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.
Ten minutes later, I check my reflection again to make sure everything looks right. The black leather uniform shirt is offset by a light blue leather tie. The leather trousers fit snugly with the sailor zips accentuating the bulge of my 8” cock. My big size 14 feet are in Dehners, highly glossed and knee high. I add the finishing touches – the heavy Langlitz leather jacket, tight leather gloves, Muir cap and sunglasses. I’m ready. As I head out, I grab my duty belt with cuffs, collar and hood hanging from it and I strap it on as I head down to my car.
An hour later, I was in Backstreet with a beer in one hand and I was surveying the others present. The usual array of twinks were there and I ignored them as I have no time for them – I’m always looking for a man not a boy, and definitely not someone who refers to himself as a girl. I nod to a couple of guys stood talking – I’ve known all the regulars at the Backstreet for years and I have a reputation of a good bondage and SM Top. Unlike some others, I’ve never subbed and I’m not one of those that insists he’s a Top when he wants to get fucked – I fuck, I don’t get fucked. And I’ve never sucked another man off.
My attention is drawn to a brawny man wearing a chest harness and leather jeans as he walks towards the darkened rear of the bar. He’s just what I like – hairy and rugby player build. He’s not flagging, so its not clear what his role is, and I don’t know who he is, so I’ll just have to find out. I head in as well and as I move between the other men I can hear the sounds of sex underneath the persistent beat of the music. I find my guy stood halfway down, leaning against an oil drum and looking around nervously. Good – nervous is good. That means he’s more likely to be a sub. I position myself opposite him and stare across at him, lifting my beer to my lips. When his gaze passes over me, I lock eyes with him and to my delight he doesn’t look away. I smile to myself, but maintain a stern look on my face and I stand up to my full height and nodding at him, I move to an alcove.
I look back and see him hesitate and as I catch his gaze again, he heads across and stands in front of me. I sit down and prop my foot up on an oil barrel. I point at my boot and before I can say anything else, he bends to lick it. I grin – hes definitely a sub.
Half an hour later, I return to the bar and order another beer. Frank turned out to be a very eager sub and I had enjoyed playing with him. I had left him with my card and hoped he would call me as I thought we could have a lot of fun. This is panning out to be a good night. Two hours later, I have changed my mind. Frank turned out to be the only interesting guy here tonight. I’ve turned down numerous requests from twinks – one guy three times. Instead of really enjoying myself, I’ve been stood by the bar drinking. I realise I’ve had way more than usual and I’m going to have to leave my car here. I’m just about ready to go when Bob comes in, dressed like I am in a full leather uniform. Bob and I have known each other for a decade. We’re both Tops and have never played with each other, though we’ve both made jokes about topping the other one. He’s nearly as tall as me, is more muscled and has short cropped ginger hair and full beard. I would love to get him chained up – but he just doesn’t like to sub. But we’re friends, so I wave him over and get him a beer.
We end up sat at a table and laughing as we exchange stories. I have several more beers and am getting pretty drunk, when Bob takes control of the situation.
“Fuck me, Dave, it’s slim pickings in here tonight.”
“Damn right, Bob. I found one earlier, but hes gone and the rest…well, fuck me, its pathetic.”
Bob laughs. “If only one of us subbed, mate, we could sort this problem out.” I laugh too and take the collar off my belt and put it on the table. “Jusst say the word, Bob, and I’ll lock it on you.” Bob roars with laughter and gets another round of beers.
Bob comes back and sits down heavily.”I don’t know, Dave, looks like we’re going to have another quiet night, unless…” He pauses and sips his beer. “ Unless, what?” “It’s nothing, just a stupid idea.” “No, come on, you can tell me, we’re mates.” Bob leans forward, a glint in his eye. “What about if we play poker for it? Three hands, loser has to sub for the other guy.” I laugh, spilling my beer in the process. “Fuck that, Bob, if we’re going to gamble lets do it for something BIG.” Bob nods in agreement. “Alright then, loser is the winners slave for 24 hours.” Then everything happens very quickly – Bob gets some paper from the bar and the bet is drawn up. It includes penalties that can extend the duration – if I was sober, I’d realise that Bob has already thought this through. Before I really know what’s going on, I sign the document and the barman takes it away, before sitting down with us to deal the cards.
I’m in trouble almost immediately. I lose the first hand, only managing to get a pair of 4s. As the second hand progresses, I’m in with a chance of a flush but luck isn’t with me and when Bob puts down a full house, I have nothing. I lose and now have to be his slave for 24 hours. Bob stands, clearly completely sober and looks down at me. “The 24 hours starts at 8pm tomorrow. Be at my house then. I’ll text you what to bring and what to wear.” He then walks off, leaving me to wonder what he has planned.
I pull myself together and get out of the car. I look down at what I’m wearing – an Armani suit and put the jacket on. I know I look good in this. I open up the boot and take out two sports bags. Inside them is the uniform I was wearing last night. I lock up my car and walk up the drive to Bob’s house. My instructions were very clear. I haven’t eaten since breakfast, so my stomach is rumbling. I’ve just come from the gym where I had to complete a punishing chest and arms workout, so my pecs and biceps are aching and pumped up. My arse is slightly aching from the enema I had to give myself afterwards. I’m nervous as a cat as I push the doorbell.
It seems like an age before I hear the clump of Bob’s feet approaching the door. He opens it and stands there, wearing leather jeans, Dehners and a white t-shirt. He grins as he sees me in my suit. “Good evening…” he pauses and looks at his watch. “…Dave. Good to see you’re early. Come on in. Leave those bags in the hall and come into the lounge.” I do so and hear him double lock the door behind me. I’ve been here before and everything is perfectly normal in the lounge. Except that in the middle of the room is a bin that looks as though it locks and on the coffee table is a thick leather collar. I gulp and wait to be told to sit down. Bob laughs as he sees me stood there and checks his watch again. I realise he’s waiting for it to be 8pm exactly. I look at my own watch, just as the time changes and at the same time, so does Bob.
“Slave. On your knees.” I hesitate. “NOW!!” As Bob yells, I flinch and kneel down in the middle of the floor. “Good, slave, next time I expect instant obedience. Understand?” I nod and receive a cuff around the head. “UNDERSTAND?” “Yes, Sir.” The word comes grudgingly to my lips but clearly pleases him. “Slave, you are improperly dressed. Remove every item that you should not be wearing and place it in the bin behind you. You have 2 minutes.” I nod and stand to start to take my suit off. “STAY ON YOUR KNEES!” Bob’s commanding voice is deafening in this room and I get back to my knees and start to pull my suit off. My nerves make me fumble my laces, but I am soon kneeling naked and shivering, with my clothes in the bin. Bob stands up, locks the bin and puts the key away. “You get those back when you are no longer a slave. Until then you only wear what a slave would wear. Now, get your slave clothing.” I look around but there is nothing here … except the collar. I tentatively pick it up and hold it out to him. “Kiss it.” I bend my head to do so, noting as I do that it is about 2” wide, it has studs on it and the word “SLAVE” picked out in metal letters. “Give it to me.” I hand it over and then feel the thick leather go around my muscled neck as Bob straps it tightly on and padlocks it in place. “Good. Follow me.”
I stand up and follow Bob out of his front room and upstairs. I’ve seen his spare room before – he’s turned it into a playroom, but this will be the first time that I’ve walked into it naked. “Kneel.” Bob points to some rubber matting and I kneel down on it. He walks around me and pushes my knees apart to reveal my cock hanging in its bush of pubic hair and tells me to cross my hands in the small of my back. He also reaches down to tweak my nipples and I gasp involuntarily. Bob chuckles, before reaching down something from the peg board behind him. “Open your mouth, slave.” I do so and a ball gag is pushed inside it, forcing my mouth open. Bob padlocks it in place. “How does that feel, slave?” I try to reply but my words are garbled by it and Bob laughs as I struggle to respond. ” Fuck, you do not know how long I have wanted to see you gagged.”
Bob crouched down in front of me. “So, slave, I have you for 24 hours. But as you are aware, there are some penalty clauses. My favourite is the one that allows me to add 24 hours every time you cum.” I blanch – I don’t remember that. I try to complain, but the gag just makes me drool and spittle falls onto the floor. Bob laughs louder. “Hey, you signed the document, slave, so stop complaining.” He stands up and walks behind me. “Stand up” I do so and I can hear him unfolding something. “Turn around.” I do so and look at the one piece rubber suit that is lying on the bench. As I stand there, Bob pours lube into it and then takes handfuls of the lube and rubs them over my hairy skin. I beg him not to do this – I always think of rubber as something only subs wear. Bob knows that and understands even though my speech is garbled by the gag. “Of course, you can refuse…but that’s a forfeit.” I think for a second and nod, so Bob starts to help me into the suit.
The suit is a thick one, but it’s well lubed and Bob soon has it pulled up to my waist. He keeps stroking my cock with his lubed hands, so when the time comes to pull my cock through the hole for it in the crotch of the suit, it’s already erect. I look down to see my muscled legs now covered in the gleaming black material, but I can’t look for long as Bob pulls the suit higher and soon I am pushing my arms into the sleeves. This is more difficult, but with Bobs help I am soon covered in rubber from collar down. Bob removes the collar, then zips up the shoulder zips which end in a high rubber collar. He then relocks the slave collar on, sealing me in the suit. I’ve never worn this before and it’s weird. I can see all my muscles clearly outlined in shiny black rubber. Despite myself, my cock is now hard and standing out in front of me. Bob doesn’t help as he strokes my cock, causing beads of precum to appear at the tip. I groan into the gag.
“Oh, I’m so sorry, slave, but it looks as though you like your rubber suit. Oh dear, I hope this doesn’t make you cum.” He smiles insincerely. “Of course, I could help with that, although it would cost you.” I try to ask how, but only manage to grunt. Bob holds up a chastity cuff. “This would stop you cumming – or at least make it much more difficult. But..if I put this on you, I add 3 hours to your time. What do you think?” I wonder what to do – I hate the idea of being locked up, but if I cum he gets me for another 24 hours. I pause, then nod and Bob bends to start working my cock into the cage. It takes a while – and some ice – but eventually, my cock is locked into the steel cage. Bob leans close to me and whispers “Of course, I didn’t say how long I will leave that on you.” Bob then takes a spray can of latex polish and a cloth and polishes me until the rubber gleams. I feel the cold spray and then him rubbing me and my cock tries to harden in the cock cuff. I groan several times and each time I do, Bobs grin widens.
He points to a pair of DMs in the corner. “Put them on.” I head across, the rubber squeaking as I do. Every move I make has that noise, and as I heat up I can smell the rubber more and more. I bend and lace up the boots and then return to Bob who helps me into rubber gloves. He then locks rubber restraints around each wrist. I look at myself in the mirror – apart from my head, I look like some freaky rubber slave. Bob stands beside me and grins. “I know, slave, it’s not complete is it?” He unlocks the collar again and before I can react pulls a rubber hood down over my head. It’s a basic one and when I look in the mirror again, my head is now completely covered as he re-secures the collar completely trapping me in rubber.
Bob clips a chain to the front of the collar and then yanks it hard. “Come along, slave.” He takes me back downstairs and then to the front door. He’s taking me outside like this? I pull back and yell into the gag. Bob jerks sharply on the leash and turns back towards me. “Refuse and pay a forfeit. Your choice, slave.” I drop my head and nod and he leads me into the street and down to his car. I look around nervously, but no-one is around as he opens the boot. I can see that the inside is empty except for of steel prisoner transport chains. Bob grabs them and shackles me hand and foot, double locking the cuffs. I stand there in the street, rubbered from head to toe, gagged, collared, locked in chastity and shackled hand and foot. I wonder what anyone would think, seeing this tall muscle-bound guy dressed like this and I wince as my cock swells in the cage.
“Get in.” I try to step in but the shackles won’t let me lift my foot high enough. I sit on the edge of the boot and then let myself slide into it. I lie there looking up at my friend as he slams the boot shut and locks me in darkness. I wonder what he has in mind. Some time passes before the car moves as Bob gets into the driving seat and then we head off. I have no idea how long the journey is and no way to know where we are going. There is nothing to hold onto in the boot and I try to brace myself against the side to stop myself sliding around. But the slick rubber suit combines with the smooth lining of the boot to make that difficult and I’m relieved when the car engine stops and I feel the lurch as Bob gets out.
To my surprise, his footsteps go away from the car rather than opening the boot. I think about making some noise in case he’s forgotten me and then wonder what would happen if someone called the police. I don’t have to wait long and I hear footsteps and the sound of voices. The boot is opened and I look up to see Bob and two other men looking in. I recognise them – they both work at Backstreet. One of them was the barman who helped draw up the bet last night. The three of them lean in and roughly grab me and lever me out of the boot until I’m standing in the street. This time the street is not empty – we’re right beside the queue of men waiting to get into Backstreet and there is a chorus of catcalls and appreciative yells as I’m led inside.
The barman gropes my arse before he heads off into the club. Bob steps behind me and I feel him unlocking the collar and I sigh with relief as he’s going to let me out. My mouth is cramping around the gag and this hood is making me sweat. He pulled the hood off and then to my surprise, he puts the collar back on and locks it in place. He moves around to the front and I now realise that the leather jacket he has on is mine. “Can’t get you to serve me without the guys here knowing who is on his knees can I?” I grunt into the gag and try to complain. Bob just laughs and reached into his bag to grab some items. He removes the transport shackles and pulls my hands behind my back where he locks the wrist bands together with a padlock. He then adds a leather strap around each bicep strap before linking them behind my back with a belt. As he tightens it, my arms are pulled closed together, and my chest is forced up and forward, exposing my pecs. He then locks thick steel shackles around my ankles and uses the chain attached to the collar to pull me into the club that I’d walked into so confidently yesterday.
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Metal would like to thank the author, lthr_jock, for this story! If you like and want more, please leave a comment in the comments section below so that he can see!