Tim Isn’t Going Anywhere

By DougUK

Even as a young child, Tim was weird. He didn’t know it, and other people just thought he was a bit odd, but with hindsight he realised he was truly, deeply, madly, weird.

His father had made a wooden box for the washing. Tim loved to climb inside. There was an odd smell, not unpleasant from the sheets and clothes, but more important than the smell, was the small, dark space into which he could struggle, and pull the lid closed above him. When he was little, the box was easily big enough to move around in, although the opening was small.

He didn’t have many chances as a small boy to enjoy the black confines of the box, with his parents rarely leaving him at home alone. In his teenage years he was left more often and continued to squeeze in, even though it was becoming increasingly difficult to struggle through the opening. Stuck inside, in the dark, unable to move, the sides of the box would creak ominously, as if they would burst; and he didn’t want the problem of explaining how the linen box had burst at the seams, so eventually he had to stop climbing in. Nevertheless, he was always looking for places to climb into, even cupboards at school, when doing so was risky, and had an extra thrill because of the danger of discovery. He found there were two things he particularly enjoyed: squeezing through a tight aperture; and finding it very hard to move once inside.

There was one other place he could regularly struggle into. The space under his bed was very tight, and a difficult wriggling crawl, but often at night, when everyone was asleep, he would squeeze under there, and lie feeling the weight compressing his chest, making breathing hard. The space was so tight for him, that he could only squeeze in naked, and it was under the bed that he experienced his first erections, lying on his back, rubbing his cock on the underside of the bed. The space was so tight, that he found it impossible to get a hand to his cock, and thus confined, he enjoyed the prolonged frustration of a huge hard-on and no relief until he exploded without use of his hands.

He was a loner: didn’t really make any friends at school, just got on with the work. He was successful academically. His parents were bemused that he chose a university far from home, and even more puzzled when he insisted on buying a large metal box-trunk to carry his belongings to the university. It was an old-fashioned steel box, the kind of trunk used in years gone by, in the days of great ocean liner journeys. Tim estimated the size he needed, and searched all kinds of outlets to find one. He was particularly keen to find one with a strong locking mechanism. Once he’d got what he wanted, he waited for his parents to be out of the way, and then drill a number of small air holes in the steel. He had to accumulate lots of stuff to justify the trunk, but he managed it.

His first night living in the hall of residence was unlike the first night of any other student, for he tried to sleep curled up in the steel trunk. The first night, he didn’t close the lid, but by the second he felt safe enough to pull the lid closed over him. With a blanket for padding, it was a tight fit, and for several nights he would wake, over-heated, and push the lid up, and climb out and lie on his bed, but gradually his body got used to the cramped heat of the box-trunk, and he taught himself to sleep all night in the box. There was only one thing wrong now: he couldn’t snap the fastenings of the lid, nor lock himself in, and he spent time trying to work out a way to seal himself in, but without success.

He knew about his need to climb into very tight spaces long before he knew he was gay, and for a while he defined his sexuality in terms of the bondage of enclosure more than his feelings about men or women. However, at the university, his awareness of other men developed, and he had a number of crushes, about which he did nothing. There was one hunk to whom he was very strongly drawn, but he continued to be too timid to do anything about him.

One day, however, sitting quietly at the end of the common room, out of the way of the hustle and bustle of the other students, the hunk came over to him and sat down beside him.

“You’ve been watching me a lot, haven’t you?” said the newcomer.

“I’m sorry,” stammered Tim. “I wasn’t thinking.”

“It’s OK,” said the other student. “Here, I’m Greg.”

“I’m Tim,” he replied, unsure what to say next.

After a pause, Greg turned and looked Tim in the eye. “You have been watching me, haven’t you? A lot ….. like ….. day after day.”

“I don’t know,” Tim replied.

“It’s OK,” repeated Greg. “I think you’re cute.”


“I think you’re cute. You’ve been cruising me, and I like the look of you. So why don’t we find somewhere a little less public, and really introduce ourselves.”

“Cruising?” said Tim, embarrassed. There was a pause. Greg looked at him expectantly. “Where can we go?” said Tim, both alarmed and pleased at this unexpected turn of events.

“Let’s just go out into the garden,” said Greg. “We’ll find somewhere where no-one will disturb us.”

“I’ve a lecture in ten minutes,” said Tim.

“Forget it,” said Greg. Smiling he looked directly into Tim’s face, “I bet you never skipped a lecture before, did you?”

“No, never,” said Tim.

“Well now’s the time to start!” exclaimed Greg.

Leaving the college building, they walked through the trees and bushes of the garden until they were out of sight of the windows. Then Greg put his strong arm around Tim’s slim waist. Tim let himself be pulled closer to Greg.

“You like that, don’t you Tim?”

Tim nodded.

They found a secluded bench and sat down. Greg moved his hand from Tim’s waist to his shoulder, and pulled the slim body into his strong grip. Tim spoke very quietly, almost a whisper.

“I’ve never done this before. I’m really…..”

“A virgin?” said Greg.

Tim nodded again, and unexpectedly, a tear formed in his eye. Suddenly, the tears were flowing, and Greg held tight to his new friend.

“What is it?” said Greg.

“I don’t know,” admitted Tim. “I just don’t know; but no-one’s ever held me like this before.”


“Never. I didn’t get much affection from my parents, and at school I was always the lonely one, the skinny runt, the one last to be picked for a team, not that I ever wanted to be in a team, the last one someone like you would look at.”

“Hey, stop,” said Greg, with warmth in his voice. “Let’s get something sorted out. You’re gay, aren’t you?” Tim nodded. “And I’m gay too.” Tim looked up. “Don’t be surprised, we would hardly be sitting here like this if I wasn’t, would we? If I was straight, I would have punched you in the face in the common room!”

“I’m glad you didn’t,” smiled Tim.

Greg relaxed his grip on Tim, but Tim spoke quickly, “No please, keep hold of me, hold me tight, don’t let me go.”

Greg scooped Tim’s legs over his lap, and pulled the thin man ever closer. “Well, well, what have we here? Tim, do you want to be my boy?”

“I don’t know what that means,” said Tim, “but if it means you’ll be strong for me, and hold me tight, and look after me, then I think I might.”

“That’s part of what it means.”

“And when you said I was cute? Did you really mean that?”

Greg laughed, “I never say anything I don’t mean, Tim.” And he kissed him gently on the lips. “Never been kissed before, either?”

Greg and Tim grew very close during that year of college: Greg had never had someone as vulnerable and innocent as Tim to care for; and Tim had never had anyone like Greg. They took to holding hands, and Tim would smile and think to himself, “I won the hunk! How did I do that?”

Greg would have fucked Tim that first day they got together if he’d had his way; but he knew he had a frightened rabbit in his arms, and he had to take things extra slow. A hug and a kiss was all Tim could cope with at first, and every time Greg suggested they back to his room at the end of the evening, Tim, alarmed at what might happen, always said no.

They were falling in love, and Greg knew he must continue to be patient if he was ever to fulfil his desires and fuck Tim, but after some months, he was feeling increasingly horny and frustrated. Masturbating alone, imagining his boyfriend’s skinny body, was losing its appeal, and so late one night, he determined to take the initiative. He took a deep breath, and walked over to Tim’s hall of residence. It was midnight, and all was quiet. He didn’t take the lift, but walked slowly and calmly up to the fifth floor. He knocked quietly on Tim’s door; there was no reply. He tried the handle, and the door opened. In the moonlight he thought the room was empty. “Tim?” he whispered. “Tim, are you there?”

Greg jumped almost out of his skin, when the lid of the box-trunk opened, and a very sleepy naked man sat up.




“Oh Greg …. why did you come?”

“Tim, my darling boy, what this? What’s this all about? What’s going on?”

“I don’t know,” said Tim feebly, “I don’t know how to say …. you’ll think I’m silly, and weird, and you won’t want to see any more of me. Oh Greg, I’m sorry.”

Greg sat on Tim’s bed and looked at his boyfriend. His heart melted. “Come to daddy and tell me all about it.”

Tim climbed out of the box, and curled up on Greg’s lap.

“You haven’t drawn the curtains,” said Greg.

“No, I never do. It’s nice and dark in the box, I don’t need to draw the curtains.”

“Do you sleep like that often?” asked Greg.

“Every night,” said Tim. “Please don’t tell anyone.”

“Why should I do that? But I think you must try and tell me about it. I love you little man, and I think I might know what’s in your mind. In fact I might just understand it.”

The sun was rising when they stopped talking, so they did draw the curtains, Greg undressed and they slept together for the first time, their naked bodies  entwined in the narrow bed.

When they woke, it was midday. Greg sat up.

“Now boy,” said Greg, picking Tim up and nursing him on his lap, “if I’ve understood all you said last night, you have a real deep need to be put into a box, and locked in.” Tim nodded. “I love you, Tim, and I think you love me.” Tim nodded again. “Then we’ll have to do something about it.”

Tim looked at Greg startled.

Greg continued, “Do you trust me?”

“Yes, I think so. Yes, I really do.”

“How does the box lock?” asked Greg.

“First there’s the main lock, with a key, and then there’s a padlock. I bought the biggest and heaviest I could afford. It fits though a kind of hasp. I’ve never used it.”

“Give me the keys, and hand me the padlock. Let me be sure I know which is which.” Tim showed Greg, and he, and Greg tried the box’s integral locking mechanism and then the padlock to make sure they both closed securely, and the keys opened them. “OK. Get into the box. This is real now. This is what you want isn’t it?”

“Yes, please, daddy.”

“I won’t leave the room, and by the way I’ve now locked the door, so no-one will come in, like I did in the night. I will lock you in the box, and I will sit quietly, so there will be no sound. You’ll not know how long you’ll be in the box, but now you have no control about that. It may be minutes or hours.  If you panic or can’t cope, just bang on the side of the box and I’ll let you out; but if you ask me to let you out, I’ll never put you in again. If you truly want this, and want it again and again, you’ll wait curled up in the box, locked until I release you.”

Tim moved to face Greg, and Greg responded with a long hard kiss. “OK, Tim. Get in the box.”

Greg watched as Tim folded himself into the box, amazed at how small it was and how tight Tim fitted into it. “Lock me in, please daddy,” said Tim, as he pulled the lid closed.

Greg snapped the main lock, turned the key and pulled it out. He fitted the padlock into the hasp, and closed it. He sat back on the bed, holding the two keys in his hand. How long would his pretty boyfriend endure?

Time passed slowly. Without shoes, Greg could pace silently up and down the small room, look out of the window, pick up a book and put it down, and check his watch. Constantly he would look at the box, picturing his boyfriend locked inside. Unaccountably, just imagining what was happening to Tim gave Greg a raging hard-on, but he did nothing about it. Silence for half an hour; silence for an hour.  As it got near to two hours, Greg started to panic. What if Tim had suffocated in the box, and instead of knocking to come out, had simply ceased to breathe? Greg found the keys, and fumbling slightly, opened the padlock, turned the main key, and lifted the lid.

Tim smiled up at him.  “How long was that?”

“Nearly two hours, Tim. I got frightened and opened the box to make sure you’re OK.”

“Look,” said Tim, “something happened. My cock got huge just at the moment you snapped the padlock, and it’s stayed huge ever since. I couldn’t move enough to wank.”

“Fuck, Tim, my cock got pretty big as well.”

“Did you ….?”

“No, I didn’t. I didn’t want to make a sound. I waited for you.” said Greg, “And now I think you’ve got to do something about it, just to say thank you for being locked up.”

“What do you mean, Greg?”

“Suck it, baby, just suck it!”

In the following weeks and months, Tim and Greg got to know one another very well. Tim learned how to be Greg’s boy, and loved the role. Greg, ever attentive to Tim’s needs, and how to get Tim to fulfil his own, slowly taught his lover to take his cock in his mouth and arse. He listened to all Tim told him about the bondage he needed, and discovered that he was strongly turned on himself by inflicting all kinds of confinement upon Tim.

They bought rope and learned together how to tie Tim up.  At first it was rather crude, as they were both beginners, but slowly they became experts. They accumulated a bundle of lengths of wood and steel rods, which they incorporated into their bondage games. They collected some basic leather gear: a blindfold, which Tim particularly loved, and after some hesitation, an expensive sleep sack. After some early experiments with the sleep sack, Greg and Tim added a number of heavy steel rods to ensure total immobility once Tim was strapped tightly in.

Tim was able to move into Greg’s apartment, and thereafter he never spent a night without being placed into some kind of inescapable bondage. He never struggled, or tried to escape, and Greg was constantly astonished how tight Tim wanted the ropes and straps to be pulled, or how long he could endure total immobility. Tim liked nothing more than to be tied into a tight foetal position, blindfolded, and placed in the box, which now had accumulated several more padlocks. He would listen as Greg snapped each of them in place. They had an agreement that Greg would never tell Tim how long his confinement would last: and Greg regularly tested his lover’s endurance by leaving him tied and locked in the silent blackness, all night. Tim also learned to sleep in the sleepsack, the steel rods turning him completely rigid, unable to move. Once strapped in, Greg would push him under the bed, a tight fit, just as it had been at home in his teenage years, with no possibility of movement for the entire night.

Tim was never gagged. They needed a safety net: and ever since that first time together when Greg had worried about Tim’s wellbeing in the box, they had agreed that without a gag, Tim could call for help if he needed it, and a wireless microphone in the box, or wherever Tim was trapped, would send a signal to a vibrator in Greg’s pocket.

Tim’s obsession overwhelmed his life; often he would be distracted during a lecture, dreaming of the evening’s preparations for his nocturnal bondage. He would smile to himself, remembering that it had now become several months since he’d slept in a bed: under it often, in his sleepsack, or of course in his beloved steel box.

As the first long summer vacation approached, Tim received a message from his parents that they would be travelling, so they thought it best he remain at the college during the summer. Greg was surprised by their attitude to their son, but Tim wasn’t. “I’m going to miss you,” he told Greg. “Hong Kong is so far away.”

Greg had already told Tim he would be flying to his parents who lived in Hong Kong, expecting Tim to be returning to his own home for the duration. “Forget about  Hong Kong,” said Greg. “This will be our first summer vacation together. Let’s plan a trip, not far, just the two of us. Leave it to me.”

When the day of the holiday arrived, Tim remained unaware of what Greg had planned. Greg released him from his night’s bondage, and told him to wait. “I’ve not packed anything,” said Tim.

“Just dress in your usual jeans and teeshirt. You won’t need anything else,” replied Greg.

An hour later Greg arrived driving a small camper van. “Here’s our holiday home,” he announced.

“Did you buy this?” Tim asked, incredulously.

“No, it’s rented, but if we like it, we could buy one,” laughed Greg.

“There’s only one bed,” said Tim. “I’m confused.”

“No need to be, boy. All will soon be revealed. Now help me get this thing loaded.”

They loaded the sleepsack, and their bag of ropes, and the heavy steel rods; a small bag of clothes for Greg, but nothing else for Tim.

“OK, lover,” announced Greg, “Let’s go!”

Once in the camper, Greg drew the little curtains, and told Tim to undress.

“We’re still parked outside your apartment,” said Tim. “What’s going on?”

“Trust me,” was all Greg would say.

As soon as he was naked, Greg lifted the mattress from one of the narrow beds in the camper van. Beneath was a wooden platform forming the lid of a long narrow locker, locked with a padlock. Greg unlocked and opened the lid and revealed a narrow space, lined with a thin mattress. “There’s where you’re going for your holiday,” he said.

Tim gasped, and then grinned. The space was just about long enough for him, but very narrow and with little height. Locked in it would be like being locked in a tight-fitting coffin.




“Oh, and one more thing. I’ve done some research, and bought you a new toy. Put this on.” He handed Tim a rubber object like a condom, but with a tube leading to a large bag. “It rolls onto your cock,” explained Greg, “and it’s very sticky, so it won’t come off. Now you can stay locked up for a very long time, and piss whenever you want to without being released. I can empty the piss bag with a little tap, which drains the piss out beneath the van onto the road!”

With some difficulty due to his growing erection, Tim got the catheter rolled onto his cock.

Greg got him into the sleepsack without the steel bars, as he needed to be able to heft his lover into the locker. Once all the straps and buckles were as tight as possible, Greg put the blindfold onto Tim, and with some difficulty, lifted him into the locker. It was a very tight fit, and even Tim, with all his experience and love of such things, gasped as his body adapted to the tiny space. Greg laid their set of steel bars onto Tim, giving him more weight than usual to cope with, and checked that the tube from the catheter was not obstructed, and tucked the piss bag beside Tim’s legs. “Now listen carefully. The blindfold makes it seem black to you, but in fact there are plenty of air holes near your face, so breathing will be easy. If you turn your face to your left, you will locate a tube with a nipple to suck. That’s water for you. Drink plenty, as I don’t want you dehydrated. I will refill the bottle without you knowing I’ve done it. You are going to stay in the dark for much longer than ever before. I won’t tell you how long, and the wireless speaker is just beside your head. The vibrator’s in my pocket, so if you are in distress, I’ll know. Enjoy the ride.”

Greg closed the lid, pushing it firmly against Tim’s torso, and locked it with the padlock. He put the mattress on top. Soon Tim felt the vibrations as Greg started the engine, and he knew they were moving. After a while, he needed to piss, and at first found it very hard to piss into the catheter tube lying in his trapped position. The tightness of the locker was beyond anything he’d experienced before and the vibration of the engine meant that the steel weighing him down vibrated on his body, bringing an added frustration to his raging hard-on.

During the journey he dozed and woke several times. Now and again he turned his head and sucked water from the bottle, and now and again he pissed. Losing all sense of time passing, he had no idea how far they had travelled when at last the camper van stopped. Faintly, he could hear Greg’s voice. “No, I’m on my own. Just for tonight.” Further conversation was out of earshot as Greg walked away from the van, then Tim felt the engine start again, and they moved, he supposed, along a rough track. The engine cut again and all was silent. Tim lay waiting to be released, but no release came. He could tell that Greg was moving about inside the van, and a slight increase in the pressure inside the locker indicated that Greg was sitting or lying on the mattress. Tim considered calling to Greg via the microphone, but dismissed it. After all, this was the life he wanted, wasn’t it? Totally trapped, unable to move except to suck water, and in total black darkness; he sucked some more, pissed again, and went back to sleep.

He was woken by the van moving. The engine had started, and they were on the road again. Tim’s life had become nothing more than sucking and pissing, with a raging erection most of the time except when his bladder was full. Eventually the van stopped again. Tim heard the mattress sliding away, and Greg unlocking the padlock. He felt cooler air as the lid of the locker was raised. “Are you OK?” asked Greg.

“Yes, thank you,” replied Tim.

“Ready to come out?”

“No, and don’t remove the blindfold either.” said Tim, “I’m ready for you to kiss me, and then to lock me up again.”

Greg knelt and leaned into the locker, kissing Tim long and hard on the lips.

“Sure about this?” he asked.

“Quite sure,” said Tim.

“If you’re staying there much longer, I’ll change the contents of your suck bottle,” said Greg. “Be ready for a surprise. It won’t be water all the time.”

“I love you,” said Tim and smiled.

“I love you too, you weird creature.” And with that Greg closed the lid, locked it, and put the mattress back in place.

Soon after, he felt Greg’s weight on the mattress, and then a new kind of vibration began. Greg was masturbating, lying on top of his entombed lover. Tim smiled. It was good to know that Greg was enjoying the holiday just as much as he was. It was a long slow wank, and the pressure on Tim’s cock made his erection even harder and he felt himself come, sending his cum down the piss tube and into the piss bag. Tim imagined Greg opening the little tap and his piss and cum trickling out under the van.

When he sucked the water bottle, he found he had milk, and later warm soup. And after a while, water again. It seemed he could go on forever, sucking water and nourishment, and pissing into the catheter, although he realised it must come to an end sometime, and indeed the next time Greg unlocked Tim, he told him to come out. At first Tim was reluctant, but Greg bluntly said, “You stink!”

“How long have I been locked in?” asked Tim.

“Two days and two nights; forty eight hours altogether,” replied Greg. “Now come out and wash, and dress. I told you that you wouldn’t need much on this trip: the teeshirt and jeans you put on clean two days ago are still here, and all you need.”

As Greg removed the blindfold, Tim tried to sit up. “Go slowly lover” said Greg. You’ve been flat on your back for a while.”

“Where are we?” asked Tim.

“Look out and see!”

Standing stiffly, Tim opened the little curtains to discover the camper van was parked in a wood, perhaps the edge of a forest.

“We’re in a forest?” asked Tim.

“But which one?” said Greg.

“Not much to go on,” replied Tim. “Can we go outside?”

Close to the van, there was a picnic bench, and beyond it a public lavatory. Tim and Greg walked to the bench, Tim clinging to Greg’s arm like an old man needing support. “I am a bit stiff,” he said, “but it was an amazing experience.”

“What do you mean ‘was’?” said Greg. “It’s not over yet. You’re going back in as soon as you’ve recovered. And next time it will be for longer. I’m planning a very long drive. Now have you recovered enough to walk to that toilet, and get yourself ready for the next test?”

“You mean, go and have a shit, don’t you? I think so.”

When Tim returned, he was laughing.

“What is it?”

“I forgot I was still wearing the sticky catheter, so when I went to piss, I just pissed down the tube into the bag.”

“And emptied the bag, I hope!”

“Yes, I emptied the bag.”

“Ready to go on?” asked Greg.

“Yes,” said Tim.

“There’s just one little difference this time,” said Greg. “I’ve bought a new toy you’ve not seen before.”

To add to the sleepsack with its wide thick straps, Greg had now bought a leather hood which laced to the sleepsack. It was made of two layers of leather with good nose holes, no holes for eyes, and a small gag containing a fixed tube at the mouth. Greg explained it to Tim.

“You hold the gag in your mouth, and your water tube will be fixed to it. By sucking, you’ll pull the water, or whatever I give you, into your mouth. You’ll not be able to speak, but that’s hardly making a difference as you didn’t say a word in the last forty-eight hours. If there’s a problem, just make a loud humming sound and it will activate my buzzer. Oh, and one more thing, just for fun. There’s a little padlock which links the hood to the sleepsack, just in case it comes loose!”

Tim was eager to be strapped into the sleepsack and experience the new hood. Once he was tightly bound, and lowered into the locker, Greg paused before closing the lid. He checked the piss bag and its connection to the drain, and he made sure the drinking tube was properly connected. Finally he asked Tim if his breathing was satisfactory. “Give one noise for ‘yes’ and two noises for ‘no’,” he instructed his lover. Tim made one grunt, so Greg locked the lid, pulled the mattress into place and started the engine.

Tim’s life in the silence and blackness, with vibrations of the engine for company, and the occasional weight of his lover on top of him, went on for a very long time. Tim found he was in a state of meditation for much of the time, except that his thinking was interrupted by the regular raging erections which continued.  Now and again, he felt himself come, and then he would sleep. He was aware when the van started and stopped, but with the double deprivation hood, he could no longer hear Greg’s voice.

Greg had been parked all morning, watching the view, and checking his watch. At noon he saw his target had been reached and so he decided it was time to unlock his cargo. Pulling the mattress away, he unlocked the lid and lifted it.

“Good morning sleeping beauty,” he said. “I think it’s time to come out. Now we will go very slowly as you’ve been lying still for a very long time.”

Greg lifted Tim out of the locked and laid him on the floor of the camper van.

“Lay still whilst I unlock you,” said Greg, removing the padlock from the hood.

As he unstrapped his lover, Tim shook his head slowly. “That was quite a trip,” he said. “And I don’t know if I can even stand up.”

“I don’t think you will for a while. Take your time.”

When Tim was released, Greg unpeeled the sticky condom catheter, and Tim lay on the floor of the camper van completely naked. He tried to sit, but fell back again. He turned onto his belly, and very slowly came up to kneeling. All he could do was crawl on hands and knees.

“I was suspicious that this would happen,” said Greg. “Now remember what I just said. Take your time.”

At last Tim was sitting on the mattress. “Under here,” he said. “How long was it?”

“Double the last time,” said Greg, “Just over four days and nights. Exactly one hundred hours.” There was a pause whilst they reflected on the enormity of what he had said. Greg broke the silence. “Now get dressed,” he said.

When Tim opened the curtains of the van, he was delighted to find they were parked overlooking the sea. “Where are we now?” he asked.

“Where do you think?” smiled Greg.

“I dunno. By the seaside, some Victorian seaside town, but it’s very quiet.”

“Come outside and sit with me in the sun.”

Outside the van was an ornate Victorian bench, and Tim held tightly to Greg as they walked to it, clinging to his lover even more firmly than the last time, in the woods. Once seated, Tim leaned against Greg, and Greg put his arm round his shoulders.

“I’ll never forget the first time you did that,” said Tim. “Was it really less than a year ago? So much has happened since then.”

“Do you regret any of it?” said Greg.

“Not one moment of it,” replied Tim.

They sat in silence, watching the sunlight on the sea, Tim snuggled against his boyfriend, his hunk. After a while they were joined by another man, who appeared to be staring out to sea. After a while, he spoke.

“I’ve been watching you two. Are you lovers?”

“What if we are?” replied Greg, on the defensive.

“Don’t be alarmed. I’m gay too, and my love and I are here on holiday. We come to Frinton every year. Always stay in the same hotel, behind you, over there.”

They turned to look, and saw the Regent Hotel. A former Victorian mansion, it was now a modest private hotel, with large windows overlooking the sea.

“Frinton!” whispered Tim, “So that’s where we are!”

“You always come to the same place, every year?” asked Greg.

“Always,” replied the man. “I’m Peter, by the way. My lover is Tony and he’s probably watching us right now. That’s why we come here, so he can watch from the hotel, see everything that’s going on.”

“There’s not much to watch is there?” asked Greg.

Peter smiled. “No, not a lot. That’s why we noticed your camper van when you came to park it. And when you came to sit on the bench, Tony said he thought you looked like a gay couple, and he sent me to talk to you.”

“Doesn’t he want to come and talk to us himself?” said Greg.

“No,” said Peter, “he can’t. But he’d love you to come and meet him. Please come over and say hello. He’d like it very much.”

“Very well,” said Greg, standing and supporting Tim. “Lead the way, but slowly. I’m Greg, and this is Tim. Tim is not up for hurrying at the moment, are you Tim?”

“There’s something spooky going on here,” whispered Tim to Greg.

Peter led them to the entrance to the hotel, and into a wide lobby. Peter took them to a door immediately off the lobby, and as they approached the room, they could hear a mechanical noise, some kind of electrical motor. Opening the door, the noise was louder.

In the centre of the room was an iron lung. Greg and Tim gasped.




The shining steel cylinder dominated the room, its metal bulk vibrating slightly as the bellows thrust back and forth. In it lay a man, with his head towards the wide bay window, watching the scene though a mirror fixed above him. Tim shook a little with the shock, but Peter matched forward.

“Tony, I brought them to meet you.”
“I saw you coming across the road,” said the man in the iron lung. “I’m Tony. Pleased to meet you.”

Greg found his voice first. “I’m Greg. This is Tim.”

“Hi,” said Tim.

“Push me away from the window and get some chairs,” said Tony. “Let me see our guests properly.”

Peter pulled the iron lung into the middle of the room, and brought chairs so that the three of them could sit within sight of Tony’s mirror. As he did this, Greg looked around the room. A single bed, presumably Peter’s, and little else in the large space, except this monstrous breathing machine, containing, and trapping, a man.

“Welcome to Frinton, or at least my little bit of it,” said Tony. “Now tell me, what are you to into?”

“We’re lovers,” said Greg.

“I could see that in the mirror,” retorted Tony, “but what else. You must be into some kind of kink to be spending all that time in a little camper van in Frinton. You’ve been there all morning with the curtains closed, and when you emerged, you looked decidedly weird. There’s something weird about those two, I said to Peter. Go and see if you can get them to come up. And here you are. So what gives?”

Tim looked at Greg, and then hesitantly, he told Tony that he was into bondage. “Go on,” said Tony.

“Well, rather severe, quite extreme bondage. Greg’s just released me from a hundred hours locked in a sleepsack, travelling in the bedding locker of the camper van. I’ve not seen daylight for four days.”

Tony chuckled. “I thought you were a suspicious pair, and I was right. Thank you for your honesty. Now in return you can ask me anything you like.”

“This is an iron lung, isn’t it?” said Tim. “I thought these things were finished with years ago.”

“The last occupant of this lung finished with it some years ago, and he’d lived in it for forty-five years. When he died, I bought it from his widow.”

“What happened?” said Tim. “Did you have polio?”

“No,” said Tony. “Not polio. In fact, nothing at all. Nothing happened, I wasn’t ill. I decided that I wanted to live in an iron lung quite voluntarily. It was my choice, and after I’d met Peter and he dedicated his life to me, I entered it on a completely permanent basis. I’ve been locked in it ever since.”

“How long ago was that?” asked Tim.

“Fifteen years ago.” replied Tony.

Tim gasped. “Fifteen years!”

“I was only twenty three at the time, but I was very clear how I wanted to spend my life.”

“I’m just recovering from being locked up for four days,” exclaimed Tim, “But fifteen years…..”

“I’m thirty-eight now, and fully expect to live until I’m eighty. So that’s about fifty years to go.”

“Does this machine do your breathing for you?” said Greg, as he slowly recognised the full extent of this man’s bizarre voluntary bondage.

“Yes it does. That’s what it’s doing, as the bellows moves in and out.”

“Can you breathe without it?” said Tim.

“I’ve no idea,” replied Tony. “Of course I could breathe normally when I was first sealed into the lung, but gradually in the first weeks I was able to relax and let the machine do the work. It’s been breathing for me now for years and years. And I’ll never know the answer to your question, because it will never be switched off, and I’m never coming out of it.”

Tim and Greg spent the rest of the afternoon with Tony and Peter. Tony spoke more about his teenage years, and the growing passion to be sealed in an iron lung, and Tim found himself opening up about his childhood experiences, and his need to be immobilised and locked.

Greg and Peter sat back and let the kinky ones talk. “Kindred spirits,” whispered Peter to Greg, “I’ve never known him, in all the fifteen years, to talk so freely.”

“And Tim’s never talked to anyone but me about his weird life,” replied Greg.

“When I came into the lung, I gave up all my personal possessions,” Tony was saying. “Peter took all my clothes and shoes to charity shops. I’m naked inside the lung, always have been. When we got the lung, there was a thin mattress to lie on; the previous man in here had been lying on it for forty-five years. We took that out and replaced it with a thick slab of rubber. We cut slots in the rubber to thread locking rubber straps through. My own weight holds the straps in place, and each one is locked with a padlock.”

“Where are you strapped?” asked Tim, as his interest in this severe permanent bondage grew.

“I have straps holding upper and lower arm, and wrist; thigh, and above and below my knees; and ankles. And there’s a wide strap across my hips, just above my cock. Of course I have no movement with my neck due to the air-tight seal of the lung, so from the moment I entered, I was totally immobilised. At first it was really hard, learning to let my muscles atrophy. I had many weeks of agony.”

“Did you practise for a few days before the final commitment?” asked Tim.

“No,” replied Tony, “I wanted it to be just as if I had suddenly contracted polio, and suddenly and permanently found myself paralysed and in an iron lung. The last day before I was locked in was very long and strange; finally I was locked onto the rubber slab, with all the buckles locked with padlocks, and Peter rolled me into the lung, closed the seal, and locked the master padlock.”

“Could you move if you came out of the lung?” asked Tim.

“Probably not,” said Tony, “although the question’s academic; I’m never coming out. And of course, I can never sit up now.”

“I was thinking about that,” said Tim. “I had trouble getting upright after four days lying prone.”

“After fifteen years,” continued Tony, “My heart only knows how to keep beating with me lying flat. I really have no choice now; it’s far too late to change my mind, I’m trapped in steel, locked in this metal cylinder, for the rest of my life. You see the big lever beside the mirror?  And you see that the lever is locked in place with a very big and heavy Master padlock. There’s no key.”

“I’m twenty-three,” said Tim, “just like you were.”

“Yes, just the age I was, just the right age to make a decision. Now is the time to plan the rest of your life, just as I did. I was lucky to find Peter at just the right moment, and it looks as if you’ve found your man at the right time too.”

Peter asked the hotel to bring tea for them, and Greg and Tim watched as Peter fed Tony small pieces of cookie, and then held a cup for Tony to suck a drink from it. “Just as I was sucking drinks in the van,” thought Tim.

The conversations went on into the evening. Tim suggested that Peter and Greg could go out for a walk so that he could talk further to Tony about being in permanent bondage. He was frank with Tony, and told him that he’d never spoken to anyone, not even Greg, about his deepest desire to enter into permanent, inescapable bondage, immobile for the rest of his life. Tony was equally open to Tim, and admitted that other than Peter, he’d never spoken this way to anyone either.

“It was tough. I made Peter throw the key away – in fact he threw it into the sea, here, where I could watch him do it. I’d been in the lung just a few weeks, and I was determined, after so much preparation, that I would never get out. At the time he threw the key into the sea, I could have got out and recovered, but with the key gone and no way to open the padlock, it was the point of no return. We chose a lock that would be almost impossible to open, even with heavy cutting gear. Many days I was in agony those first two years, but I made Peter promise not to cut the lock, not to let me out, however much I pleaded with him. It took a very long time before the pains faded from my trapped limbs, but there was no safe word. No escape, no turning back.”

“Have you ever regretted it?” asked Tim.

“Oh many times, when the pain was bad in the early days, but not now. My life is locked in this steel box; a machine breathes for me; my body remains still; and each morning when I wake, I’m delighted to remember where I am.”

“Do you live here in this hotel?”

“No,” said Tony, “This is our holiday home. We come here for one month every summer; the rest of the year we live in a room in West London. For eleven months I never leave that room. Peter goes to work each day, and I’m left locked in my lung, entirely alone all day. Moving here is fun, although it was very challenging the first time. We have a removal van, in fact a company who specialise in moving grand pianos, and they come to get me in London, and bring me here. It’s the only time I move anywhere, and I don’t see much of the journey shut in the back of the van.”

Tim smiled, “I didn’t see any of our journey here; I was well and truly trapped in the dark.”

Peter and Greg returned from their walk, and Greg took his lover back to the camper van. Tim was very quiet. Greg knew he’d had much to think about that evening. He strapped him into his sleepsack, no catheter, no hood, no feeding tube, and lifted him into the locker.

“You’ve been very quiet,” said Greg.

“A lot to think about,” said Tim. “I’m still in some kind of shock. Fifteen years so far, and fifty more to go. He’s going to spend sixty years or more locked in a steel box.”

“Sleep well, lover,” said Greg. “We’ll have breakfast together in the morning.”

“Don’t forget the lock,” said Tim.

Tim, tightly wrapped in the sleepsack, and locked in the locker, slept well for a while, but then woke. A chaos of thoughts was flying round in his head. Meeting Tony had stirred some of his deepest desires, and once more in the blackness of his own bondage, he found himself craving his ultimate goal, his unthinkable need for lifelong permanent immobilisation. He was surprised that he had started to tell Tony, almost a stranger, about his thoughts, and he was rather horrified to be confronted by the reality of the situation Tony had put himself into. He was very alarmed by the idea of even giving up breathing without a machine, and the image of that huge Master padlock on the iron lung, filled his mind. Never opened for fifteen years,  never to be opened for perhaps fifty more. That padlock became the focus of Tim’s desire.




When Greg unlocked him next morning, he recognised that Tim was in a state of agitation; and tried to get his lover to express himself.

“I can’t quite put into words what’s in my mind,” said Tim, hesitantly. “You can guess what’s happened. My deepest, most secret desire has been exposed. Tony’s bondage is so complete, so lifelong, so permanent. It’s serious.”

“I know it’s hard for you,” replied Greg. “Let’s give it some time, and we’ll talk some more. Now breakfast, and then do you want to go and visit Tony and Peter again?”

“Yes,” said Tim, “I’d like to visit again. I think we might become friends.”

Tim and Greg spent the summer in the camper van, with Tim snug in the locker every night and often during the day. Each time Tim never knew how long he would be locked in the darkness, nor where they would be when he was released. They returned to Tony and Peter several times, and as August drew to a close, and the iron lung was transported back to London, they followed it, and watched Tony being installed in his London home, ready for another eleven months trapped there until the next excursion to Frinton.

Greg was aware that his lover was thinking a great deal about Tony’s predicament. Was Tony fulfilling the kind of life that Tim craved? Did Tim actually want that kind of total bondage, total immobility, total commitment?

The autumn term opened at the university, and the lovers resumed their studies. Greg’s enthusiasm was as high as ever, but Tim had lost all interest in his work; he failed to meet deadlines with essays; he was lethargic in lectures; and Greg became increasingly worried. Often Tim would say, “I’m going to visit Tony,” and skip classes to spend the day sitting talking with Tony.

“He’s so happy. He’s calm and fulfilled. He’s found his lifestyle and living his dream,” Tim would say when he returned from another day spent with Tony. And then he would become silent again, leaving Greg to guess what he was thinking.

Greg, of course, was particularly aware of Peter’s role in the couple’s extraordinary lifestyle. Tony could not survive a day without Peter’s constant care and attention. Greg wondered what was in the relationship for Peter. He really had become Tony’s slave, bound to life with the iron lung as much as Tony was. And it would appear, on the occasions when Tim was with Tony and Greg could take Peter to a local pub for a drink, that Peter was as happy and fulfilled in his role as Tony was.

One day Tim got a message to call urgently at the Community Chest, the university’s department dealing with the well-being of the students. The senior officer called him into his study and told him that his parents had perished: killed in a traffic accident in Italy.

“I knew they were abroad somewhere, but I didn’t know they were in Italy,” replied Tim glumly. “I’ve never been very close to them. I suppose I should feel more upset.”

The Community Chest officer handed him a letter: “It’s from your father’s solicitor. I believe you are the sole heir of your parent’s estate. You have just inherited a considerable fortune.”

“I think that’s very unlikely,” replied Tim. “We lived a very humble life.” Opening the envelope, he read with increasing astonishment, that he would indeed be inheriting considerably more than he expected. No huge riches, but more than he imagined. It transpired his father had lived a frugal existence, and had owned a string of small properties which were let out and provided a good rental income. They also owned outright the house where Tim had spent his childhood.

“It wasn’t very expensive when my father bought it,” reflected Tim to Greg later that day, “but it’s worth a tidy sum now. I don’t want to go back and live there again with the ghosts of my parents, so we’ll sell it; but it will give us enough to buy just what we want for ourselves.” There was a pause. “And the income means I can give up university. It’s not working for me anymore.”

“When we first met, you were the model student, diligent and hard working. What’s happened?” said Greg.

“I’ve been thinking all through these recent weeks, what I really want from life.”

“Go on,” said Greg. “I might not be surprised by what you’re going to say.”

“Will you love me and stay with me all the rest of my life?” said Tim.

“Yes of course, you know that.”

“Even if I followed my dream, followed my destiny?”

“Yes, even then,” said Greg. “But you must put it into words, if we are to plan an extreme lifestyle together.”

“You know, don’t you?” said Tim. “I dream of immobilisation; of being totally and permanently trapped, unable to move a muscle. Locked for good and always………….”

“Like Tony?”

“Not quite. I don’t need to give up on breathing; but I believe my destiny is to spend my days locked away from the world, much of the time in black darkness.”

“You won’t go mad?” said Greg.

“No I won’t; I’ll be happy and fulfilled. I’m not mad now and I never will be. In fact I’ve never felt so sane and level headed. There’s only one real challenge, and it’s not me, it’s you. Could you deal with it? Could you be my carer and lover, twenty-four-seven, forever and ever?”

Greg paused and kissed Tim. “I love you very much, Tim,” he said, “and I knew this day would come, but I didn’t know it would come so suddenly and out of the blue. Here’s the deal. We wait six months, and we both think very carefully about the commitment we would be making for the rest of our lives. If you feel the same after six months, and I feel ready, then I’ll lock you up, and just like Tony and Peter, we’ll throw away the key.”




Tim expected the six months to drag horribly as he waited for his incarceration, but in fact he was very busy. Having dropped out of college, he was occupied with selling the family home, visiting the tenanted properties his father had amassed, and hunting for a new home for himself and Greg. He was very excited when he found the ideal cottage, roses round the door, extensive land with no neighbours nearby, and most important of all, a large dry basement. Having cleared his parents’ furniture and effects, he found himself clearing the furniture and effects from the cottage, and preparing it for himself and Greg.

He continued to visit Tony regularly, and talked constantly of his plan; Tony lay in his bondage, listening to the enthusiasm of his younger friend, and recognised a passion and commitment very like his own, very like the drive that put him into the iron lung all those years ago.

Although continuing his studies every day, Greg followed Tim’s preparations carefully, and came to recognise that they were on a pathway towards Tim’s immobilisation, from which there was no turning back.

“You will be spending many hours alone,” he reminded Tim. “I’ll be at college most days, leaving you early morning, returning in the evening. There’ll be no escape, no chance to break any of the locks. Your prison will hold you securely all hours of the day and night. It is still not too late to change your mind.”

“I’ll never change my mind,” said Tim. “I’ve spent every waking hour of my life needing to be trapped; once I’m locked in, I’ll be happy. After all my conversations talking about it all with Tony, I know I’ll be happy.”

On the day of his incarceration, Tim rose early to watch the sun rise. Standing in his garden, he realised that would be the last ever sunrise he would watch; the day passed slowly, and eventually the sun set. As the sun sank into the west and darkness filled the sky, he walked slowly into the cottage, undressed, and walked naked down the narrow steps into the basement. Greg was waiting for him, and locked a wide steel collar round his neck. The collar had been crafted with bolts which had been designed to connect to the steel table Tim would be lying on. They embraced, and Tim climbed onto the thick rubber slab where he would lay.

Greg found the connecting bolts which would hold the steel collar in place, screwed down the bolts. In the part of the operation which was the most difficult, Greg surrounded Tim’s head with asbestos fabric, protecting both Tim and the rubber slab from the heat of the welding.

“This is the point of no return,” stated Greg.

“I’m ready,” said Tim. “Do it.”

Very carefully Greg lit the welding torch and welded the bolts. The steam rose as Greg cooled the welds with wet rags, and then he removed the asbestos protection, replacing it round Tim’s neck with a close fitting rubber ring, tucked inside the steel collar, finally rendering Tim unable to move. He was fixed staring at the ceiling, unable to look left or right, up or down. His field of vision was as restricted as Tony’s.

Tim was now fixed by his neck into his resting place. Welding the steel collar was the crucial part of the bondage: with no chance of removing it, Tim was attached permanently to the steel table below his rubber slab. Greg then started to strap Tim down: first his torso with a strap under his armpits and across his chest; his arms, above and below his elbows, and at his wrists; then his hips, just above his cock; and as he fastened each strap it was locked with a padlock. Then he moved to his legs, strapping each leg tightly just below his crotch, above and below his knees, and above his ankles.

Once fully immobilised and locked, Greg kissed his lover, turned off the light, and walked up the basement stairs, closing and locking the door. Tim lay in the sound-proofed silence and total darkness, and smiled.

Tomorrow, Greg would manoeuvre a mirror into position, and place a video screen behind Tim’s head. Tim’s window on the world would be all he had from now on, for films, for books, for company, and he would start to learn to read backwards in the mirror, and his new life would start. His voice controlled phone would be placed near his head. But for that first night, there was nothing but darkness and silence. His felt his heart beating; and he continue to smile. He imagined Greg’s phone call to Peter and Tony. “We’ve done it. He’s welded to the table. From now on, Tim isn’t going anywhere.”

DougUK, September 2013.



5 thoughts on “Tim Isn’t Going Anywhere”

  1. Fascinating story. It’s made me think. But while I totally share Tim’s desire to be locked away in a tightly confined box, I don’t share his desire to be locked away from the outside world. Those are two separate desires.

    But what I don’t understand is the opening sentence. Why would Tim be considered weird?

  2. Very different story. Very interesting and enjoyable. Use of the term “weird”……I agree it’s not the correct term, but really isn’t a better one. I see it as weird because most Bondage enthusiast want to be freed eventually. Otherwise there wouldn’t be another chance to better the Bondage. Being locked away for life isn’t just permeate, but unchanging. That’s were I have the problem making the commitment to such a life sentence. Even ‘life with out parole’ prisoners have movement and slight change in their life.

  3. Would be really hot if Greg got a lover and started neglecting Tim, maybe even having sex on top of his immobile body.

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