his head. Over the bag a “?” has been superimposed.




Text messages from my friends were that same as in the original story except for times.

11:00 a message “Do you want a go?”

11:10 “You know you want to”

11:15 “Last chance”

11:20 “OK” I send.




I arrived at their home. The door was ajar. I walked in and said “Hello, Hello?” There was no answer. Then I saw I computer monitor sitting on the entry table.


“Please close the door and lock it. Walk to cage #3 and step inside.”

A voice came through speakers.

“Good, now chain and padlock the door.”

There are two baskets on the floor.

One is empty.

“Face the camera please.”

“Remove all of your military gear.”

“Fold it neatly and place it in the empty basket.”

“Leave your jock and boots on but remove the socks.”

“Face the camera please.”


“Unroll the black plastic tarp toward the back wall and kneel in the middle.”

“Remove the items from basket #2 and set them around you on the tarp so you can easily reach them.”

A knot was forming in my stomach from tensions and excitement.

“Take one of the long straps. Wrap the strap around your left ankle and then around your thigh. Slip the end of the belt into the lock but do not lock it. Take the second long strap and do the same thing on your right leg.”

I fastened the straps as tightly as I could. I like compression when I am bound. My hands began to shake with apprehension. The original story line from the story reverberated in my head. What if they decide to follow through and beat me? It was too late; I couldn’t escape if I wanted to.

“Now take the bondage belt and buckle it around your gut just above your hips. Make sure the large ring is centered in the middle of your back.”

“Tighten the belt as tightly as you can. It will help protect you during the next phase of your bondage.”

“Now for your comfort,” he laughed. “Pick the gag up, carefully place it in your mouth. Take your time.”

It was a gag that I left behind, either hoping that I would never see it again or maybe because I wanted them to use it on me every time we got together. It is a massive, secure leather stuff gag that pushes at the back of my throat while completely filling my mouth. I have to work to keep from gagging when it is stuffed, buckled and locked in my mouth.

“We’re getting close to the end of your self-bondage. Buckle the blindfold around your head.”

“Good, now take the handcuffs and slip one of the cuffs through the ring in the back of the bondage belt.”

“Lock the cuffs around your wrists.”


All went silent. I was bound well enough, but it wasn’t satisfying my craving for tightness and immobility. I wanted more. Phil and Alan unlocked the cage and entered it. They tightened the existing bondage, including the gag. Phil slapped me on the side of the head a few times. He wadded up wax earplugs and pushed them in my ears. He wrapped duct tape around my head over the gag and blindfold and then kicked me in my left buttock with his twenty-hole Rangers.

The two of them worked other straps around my upper arms and then above my elbows. They tightened the handcuffs then double locked them. My arms were held tightly behind me with my elbows touching. Phil reached between my legs and discovered that I had an erection. He laughed then kicked me in the nuts and told me to lose it or he’d kick me again. He sounded angry and menacing. Alan added straps and leg irons to my ankles. Phil tested them and then buckled the straps tighter. Phil kicked me again. It made me hard. He took a long piece of chain and fished one end under me then pulled the two ends together. He and Alan tightened the chain, forcing me into a ball and padlocked it. Finally, Phil stuffed a large plug in my ass and used duct tape to hold it all in place.

One last bit of bondage. Phil tied a thirteen-coil noose and slipped it over my head. Phil snugged the knot behind my left ear.




I felt pressure in my head, the way I felt when I tried poppers. I’ve never like that feeling. Phil continued working on me until I was bound into what felt like a suffocating ball. He and Alan left me to suffer in bondage that I imagined was far worse than in the original story. I rapidly reached the point of bondage saturation when continuous pain makes it hard to call it fun.

Phil dragged an aluminum baseball bat across the floor. He bent over and talked loudly into my ear.

“If you guessed that I have an aluminum baseball bat with your name on it, you’re fuckin’ right. I’ve never liked you a whole lot because you are a self-centered god damned fuck who constantly barges into my life, and I’m goin’ to end that now. Alan, get the fuck out of here, you don’t need to see this.”

He smacked me in the mouth with something that rattled my jaw; he beat every exposed inch of my body. I was sure it was the real thing. He beat me until everything hurt so much that I gave in and fell limp.

“Alan,” I heard him yell. “Pull the truck around to the back door, with few more bashes to the head he’ll be done for.” Phil smacked me in the head several more times.

Phil zipped up the bag. Moments later, I went completely black.




I woke up just as they were finishing taking the last of the restraints off. I gasped! “Fuck! Oh Fuck! I didn’t expect that to go so far!” I was sure that I was bleeding somewhere because I was soaked. I also shit and pissed my pants from fear. I had worked myself into believing Phil would do me in and his comments, especially while he was beating me drew me deeper into my fantasy.

We sat around the living area while I got my head back together then I took a long cool shower. I looked in the mirror. I had marks from bondage and a few bruises but not near what I expected. My face was clear of bruising so I wonder how Phil made me think he hit me really hard in the head without leaving any marks.



Note from Metal:

I would like to thank Straghtjacket for his retelling of this story — the original of which I have removed from the Prison Library because I decided it was a bit too extreme. I also deleted portions of Straghtjacket’s retelling above that I considered too extreme.

Always remember, guys, to play safe.


One thought on “Email Trap Redux”

  1. Wow, what an intense scene! Bit much for me to experience, but amazing to read! Looking forward to more from StraightJacket

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