Either Bryan or I was getting tied up tonight, and if everything went as planned, it wouldn’t be me. I sent my other roommate, Jordan, a text, double checking we were on the same page for tonight, and when he replied with a thumbs up, I got out of my car and walked into my apartment.
My roommates and I have an arrangement. The three of us are gay, fairly kinky, and very open about what we are into. When we realized these facts early on into our lease we decided to make the best of it, and we set up a system so that there’s no shortage of bondage in our home. The system is simple: in the kitchen of our apartment there is a calendar where any of us can write our own name under whichever dates we choose. Any date that your name is written under is a day you have consented to be held prisoner by one or both other roommates. On weekdays this capture could begin any time after you walk in the door after work, and on weekends the time you can be put in bondage begins at 7am. You are freed at midnight, unless you write ‘o.n’ next to your name, which indicates you consent to overnight bondage and won’t be released until 5am the next morning.
Of course, just because your name is written on the calendar for a certain date doesn’t necessarily mean you will spend the night tied up at your roommates’ mercy, it just means you could spend the night tied up at your roommates’ mercy. Often any or all of us will sign up as willing for a particular date with the full intention of trying to fight our way out of bondage, resist each other, or get our other roommates locked up before they can lock us up. The hard and fast rule is that only people whose names appear under a day’s date can be tied up on that day, but beyond that it’s anyone’s game.
Continue reading Roommate Bondage Arrangement – Part 01
Charlie hung there, from the overhead beam, his feet about 6 or 7 inches from the floor. The strain wasn’t too bad although, after this long, his arms and shoulders were beginning to feel it. First he had stripped. The big black guy had been meticulous with the bondage. Charlie’s wrists were both in high quality leather wrist suspension restraints that the guy had taken time over. There were no pinch points, each strap had been buckled, unbuckled, readjusted and finally hooked to the rings fixed to the underside of that ceiling beam. When he had finished all the preparations, he had Charlie stand on a box about 18 inches high so it wasn’t difficult or painful to stand there and let the guy fix his arms above his head.
Next to the box he initially stood on, on either side, were two small pillars a bit less than 10 inches high simply waiting for Charlie to reach out a foot, stand on them and release his arms from the building pressure his muscles were feeling. But there was a catch. He’d been told there would be, simply not what it was. Charlie had thought the test would be to see how long he could hang, the heat in the room making him sweat and increase his thirst, before using those two boxes he could easily reach. He wasn’t concentrating enough to think about the cold metal spiral butt plug which had been carefully screwed into his ass or why it was there apart from making him horny or the ring around his cock which was connected to it.
Continue reading Charlie
I’m alone in the room, accompanied only by the laptop that repeatedly shows me being shaved and then submitting to being turned into a rubber dog. Every time I move, the tail wags behind me and makes the plug rub against my prostate. As a result my cock is pressing against the seedpod and gets uncomfortable very quickly. The muzzle makes my view weird as it’s constantly in front of me and to look at the floor I have to look directly downwards. I also find that my peripheral vision is sharply limited. As the laptop starts its’ loop again, I realise that the colours are muted and dulled and seem more grey than anything else. I realise the hood has lenses in the eye holes that are making my vision more like that of a dog.
I move around on all fours, getting used to the way I need to move. I can feel the rubber warming up and I start to sweat. It’s odd being at this level, though the more I move around, the more natural it feels. I return to the laptop and now I note that there is a counter at the bottom of the screen – Tom has posted this online as well. I’m thirsty and I see that Tom has left a bowl of water in the corner. Immediately, there’s a problem – the muzzle gets in the way and my tongue can’t reach the water. I have to bury my face in the bowl and suck and lap at the fluid, but eventually I manage it.
Continue reading The Bet – Chapter 08
Could you spend 30 days in a completely dark room? I know many Metalbond readers would jump at the chance, even without a cash payoff at the end!
According to this article, two poker players placed a bet about this in real life!
Thanks to Metalbond reader Phil for passing this along. He says it wasn’t widely reported in the U.S., outside of the poker player media.
Somebody absolutely MUST write a story based on this for the Prison Library!
I wake up. I still don’t know what time it is, but there is a thin light coming into the room so I think it’s early morning. I reflect on yesterday and what Bob put me through and to my surprise I feel tears running down my cheeks. I can’t believe what he put me through. My cock and balls are still strapped up so wave obscenely in front of me, taunting me as though that gear aroused me. Which it didn’t. I wonder what Bob has in store for me today. I try to think of how much time I have left – and I’m not sure. I think it’s Monday, so I should be in work. I wonder what Bob has told them. As I worry about what will happen next, I drift off to sleep again.
I wake up as with a loud crash, Bob drops a sports bag in front of my cage. “Get up, slave, time for a shower and the gym.” As he opens the door, I obediently crawl out and then head into the shower. Although he hasn’t given me a time limit, I know he’ll want me back as soon as possible, so I hurry through it including removing the plug and evacuating my bowels. I look at myself in the mirror, the collar showing up against my shaved head and my cock and balls still restrained and sticking out in front of me.
The steady ache in my balls has dulled – I must be getting used to it. I head back out and, with only a nod from Bob to prompt me, I open the sports bag and take out the neoprene shortie wetsuit.
Continue reading The Bet – Chapter 06
As we walk into the club, it is empty except for the two barmen still setting up. The music is on but at a lower level than it will be later. Bob has clearly arranged this last night, because the small stage is empty except for a heavy chain locked to a ring protruding from the centre of the stage. Bob unclips the leash from my collar and padlocks the chain to the front. The weight of it pulls my head down. The chain is about 6 ft long so allows me to stand (just) but if I stay on all fours, I can get to near the edge of the stage. That is I can until Bob padlocks my ankle shackles to the ring. Now I have no choice but to remain here in full view of everyone who comes into the club.
Bob crouches down in front of me. The rubber suit is making me sweat and I can feel it pooling inside the suit. My muscles are already aching from the stress position that my arms are in. “OK, slave, so here you are nicely on display for everyone coming in to see. I think they need to see the man who has Topped so many of them reduced to being a rubber slave, don’t you?” I shake my head in the negative, grunting into the gag and begging him to put the hood back on. All I succeed in doing is making myself drool even more. Bob wipes up the drool with one gloved hand and then smears it in my already messy hair. He tuts, “What a mucky slave. I might have to shave that head later – slaves don’t need hair.” My eyes widen at the thought and I continue to try and beg him not to.
Bob stands up “what a loud slave. I might have to find some way to quieten you down.”
Continue reading The Bet – Chapter 02
As I park my BMW in the quiet street, I’m feeling nervous. I don’t know what’s about to happen and I’m not used to this queasy roil in the pit of my empty stomach. I look up at the house I’m visiting and part of me wants to turn around and drive home – and it’s a big part. But I made a deal, and I don’t back out of deals. But this deal is such a tough one. I lean back in the leather seat and close my eyes. What was I thinking? How did I get myself into this stupid position? I think back to yesterday evening – it all started so normally.
I look at myself in the mirror before getting dressed to head out to Backstreet. I’m 40 now and while I’m not as fit as I was when I was 25, I’m still muscled and give the gym bunnies a run for their money when I hit the weights – which is most days. At 6ft2” I’m a natural top and I have the rugged face that comes from my Polish heritage. My black hair is greying and I keep it short – No 1 crop at the sides and longer on top. I have a thick moustache and neat goatee and am hairy most everywhere else. Everything about me screams “Top” which makes life very easy indeed as that’s the role I love to play. I grin as I imagine what everyone else at the bank would say if they saw what their manager gets up to in his free time. I run my hands through my hair, using some gel to spike it in place and then I get ready to head out.
Continue reading The Bet – Chapter 01
By hard slave
The five of us had a standing game for a few years running, first Friday of every month. We alternated hosting, but mostly it was a Jake’s place as he had the most room. We were all a few years out of college back then, had decent jobs — unmarried but able to live on our own. It started with a low cash ante, no heavy bets. We eventually worked our way up, so that the winner usually came away with about 50 bucks. We didn’t need the money, so the stakes were kinda boring to all of us.
One night Jake suggested playing for something else. Let’s try strip poker tonight, he laughed. We nervously laughed along with him, but agreed. The loser of each hand would roll a die and take off corresponding number of garments. I lost first, rolled a 4, no big deal as each shoe counted as one item, same for socks. The game progressed and eventually Jim rolled a 6 ending the game. As he pulled off his briefs, we all hooted and pointed. What jerks.
Continue reading Poker Night