By Jaybird

I knocked on the lower level side door of the urban townhouse. It was opened in seconds, and I was invited in to a really cool social space with a wet bar to the right, and a comfy TV viewing area straight ahead, just past the steps leading upstairs. It had been an hour-plus drive and, I, somewhat sheepishly, asked to use the restroom and was shown the way down the short hallway just to the right of the staircase.

These initial social moments always feel awkward to me, which is why I really like to just get started right away. That bypasses the little dance of “who makes the first move.” But I didn’t have long to worry.

I was led into the TV room, then he swung the bookshelf out of the way revealing the play space. WOW. Secret door and everything. We went into a small anteroom just past the doorway that had shelves and milk crates on the wall, and I was given a simple instruction: “Take off your clothes and leave them here.”

I walked naked into the room and took it in. The lighting was heavily red colored, a bit dim, but enough to see everything. And there was a lot to see. A cage, across from the bench beside me, further in I saw the walls covered in rope, hoods, chains, a complete collection of heavy duty bondage gear – nothing lightweight or cheap here. There was a chain hoist secured to a beam. And on the left side was the post and beam that had my heart beating fast just thinking about the possibilities. Whether reality and fantasy would align, I didn’t know, but I was eager to find out.

My host got some rope and tied my hands behind my back, then had me sit up on the padded bench. I immediately relaxed, the option of clothing had now been completely removed. I was the way he wanted me, unable to change that state, and that felt good.

He wandered to the back wall and returned with a heavy leather hood. I knew the routine and bent my head forward for him. He quickly slipped it on and secured the laces up the back. “Tight,” I offered – I wanted to feel the security of the pressure. The hood was also secured with a leather neck strap, which was just a bit tighter than “comfortable,” which gets me going even more.

I sat back up, scooted my ass back a bit as best I could. This was nice, but I wanted something else, at the same time, didn’t want to be pushy. (Yes, I can be that way.)

As he started exploring, finding my hot buttons, caressing my nipples, he was asking questions about my experiences, my fantasies, what I craved, what turned me off. He asked about the first time I had done this, I told him of my first encounter with another man (“First Time Tied Up”), the excitement I had felt as my arms were secured behind my back.

This continued until, finally, I just said what I wanted. Quietly, almost whispering, “I want to be on your cross. Crucify me.”

Maybe that is what he was waiting for, or maybe he just was done listening to me. All I know is that he was next snugging down on the straps of a thick leather and steel bit gag, securing it in place… tight.

“Stand up.” I scooted off the bench, he turned me around, rubbed my ass, then untied my arms and slowly led me across the room.

Next were the wrist cuffs. These were those heavy duty ones, multiple straps around the wrists, and a handle of sorts to hold on to… designed for suspensions. I knew where this was going now, and was excited, if a bit impatient.

“Two steps back, now step up.” I felt the box with my heels, one foot, then the other as he stabilized me, and was standing perhaps 18 inches off the floor, my back to the 6×6 pillar.

He lifted my left arm up to the cross beam, and I felt the ring on my cuff get hooked over something. A hook? Then he started to secure the ring to the beam with some rope, presumably so nothing would slip off by accident. But I wanted more. I reached up with my right hand and started looping the rope around my wrist as well. He took the hint, and tied my wrist securely to the beam, and repeated the process for my right arm. This. Was. Hot.

Next, I felt him strap cuffs around each of my ankles. Now it got interesting. He lifted my left leg about eight inches off the box and secured the cuff to an eyebolt on the side of the post. My weight was now supported on my right leg… until he lifted that one as well and secured it too. I heard him slip the box out of the way, and I started squirming.

At first I straightened my knees. This pushed me upward somewhat, taking a bit of the weight off my arms, though it also caused me to lean forward, stressing my shoulders. I shifted a bit to the left, then to the right, again, shifting my weight to reduce the stress on one muscle group, only to have it increase on another.

I relaxed my legs, knees bent, and hung by my arms, only to then try to straighten them out again.

Then he started, ever so gently, playing with my nipples. The dopamine and endorphins flooded my body, I forgot the discomfort and just tried to lean toward the source of the pleasure. When he stopped, the discomfort, now rising to constant ache, returned.

This process repeated – increasing agony, temporary relief from the body’s natural anesthetic, only to have things worse when the neurochemicals stopped again.

I had never felt so completely NAKED in my life. It felt as though every bit of my soul was exposed to this man, I could, and would, hide nothing. It was erotic only in the sense that he manipulated my body to produce the natural involuntary reactions, but that was more humiliating than sexual.

After maybe 30 minutes, I don’t know, he whispered in my ear, “Had enough?” I nodded in the affirmative, though a small part of me, the greedy, irrational, animal part, was wishing he would say, “Maybe later.” But he took me at my word and reversed the process of hanging me up there. The box to stand on, then one leg, then the other, and my weight was, once again taken by my legs. My arms were stiff and sore. As each of them was freed, I just relaxed them to my sides, flexing the muscles, trying to shake it out as he removed the leather cuffs.

He helped me down off the box and led me back to the table. He wasn’t done. Again with the rope my wrists were securely, but comfortably, tied behind my back. “Lay down,” he said, I complied, and he completed the hogtie. The ropes were pretty large diameter hemp, but I could not reach the knots, he knew what he was doing.

He took off the gag and the conversation started again, my mind was still racing, it was hard to find coherent sentences, harder still as he played my nipples. But he had me share what I was thinking, feeling, fantasizing about my time “on the cross.”

I told him, and his response made my heart skip a beat – “We can do that,” he said. “Let me know the next time you are in town.”

With that he gently and slowly pulled an orgasm out of me.

I was exhausted, in that way if feels after a good workout. He untied me, I got dressed, and drove back thinking about next time.

Metal would like to thank the author, Jaybird, for this story! The comments section below is open!