In the summer of 2020, Mark Bind volunteered to be locked up for as long as people voted to keep him imprisoned. A series of videos document his daily imprisonment and bondage. This new video was added to Mark’s site, Men In Chains, just this week:
Click for Men In Chains
By Taurus
Russell slowly undid James’ bondage, first flipping him on his front to unknot the rope, then onto his backside. The gag came out last, after he had been sat back up.
“Sir…”
“I know what you’re gonna ask me, so I’ll tell you: pleasure sessions don’t mean orgasm sessions. I could let you cum, or I could edge you. The pleasure was in the time you were free from your cage.”
A lengthy silence capped off this part of the conversation. It was Russell who broke the silence.
“Got any more questions?”
“Who was that just now, sir?”
“It’s Riley, another slave like you.
“He’s new here, and he’s staying for a month, a little longer than the two weeks for most normal people.”
James blushed. The year he signed up for was just a tiny bit crazier. Seeing this, his handler chuckled and patted his shoulder.
“Ah, his thing is being treated like shit. He asked for his handler to all round abuse him. All allowed in the contract, of course.”
By mmmpppfffhhh
Author note: I was inspired to write this story when my (late) friend Maurice (Jim Stewart) of Fetters told me about a straight married couple who liked tying up Malcolm in dive gear. I modified it so the gender of the narrator is unstated; you can imagine whomever you want!
[WARNING: This is a work of fiction; do not attempt to copy or re-enact the fictional activities described]
All through the day he knows he’s facing a whole weekend being kept helplessly tied up, the whole time dressed in thick smelly rubber from head to foot. And he knows that as soon as he comes in, it will start.
It’s the same every time, but no matter how often we do it, until he’s actually all kitted up and secured in bondage, we’re both pretty nervous. But all the “getting ready” is very sexy too. It’s got a lot to do with seeing a big fit confident man like him progressively turned into a submissive heavily-controlled rubber prisoner.
So on Friday afternoon, as he pulls up in his work van, he waves to me, comes in, puts down his tools and goes straight up. He knows he has no choice, even though what’s going to happen to him is what we both want.
He strips in front of me, glancing nervously sideways at me and the pile of rubber dive gear on the floor, which he knows he’s going to be put into. He’s blushing furiously. He stands naked in front of me, looking down at the floor with his hands behind his back. He’s very aroused, and if it wasn’t for the chastity device I keep him in, he would have a rock-hard erection. As it is, his locked cock is sticking out stiffly like a bulging doorknob. I can almost hear his pulse pounding.
By Taurus
James woke on his 21st morning to a blaring alarm – as per usual – and a pleasant surprise – so far the only truly pleasant thing that has happened to him since he got here.
The cell door opened to reveal two men – Arnold and someone who looked like the sergeant-type guy who read him the rules, except he had a beard that made him seem more friendly.
“Slave, meet Russell. He’s the one who’s gonna deal with your hair every two weeks, though I messed up the scheduling so you’re gonna get a trim next week too, and then it goes back to normal again. He’s also helping me do a few things in my job.
“He’s been here a long time. Knows what he’s doing.”
Seemed. Arnold seemed easy-going but all James has gotten from him are punishments. Since these two were cooperating, there was no reason to conclude at this juncture that Russell would not follow suit.
Instinctively, James opened his mouth to say “thank you sir,” but the punishment the week prior – which mandated silence from him – did its number, and he stopped himself.
By rts
My harness is restrictive, stiff and heavy. The tight crotch cradles my butt and affects my walking. The other prisoners all have shaved heads and look to be around my age and physical build. There are three skinheads walking with us, and each has one of those control-box shockers that seems to control two prisoners. A fourth skin (the one from the gas station) is definitely in charge of the others. All four of them are booted in 20-hole Rangers, dirty Levi’s bleaches held up and pulled tight on their butts by braces and showing significant bulges, mostly stained with piss.
The three in control of us all have zippers down their butts and look to be in their late 20s. The fourth skin (the overseer) walks down the line of us and with a black felt tip writes a number on the back of our shaved heads, from 1 to 6 (Jake is No. 5 and I am No. 6). He gives the order to the controlling skins, “Move these fags out.”
Unowned in NYC
It’s been over a month now since my sub became my gimp. While I’m on the job, or out with my buds, the excitement of knowing where he is and how he’s bound, and that he’s not moving until I got home, still keeps me hard through the better part of each day. But the intensity is lessening a little bit, week by week. It’s a relief for me, in a way, because my dick was getting chafed from stepping into the port-a-john to jerk off five or six times a day during those first couple weeks. The other guys had started razzing me about it — was I getting old man’s prostate? Going to jerk off again? If only they knew that’s exactly what I was doing.
That first week, the gimp was on my mind practically every second of every day. Horned up beyond belief, but tempered with a strong dose of concern. Maybe he’d overheat, or there’d be a fire or a gas leak at the house. Maybe he’d completely freak out and I’d come home to a zombie gimp, mentally broken beyond the point of what I wanted. Maybe some freak accident would clog up the air tube in his gag. The gimp and I had talked about all these dangers and more, in those last couple months leading up to his transformation. As far as he was concerned, the chances were so remote for any of these possibilities, that it was a no-brainer.
The potential risks were well worth the reward of him being allowed to truly live as my object. He didn’t have to twist my arm. I had just wanted to make absolutely sure he was aware of what he’d be getting himself into, and that he wasn’t off in a fantasy world, unaware of certain realities. By the time I’d decided I really wanted to do it with him, I wanted to be sure we weren’t going to get a few days or a few weeks into it just to have him try to get out of it or negotiate for something easier.
By Unowned in NYC
I’m driving home from work with a raging hard-on, knowing my gimp is sitting on the closet floor right where I left him this morning. It’s only been a week since he quit his job, and since that first day, this Monday, barely a moment has passed where I haven’t been throbbing in my pants, oozing precum.
I wonder if I’ll eventually get used to having a gimp, take it for granted, forgetting about him for hours at a time, no longer ready to bust my nut just picturing him.
Almost there. It’s been all I could do to not whip out my dick and jerk off in the car, but I’m waiting until I get home so I can get into my full leather and see the gimp as I shoot my load. Still early spring, so the days are still short. It’s dusk as I take the last turn on to my street. My place sits at a dead end.
By Locked22
“You wanted this, slave.”
The voice spoke confidently through a speaker overhead as Derek stared at the collar.
This wasn’t just any collar. “It must weigh ten pounds” he thought, as he lifted the massive metal object off the floor of the cell he found himself in. It was a beautiful piece of ironwork, with an integrated locking mechanism that removed any need for a bulky padlock. A length of heavy chain stretched from an anchor on the wall to the collar – long enough to allow a wearer to sit or stand, but not long enough for the wearer to get close to the door of the cell.
He knew that if he closed it around his neck, there was no going back.
Not that there was much chance of that as it was. He was naked, save for the chastity cage that had been a constant companion over the preceding month, and alone in the small cell. He didn’t know where he was, or even who he was about to put himself in the custody of.
