Bind is chained next to the toilet in a jail cell — but that does not stop the guards from coming in to take a piss! Check out what happens:
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We rode down the elevator with his hand pressing against the monster in my ass, causing me to moan EVERYTIME he pressed it. He was pressing it with each floor we passed, and for any floor the elevator stopped on he pressed it hard and held it in deep the entire time the door was open.
“Are you ready for a fun day boy? Didn’t you say ‘Feels amazing SIR- it wants to be your toy for you to enjoy! I’d stay this way ALL day if you wanted SIR’ weren’t those the last words you spoke?” He said while holding the plug deep in my hole.
“MMMMPPPPPHHHHHHMMPPPPPHHHHHH” I was trying so hard to articulate that I can’t possibly stay this way all day – i just can’t do it – it sounded so hot – but FUCK.
“That’s what I thought. You know you’re right where you belong don’t you?” He said quietly in my ear just before he turned and looked into the dark tinted lenses of the urinal hood.
I slowly kneeled down by his feet on the elevator floor as he rubbed my rubbered head. “Good boy – that’s what I thought.”
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Silas chains his slave to the Saint Andrews cross and doesn’t doubt to whip hard his naked body, especially his ringed cock. Among the whips and the hard treatment, the master blows his cock making him moan. Once Silas thinks it’s enough, he places American on a stool and fucks hard his daddy’s ass. But this master seems that he’s never satisfied, because he bends American over and fists his abused ass whilst he jerks himself off. Once the slave cums, his master puts him a mask for the last humiliation.
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Title of this shoot: Punished by Silas Scene 2
To recap where we left off – the urinal of our story is locked into full rubber, waders, and urinal hood with a built in gag. He has a thick XL plug in his hole, and his dick which has been coated in numbing cream is sealed inside an external catheter.
All of the gear is padlocked on with 12 locks that have been tossed into a time safe for 12 hours.
“I don’t know why you’re making such a commotion – you practically begged me for this didn’t you?” SIR said with that damn grin on his face as he pressed his body against mine.
“MPPHHHHH” i tried to get out thru the gag holding my mouth wide.
“I’ll make a deal with you. I’m going to get ice to make a drink, and I will be back in five minutes. If your hardon has gone down by the time that I get back then I’ll see about making you more comfortable. However, if it hasn’t…. well… then you clearly need more. Now don’t fucking move a muscle until I return.” He said with a sneer as he headed towards the door.
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Jake woke up in the middle of the night and had a raging hardon. He looked over to the side of the bed and saw the most beautiful image ever — his property was safely stored away in his sleepsack and snoring peacefully. Looking at the clock it was about 4AM and he knew he was going to get a few more hours. Not wanting to go all the way downstairs to piss, he grabbed the jug he had stashed beside the bed and pissed into it. What Ian didn’t know yet was that Jake wasn’t planning on wasting any piss this weekend. His boy was going to learn his role properly, the hard way. Jake laid back in bed and started sniffing his own musky pits while he was stroking his hardon. Fuck, his own smell was like poppers for him and it just made his dick harder. Reaching into the top drawer of his night stand he grabbed a pair of heavy tit clamps and laid them on his chest while he kept sniffing his pits and stroking his dick.
Yeah this NEEDED to be taken care of for him to get back to sleep. He was tugging at his meaty nipples and when they were painfully perky he attached the strong clamps and took a deep inhale of breath. Jake started playing back the images in his brain of his boy downstairs sweating on the table earlier and a bead of precum leaked from his cock.
He sat there, although there was very little else he could do in the circumstances. Right wrist cuffed to right ankle, left wrist cuffed to left ankle and a short metal rod between his ankles which meant he could roll onto his side but that was about all. When his back ached too much he pulled his knees up to his chest, when his legs needed a stretch he straightened them again as much as he could. The cycle repeated itself in shorter and shorter spaces of time. He’d had his clothes on at first but they came after a while, cut and tore his shirt off, laughed as they pissed on him, pushed him over onto the wet concrete where the puddles accumulated and left.
He’d more or less dried off when they returned. This time they rolled him over and began to cut off his jeans. He’d protested at this only to hear one of them sigh. The same one, when the cutting and tearing had ended with him now only wearing his 16 hole boots, reached into his pocket and pulled out a small metal spring loaded clamp. They forced his mouth open and fixed this to the end of his tongue making his protests noisier but less coherent. The final addition was a thin chain, one end fixed to the clamp, the other to the centre of the ankle bar. This pulled on his tongue relentlessly unless he pulled his ankles tightly to his body but even then it wasn’t enough to get it back into his mouth. And of course it made his legs ache even more.