Thanks to my local friend Pisslurper, who graciously agreed to model these restraints. What I really like about these is the unique keys that came with each set. Once THESE are locked on and the keys are taken away, there is NO GETTING OUT.
Meanwhile in Second Life, a prisoner has been collared, whipped and locked in a small stand-up cage:
I received this “postcard” from someone on the inside. Not being in world myself, I won’t be able to rescue him, and I’m not sure I would even if I could!
I ride a Suzuki GSX-R600. Sportbikes and sportbike riders turn me on. I love nothing more than a hot guy clad in sportbike leathers, especially on a hot day when you know sweat is running down his body, pits and crotch—ripe and ready for licking.
A few years ago I had planned on a summer weekend overnight at buddy’s house in a city about 110 miles from the small town where I lived. This buddy used to be sort of a master for me, but by now our relationship had evolved to more of friends with bondage benefits.
My motorcycle allows no space for gear, just a tiny spot under the seat large enough for a wallet and maybe a toothbrush. So, the plan was for me to wear my leathers with nothing but a jockstrap on underneath, my racing gloves, boots, and full face helmet. I would carry nothing but a wallet in the space under the seat. If needed I could wear some of my buddy’s clothes when I got to his house, but usually I spend all the indoor time either naked or in my jockstrap, and we was planning on going out to the Eagle in our racing leathers. The two hour ride to the city wound through some pretty scenic countryside, so I was looking forward to the day. I planned the route out all on backroads, ’cause interstates pretty much suck, especially on a bike.
Today as I was scrubbing all three toilets and bathroom floors, naked and locked in chastity, I was thinking about “Bondage Camp” and its less than satisfactory work details. If I had to set up these scenes, here is what I would do:
A few years ago I was on a business trip to a large city in the Midwest that has a great bathhouse. Luckily I had an evening free, so after my work was done, I put on my old skanky Bike jockstrap, Levis, boots and a t-shirt to head over to the bathhouse. Oh, and as I often am, I was locked in my metal chastity cage, horny as fuck since I had been locked up for over a week.
This establishment has a great gym, with all the free weights, benches, Smith machines, and other equipment any decent gym would have. Since I needed to work out, I figured I would work out first and then try to get in some trouble in the rest of the bathhouse. Every time I go the gym, I have this fantasy of working out wearing only my jockstrap, and this seemed like the perfect place to make that fantasy come true.
With me only in a jock, you (being a Metalbond reader) can definitely tell that I am in chastity; the outline of the lock is obvious. However, most non-kinky gays have no idea what chastity is, and while they may notice something strange, couldn’t identify a locked cock if it slapped them in the face. Feeling slightly embarrassed, and also slightly proud because I’m in decent enough shape and feel like I can hold my own in a jock, I set out to the weight room.
A few years back I lived in a small city in the Midwest. I used to work out and swim at the local YMCA, which had a great gym and an Olympic pool. One of the lifeguards at the pool, Nate, was a good-looking gay guy whom I fooled around with once. Nate was in his 20s, nicely muscled with a light blond furry body and big uncut cock. He was also one of the nicest guys you’d ever meet. Back then we were friendly, but not really close friends.
Last summer I was visiting the town, and I ran into Nate while I was having drinks with friends. We chatted, and he said he was working at the Y the next evening and suggested I go for a swim before closing time. I was more than excited to go to the Y, not just because of Nate, but because I was locked in Steelworxx metal chastity cage, and I love working out locked up.
After two days, I had pretty much settled into jail routine. The mornings were nice; I’d wake up to the soft light at dawn, and drowsily drift in and out sleep with the sounds of the town waking up in the distance. The light would gradually bring the details of the cell into focus — the giant rivets, the steel walls, the steel L-brackets welded to the side walls, the glimpse of the cellblock through the steel bars of my cell doors. I’d become more aware of the smells of steel and concrete, and eventually I’d get up and piss a stream into the bucket.
When I was in the end cell, the jailor had to be in the cellblock to see into the cell through the bars of the cell door, and I could hear when he was entering the cellblock because unlocking the cellblock door made a loud racket. In the middle cell, the jailor could more or less sneak up from the jail portion behind the shower and look into my cell through the bars in the back wall of the cell. I wasn’t certain if I liked being more exposed or more secluded.
Since there wasn’t a table in the middle cell, and now I was supposedly a “medium security” risk, the jailor fed me my meals at the table in the cellblock area. He unlocked the padlock on the door of cell, exited the cellblock, slammed shut the cellblock door, padlocked the two huge sliding bolts on the cellblock door, then unlocked the sliding bar locking mechanism that locked and unlocked all three cell doors simultaneously. Then he told me that I could push open my cell door and enter the secure cellblock area. He pushed my cereal and banana through the handcuff slot, and I sat at the small table to eat my breakfast. I would’ve given my left nut for a cup of strong black coffee, but I knew better than to ask.