He opened his eyes. The rough stone wall, about 4 inches from his nose, was blurred. Licking his dry lips, he moved away, but panic gripped his gut like a vice.
He couldn’t move.
The shock seemed to bring all his senses to life at once. And that’s when he felt what was holding him upright, rigid almost. He tried to move his head but could only do so a fraction. Straining his eyes downwards, he saw the steel bracket that held the collar that he now realised was round his neck, keeping his head so close to the brickwork.
He pulled at his arms. They were locked in position, about 45 degrees below the horizontal and stretched out just enough for him to feel the manacles bite into the backs of his hands, again the same distance from the wall. His elbows too were encased in an unforgiving metal bond.
He was standing straight, his knees held locked, metal tubes about 6 inches long grasped them and forbade them from bending even slightly, his ankles the same distance from the wall locked in position, his feet turned outwards to accommodate that fact.
His fear overcame his senses. He cried out, he yelled. Nothing but a hollow echo returned.
Concentrating he tried to remember, anything, anything at all. Where was he, and how did get there?
All the above feelings happened together so quickly that an observer would simply see the 19 year old wake, panic, scream out and then sag slightly as he realised he could do so little to alleviate his situation.
In his head he went over the fuzzy memory of last night.
The bar. It was his usual haunt on a weekend. He was alone. His present partner stayed at home working on some paper or other. No fun. Did he meet anyone? Think!
There was a guy, mid twenties he thought. Blond. And yes, those eyes he thought were fascinating, long dark lashes and blue as blue.
They’d had a drink together, or did they? He remembered going out to the car park, saying goodbye?
He had walked to the bar, why did he go over to that car?
The memories, once started, then came in a flood. That blond guy, he had that red open top, Italian job. He wanted to sit in it. It cost about the same as his annual rent. And — that’s as far as could get. Everything else was a complete blur.
Something had changed.
He felt the hairs on his neck stand. He knew he wasn’t alone any more. He heard nothing, he saw nothing, but that certain feeling crept up his spine like a spider with icy legs. In the warmth of this cell he shivered. There’s nothing quite as frightening as knowing someone, someone unknown, is with you, watching you but you cannot move, cannot turn to see.
“Who’s th..” His words were stifled as the thick leather hood was pulled over his head in one strong deft movement. He saw blackness, he smelt leather, that wonderful smell that normally kicks your cock into action. Not so this time. He couldn’t even flinch let alone struggle, the thick cold metal rings held him motionless.
Nothing. No sound, no movement. Just the black, leathery world that was his everything at this point.
He yelped as hands touched him. His muffled voice making nonsense of the words he wanted to say to anyone who could hear. But they didn’t hurt him. He felt the strength in those hands as they firmly but gently massaged his shoulders, the back of his neck and down the sides of his rib cage. He almost relaxed.
“Mmmpph” he tried to call out but the tight hood stopped the words. The hands continued to enjoy his body, pulling, pressing, filtering out the tension he was filled with. They worked their way slowly down his back to his thighs and then round his groin. His breathing quickened as he felt fingers touch his balls and then his cock. Stupidly he realised at that moment he was naked, it had not crossed his mind in his initial panic. They gently pulled at the soft skin making it difficult for him not to be aroused. Lower each hand went, the fingers carefully touching him in the crack between his balls and round his ass.
Whatever his brain told him obviously didn’t apply to his cock, which was now semi rigid and leaking slightly with drops of precum. His breathing continued to get faster, the inside of the hood became hot as he fought to understand who the hell was doing this.
Then it stopped.
Silence, he felt the stillness, but this time he was wrong. Whoever it was remained with him. He felt the pressure as a finger explored his ass hole, lubed and warm it pushed inside him just a fraction, he felt warm breath on his back as whoever it was stood close to him, working their way into him. He was just about coping with these new sensations when the pressure increased and he knew the guy behind him was about to fuck him. He clenched his butt cheeks, but the hands gripped each of his thighs and pulled, holding them as a lever to fight against his unwilling hole. Unwilling! He’d never been unwilling before, he fantasised about this sort of thing happening to him. Many nights if he was alone he’d got off to sleep dreaming of some strong fit guy taking him and using him for both their pleasures.
And now he fought against it.
Not for long. He felt the warm length of the guy, whoever he was, push slowly into him, taking his time, gently almost. He felt no pain just that fullness you get at first that then gradually subsides as your muscles relax and enjoy.
The hands moved slowly round his thighs, no longer pulling him but rubbing the front of his legs and under his groin. They moved up and down his now hardening cock, playing with the natural lube that was seeping from it and easing back along his length with the slippery wetness.
His head spun in tight circles of bliss, fear and helplessness. He found he was giving in to whatever was happening, no longer fighting it.
The guy suddenly speeded up and became as hard as iron inside him and he felt him convulse as the hot juice was pumped in hot jets into him. The hands held him for some minutes after that. He could feel the guy’s exhaustion as the hands no longer grasped him as they once did, they simply lay on his shoulders, resting. But it wasn’t over. His cock, still erect, was grasped and the stranger began to tease him, gently at first then slowly increasing the movement until he felt he was being wanked by a piston. In that position he could do nothing to stop it. He wanted to fling out his arms, to hold the guy, anyone, to respond in some way, but the metal held him relentlessly, not a muscle was allowed to flex.
He felt it nearing, that feeling you get when the point of no return is close but not quite, the heat in his belly flowed into his thighs, grabbed his balls and shot out of his cock. He yelled into his leather prison shuddering in the manacles, spunk spurting whichever way it could.
He gasped inside the hood, drained of energy. If he could have collapsed he would have done. Held as he was he had no choice but to stand where he was.
As his breathing slowed so his fear returned.
The hands were active again undoing the straps that held the hood in place, pulling it, wrenching it off his head. He closed his eyes against the light.
As he opened them all he saw was a hand as it covered his face with a cloth. Breathing through it his world once again became a blur of bright circles of light and a black tunnel that enveloped his senses.
“Hey, wake up.” His partner was leaning over him, the bar was beginning to empty. “I thought I’d join you for a drink after all, as I’ve finished my work but it looks like it’s closing. You drunk too much? You look a bit of a wreck.”
“No, no I’m fine,” he sat up, confused and dizzy.
“Looks like you missed most of the evening sleeping,” his partner replied. “Time to go.”
“Yeah, I suppose I just dropped off,” he replied.
He stood up and pulled his jacket over his T shirt, which was over the chair beside him.
“Wow, you have been having fun.” His partner grabbed his wrists and showed him the marks of manacles round each one.
He stared down at them. That icy feeling once again creeping up his spine.
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Metal would like to thank slavebladeboi for this story!