By slavebladeboi

Today I was his toy, but then I knew that as soon as he stretched me into a vertical spread eagle.

The leather wrist restraints that were bolted to the high beam seemed to get tighter the sweatier my wrists got, helped no doubt by the fine mist of oil that he had sprayed all over me. The temperature in the dungeon was in the low 90s but humid, and I felt each trickle of oily sweat slowly and constantly running down my body.

I’d been alone and in this position for at least a couple of hours now. Is that all? I hear you say. Well you try it and you’ll soon see how time can sometimes drag. I’m standing with my feet in wooden stocks and spread far enough to make my hole available and easily filled.

He was good at DIY too, almost engineering standards if what I was in was anything to go by. The milking machine was fixed in a position in front of me and also strapped to me so, although I could hardly move anyway, there was no way it was coming even slightly loose.

The fuck machine was positioned so that the dildo at its lowest point was about an inch inside me. I couldn’t raise myself onto my tiptoes, as the stocks I was in also had tight leather ankle restraints fitted around the holes gripping my legs tight.

I opened my eyes but could only see the blackness of the inside of the tight rubber hood and feel the surface of it cling to my greasy, sweaty face. It made the smell of the rubber more intense which in turn made me hunger for some more action on my cock, which ached for attention. I had a tubed gag, which when I sucked on it hard enough allowed liquid to enter my mouth although I realised it was probably not just water as after several mouthfuls I found my erections becoming harder and more sensitive. At least I wasn’t in danger of dehydration.

The milker was set on a program that gave me about five minutes or so of very slow sucking followed by what seemed an instant of fast action, just enough to get me to that point, and we have all felt “that point.” The one when your brain tells you “go for it, pump that jizz” and you fall into the open chasm of orgasmic ecstasy. But not quite. I get to hold my breath and — it stops. I yell blue bloody murder into the gag and slump, as far as it’s possible, in my position. The timing of the milker is random too, so I have no idea about the time space between those tortures. It’s the same with the fuck machine. Over the couple of hours it’s been on and off at various speeds, first making me hornier, then getting me praying for it to stop. There’s a sort of self-lubricating device in the head that oozes lube very slightly at every stroke, so I never get sore, just totally frustrated.

Then he went and bought a pair of electro bi-pole tit clamps, held them up in front of me before hooding me so I’d know it wasn’t really red hot meat skewers being pushed hard into my chest, or his fingers gently playing with the nubs, as both sensations were being sent down the wires at regular intervals. In that moment I saw his eyes had that look of sheer sadistic delight.

I presume he’s watching me on the CCTV. I presume he’ll know how much more I can take. Not so sure I do.

Metal would like to thank slavebladeboi for today’s male bondage story!