Tag Archives: long-term bondage

Story

The Lock-In – Part 02

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By Cuffed Locked

If you missed it, click for Part 1

My arm was going numb. I had been cranking for what felt like hours. Thirty seconds of spinning to earn maybe ten seconds of light. Long enough to try two combinations, maybe three, on the padlock securing my chain to the solid bolt in Caleb’s floor before the bulb overhead sputtered out and I was swallowed in darkness again. I’d started at 0000. I was somewhere around 0042 now. Forty-two combinations. It felt like nothing. It was nothing. And yet every few attempts meant another round of burning my shoulder, feeding that sad little generator like I was shoveling coal into a dying furnace.

And the second I stopped moving, the silence came rushing back in.

I was trapped in my neighbor’s basement, in a custom escape room that he challenged me to escape from with no safe word, no early outs. And no phone. No clock. No sunlight. I didn’t know if it was 3 a.m. or 9 a.m. I didn’t know if Caleb was upstairs, asleep, watching, or not even home. And somehow, that made it worse. When the light blinked on again, I caught my reflection in the metal face of the lock. My jaw was clenched. Sweat trickled down my chest.

Continue reading The Lock-In – Part 02 →

Story

The Lock-In – Part 01

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By Cuffed Locked

It was a Friday afternoon when I wandered over to Caleb’s garage, as I had dozens of times before. I usually stopped by on Fridays. We had one of those neighborly routines, not quite friends, not quite strangers, but something in between. I’d wander over with a beer and a story from the office. He liked my stories, and I liked watching him work. It was easy. Today, the late-summer heat was thick in the air, and the sound of Caleb’s tools echoed out into the driveway, clinks and whirrs like music he didn’t need speakers for.

His place always looked like the inside of a junkyard exploded and reorganized itself into a workshop. Piles of wires, wood scraps, old appliances taken apart and half rebuilt into God knows what. There was a sort of madness to it, but Caleb had a talent for rigging up stuff that worked. Dangerous stuff, sometimes. Genius stuff, always.

He was working on some half-dismantled snow blower, even though we were still a few months out from the first frost. That was Caleb, always two steps ahead, always building something, fixing something, or taking something apart just to see if he could put it back together better. He was shirtless, and his forearms flexed every time he twisted the wrench.

Continue reading The Lock-In – Part 01 →

Daily Thread

Wade Endures Three Days of Pain

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Only a perfect specimen of muscle and athleticism could continue to struggle and lift his body after hours on the cross. Still, the strain on Wade Russell’s muscles and limbs is unbearable. At seven hours, the tough-as-nails prisoner hangs limp, his abdomen sucked in, his chest unable to inhale, until he forces himself upright again, crying in agony, his whole body shaking, his pain and exhaustion palpable, his lean flesh glistening with sweat, every muscle fiber ready to burst, until he is finally cut down, collapsing to the ground, the deep wounds from the whip still visible on his back and ass. No prisoner has ever suffered so beautifully.

Only a perfect specimen of muscle and athleticism could continue to struggle and lift his body after hours on the cross

Wade Endures Three Days of Pain

 

See this video at Dream Boy Bondage

Title of this update: Wade Russell: Three Days of Pain – Chapter 11

Wade Endures Three Days of Pain

Only a perfect specimen of muscle and athleticism could continue to struggle and lift his body after hours on the cross

Story

The Shackles of Curiosity – Part 01

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By Peter B. and Art Intelli

Peter had always been a curious man. Not just about the world — though he devoured books on history, science, and myth — but about the more obscure corners of the human experience. Of all his peculiar interests, one obsession stood out above the rest: bondage. Specifically, the cold, metallic click of handcuffs locking into place. There was something elegant in the restraint, a mechanical intimacy he couldn’t quite explain.

When he heard that The Amazing Argento, a legendary escape artist rumored to have broken free from the most impossible traps, was performing in his city, Peter bought front-row seats without hesitation.

The show was mesmerizing. Argento, draped in sleek black, challenged padlocks, chains, straitjackets, and submerged cages — each escape more impossible than the last. But what held Peter’s gaze was not just the spectacle, but the tools. The gleam of cuffs, the clink of chain, the artistry in control.

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Story

The ‘Just Bondage’ Session

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By Anonymous

A chance meeting at a local sauna sparked a conversation that uncovered our shared secret: a deep craving for heavy bondage. I admitted I can’t recall a time without this pull, a need so strong it drove me to years of stupid and reckless self-bondage experiments that cheated death but I was still hooked. He shared his own tale, voice hushed, eyes distant. His first taste came with an older woman who bound him in rubber and leather restraints, her head-to-toe latex igniting a lasting obsession. After they parted, he bought his own rubber gear in secret, experimenting alone until a self-bondage accident went so wrong it scared him so bad he locked his gear away. Neither of us sought romance or sex—just the raw intensity of bondage. We knew the risks of going solo, so we built a partnership grounded in trust to explore this together. One chance meeting gone right.

It’s 9 AM, and the room is set. A glossy black rubber sheet hugs the bed, anchored to the frame were 13 straps that would hold him in place. An electric blanket beneath and three infrared lamps above cycling 30 minutes on, 30 minutes off, would keep him warm.The air carries a faint scent of rubber and silicone lube, sterile yet heavy. A bag for the piss tube hangs discreetly by the bed, and my tablet displays real-time data from his Bluetooth oxygen sensor and heart monitor. A large bag of electrolyte hydration drink hangs on a small stand, its tube connected to the bite gag for when he needs a drink. Everything is prepped, negotiated and tested—this is his fourth session, and thinks he is ready for a 10-hour plunge, from now until 7 PM.

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Story

It started with Mitts –Part 05

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By bondagegimp

Breakfast

I begged him to open the mask again, but instead he turned me onto my stomach and even put my upper arm cuffs back on. I screamed but he just ignored me, turned me on my back again, opened the cage and took it off my cock. Bob sat on me so that my cock was wedged between my stomach and him and only the glans with the catheter was slightly protruding between his thighs.

“I want you to imagine in your mind’s eye how I’m sitting here on top of you and playing with your cock. Describe to me what you see!” I imagined the situation, him kneeling on me with his legs apart, my body wedged between his thighs, the large bulge between his thighs. His body rising above me, looking even bigger from below. His pectoral muscles are more clearly visible from here, as a relief that emerges vividly from his body, which also appears even wider from below.

The shoulders, which stand out as a curve in the silhouette, merge in one direction into the biceps, which virtually spill out of the suit, merge into the broad forearms and finally into his large hands. And in the other direction, coming from the shoulder, I see the strong bull neck with its curves under the rubber leading to the strong neck, to his angular face with the prominent cheekbones, the short trimmed full beard, the short shaved sides and the full black head of hair. Then, of course, the dark eyes that watch me with a penetrating gaze, as if they could see inside me.

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Story

It started with Mitts –Part 02

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By bondagegimp

Afternoon Nap

It was a short walk from the car to the house. With the bar between my legs, it wasn’t easy to walk, but he just kept pulling on the leash, and I had to limp after him. I tried to grab the leash with my hands so he wouldn’t pull on my neck, but the fist mitts that were locked on made that impossible; I had to let him pull me to the house by my collar. I barely had time to look around the house; he pulled me straight up to the stairs.

Climbing the stairs was even more difficult with the bar between my feet, of course; I had to brace myself with my hands on the floor. Once at the top, he pulled me into the bedroom. He said he wanted to rest a bit after the drive, so he took off my shirt and threw me onto the bed. He took a chain from the top of the bed and attached it to my collar with a lock. It was long enough for me to move, but too short for me to sit down. Now he grabbed my feet, removed the bar, and connected my feet with a short chain, which he then tied to the bottom of the bed. This chain, too, had enough slack for me to bend my legs, but not so long that I could have gotten out of bed. With just a few simple moves, he had me secured to the bed, naked except for my diaper, lying there in front of him.

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