By Rubber Dog

Part One – Knock, Knock

Mark stood in front of the door.  Number 34, it said, looked like the right place, it was certainly the right road, it just didn’t look like anything special.  Just someone’s house on an ordinary road.  The only thing he’d noticed about it was the motorbike parked outside which he’d seen as soon as he’d turned the corner at the top of the road and started checking the house numbers.

He didn’t know much about bikes, he didn’t even have a license, but he found them exciting; some bikes just looked hot, and a cute guy in leathers and a pair of motocross boots sitting on a machine like this always got him hard.  So he knew this must be the right house, this had to be the guy.

Still standing by the door, he looked at his watch: 2:56 p.m.  He’d said three o’clock.  Mark licked his lips; his mouth felt dry – he was nervous.  Should he knock now, or walk round the block and be spot on time? This guy had sounded a bit hard on the phone, maybe he’d think early was ‘disobedient’ or something.  He didn’t really go in for the master-slave setup usually, he was more the bondage-buddy kind of guy, but he was so into the session the guy had described he was willing to do it this once.  Cheekily he’d said “Yes, Sir!” at the end of the phone call with a grin to himself.  He thought it just sounds stupid to call another guy ‘Sir’.

He didn’t want to screw up his chances with this guy so he stepped back from the door and continued down the road.  By this point he now wasn’t so sure he shouldn’t just have knocked and gotten on with it.   Despite his nervousness, his dick was semi-hard as he thought over what they’d talked about on the phone.  Some of what he’d said couldn’t be for real, I mean it was just way too intense – you couldn’t tie someone like that.   It was more like he was describing one of those Joe-T drawings you see; horny but just not possible.   Hell, maybe this guy was just jerking off and wasn’t going to be in, or didn’t even live there.   No, he had to live there, the bike was parked outside and the he’d said he was a biker.  But if what he’d described was for real, he was in for it big time.

His cock responded to this and started rubbing on his jeans even more which made things worse still.  Jeans, his old army boots, a plain t-shirt and his favorite jacket – nothing else, no socks, no jock.  “Fuck, it’s 3pm!”  All the second guessing about whether to knock when he was early and he was now going to be one minute late.

He arrived at the house, having run the last thirty yards.  He stood there, checked the number again and knocked.  He looked at his watch again.  Just 3:01 p.m.  He knocked again.  He looked around behind him across the road, glanced at his watch again.  Back to the door, he saw a buzzer.  He pressed that instead.  Behind the mottled glass of the outer door he saw some movement, and then it opened.

Dry mouthed again, he weakly forced out a “Hello.”  This guy was a good six or seven inches taller than Mark, and broader shoulders but about the same age, maybe a year or two older.  But it wasn’t this physical stature, which was clearly superior to Mark’s that he took most notice of – it was that he was wearing the most stunning set of bike leathers he’d ever seen.  Only thing was, they weren’t leather at all, they were rubber, but styled like bike leathers, tailored everywhere out of thick, shining rubber.  He was only a couple of feet away and he could smell it, the heat from the man’s body and the heady smell of the rubber.  Mark’s cock leapt and he looked down at it showing through his jeans.

The guy hadn’t said anything yet, he just looked at the boy on his doorstep.  Mark looked up again, almost thinking that this must be the wrong place.  The expression on the man’s face was set and he just looked down at him.  “Hello…Sir?” Mark said, forcing the words out.

“Better, boy.  Inside!”

Mark went in and just stood in the hallway not sure what to do, or what to say, so he just looked ahead further into the house.  The man closed the door behind him with a thud.  Mark jumped and turned around to see the man grinning at him.

“So, you made it then, boy.  But you’re late”

“I didn’t mean to be…Sir,” he said still finding it difficult.

Then he just came at him, grabbed him by the elbows and turned him around roughly and pushed him against the wall.  Grabbing his wrists, he forced them up behind his back painfully towards his neck.  Mark resisted as best he could, he hadn’t been expecting this but the man was stronger than he was.  Holding him there, his shoulders throbbing from the strain he felt the man come close to his face.

“You will learn to do as you are told boy, is that clear?”

He wasn’t sure what to say; he’d only been a minute late, what was the big deal?

“I said, is that clear, cunt?” he said whilst yanking the boy’s wrists further up his back.

“Yes, Sir,” he said as quickly as he could and clenching his eyes against the pain.

He let go, pushing him to the floor and pinning him there under one knee, he unclipped a pair of rigid handcuffs from the back of his belt and snapped them on the boy in a single fluid movement.  He let them ratchet on tightly so they dug into his skin, eliciting another yelp.  Hauling him over onto his back and crushing his cuffed hands behind, him he looked the boy in the face.  He looked startled and a little apprehensive, but that was good.  He reached up and ruffled the boy’s hair.

“That has to go!”

He grinned down at him, the boy was more clean-cut than he usually got, still had preppy looking neat cropped hair and his jeans looked designer.  Younger too, no more than 24 and nicely proportioned.  He felt his arms and his thighs, all with the boy watching him puppy-eyed, but silent.  He worked out a little it seemed, which fitted in with the cocky attitude he’d had on the phone, full of himself, probably a pushy bottom – well, usually anyway!

“Get up, boy,” he barked at him as he himself stood up.  Mark struggled back onto his front then onto his knees and finally, unsteadily onto his feet.  He was looking down still when he noticed his dick was still hard.  Suddenly embarrassed he looked up at the man to see if he’d noticed.  He had.

“That’s good, boy”, he said as he laughed at the boy’s innocence, “Ready then, boy?”

Mark just nodded and said “Yes, Sir”.

He took the boy by the collar of his jacket and pulled him along behind him through the house and to the back door.  He opened it and started to walk outside, still dragging the boy.  At the step the boy hesitated, unsure about being led around outside, but he was just pulled along with a sharp tug, so he followed.

He led him into a large brick shed at the end of the yard, pushed him into one corner, then turned to lock the door and switch on the lights.

What Mark saw when the room lit up made his jaw drop.  Everything the man had told him on the phone had been real.  At the far end of the room, on a raised platform was a large black wooden box, no more than three feet along each side.  It looked like a giant jack-in-the-box with the top hinged open, thickly padded and lined with rubber.

Several straps, some long, some short, hung from the lid where they were riveted on and indented into the padding.  The outside was very plain except for the glint from the tops of the bolts that held the sides together.  They were serious bolts; the wood must have been an inch thick.

He watched the boy take it all in, and stepped over behind him.

“No going back from this point, boy.”

“No, Sir,” he said absent mindedly, still looking at the box and around the room.  Chains hung from the ceiling almost everywhere, some had shackles attached to the ends, another had a massive metal helmet swinging from it, there was a sling just behind the box, and a stout metal cage on the other side and closer to the door they’d come in through.  Shelves about two feet above the cage had stacks of rubber sheeting or clothing, he couldn’t tell which, and on the wall next to those every conceivable restraint had its own hook where it was stored.

Stored!

Stored was the word the man had used to him on the phone a lot, and he’d latched onto it.  Mark had looked around through the contact mags and website for ages, literally months maybe even a year or more, for someone into just real, aggressive bondage, and long-term.  Most he’d ever gotten anyone to do to him was overnight, and even then he’d had to beg them for it.  He had almost met another guy a few months back, but he’d been more interested in causing pain.  What Mark wanted was good honest bondage, but hard, unyielding, escape-proof bondage for as long as he could get it.  So when this guy said the word stored, his cock wouldn’t let him say no.

At this point the boy turned his head to look at the man who’d roughly cuffed him just a few moments ago, grinned broadly and said “Storage time, Sir?”

He liked this kid’s cockiness, and was pleased to see he’d been right in thinking he was usually a pushy bottom.

“No boy, lights out time!”

“Sir?” looking suddenly confused only to feel a strong hand grip the back of his head and another come up to his face and cover it with a rag.

In one swift movement, he kicked the boy’s feet from under him and held the rag there until he went out.  The boy struggled a bit but only enough to realize his hands were still trapped and that the cuffs were cutting into him.  A few un-aimed kicks and he was out.

 

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NOTE: You can contact the author through his own site, Male Restraint Stories, where this story originally appeared.