SLAVE TO TWO MASTERS - 4

4

BOUND FOR PUNISHMENT

It had been more than eight weeks, and I was still thinking about him, especially when my two Masters were not around. I couldn't forget what he looked like the last time I saw him. He was still bound uncomfortably in the cage, all because of me, and I was sure he hated me for it, although his beautiful, substantial cock was hard. Mike's erection was exaggerated by the cock and ball harness, tethered to a bar at the bottom of the door of the cage, and his balls were bulging in the harness and pulled toward his feet. The rigid neck/arm device and handcuffs held his arms and wrists in place, shackled to each side of the cage. His ankles and feet protruded through the bars, where they were secured inside a wooden stockade. His legs were held rigid straight in front of him, and he was leaning his back against the back of the cage for support. His feet were about six inches apart, two or three inches off the floor, in the middle two of the four slots of the wooden stock. As ordered by one of our Masters, I had just finished licking my cum off them while he groaned through the gag and strained his head against the harness and muzzle, connected with black cords to the sides and top of the cage. It was at that point that Bob ordered me to stop and stand up, and my sight was taken away as he put a leather hood on me. Soon thereafter, Bob and Jim left Tom's house, with me in tow. I hadn't seen Mike since that night. I had also never cum again without permission since that night.

In the days and weeks that followed, I learned not to ask about Mike, because being Bob and Jim's slave meant, among other things, that I was entitled only to the information my two Masters decided was necessary. Thoughts of Mike were probably in my mind that day because I was alone and bored. I was using vacation from work, and it was the fourth day of my scheduled ten-day stay at Jim and Bob's house. It was to be the first time I was with them for more than a long weekend. They hadn't said so, but I had the feeling that each day was a test of sorts. In the first three days, they had been around a lot and kept me busy with housework, chores, cooking, workouts, servicing them, and, of course, bondage. Then, early in the morning, with little warning, some preparation, and a few instructions, they had gone. I found myself alone and unattended in the basement dungeon. I was naked and wore prison manacles: iron collar, wrist, and ankle restraints, all connected with heavy chain in front, neck to wrists and wrists to ankles. I felt like Houdini, except for the heavy metal chastity pod enclosing my cock and balls that dangled between my legs. The chain between my ankles had an additional chain locked at its other end to a metal post anchored into the center of the dungeon floor. Within my reach, there were cans of tuna, pork & beans, carrots, and peas; cereal; several gallon jugs of water; toilet paper; a bucket; a leather pillow; and one of their cordless phones. My two Masters said they'd be gone "a while" and that the phone was only to be used for an emergency.

Was being bored an emergency? I was sure it wasn't. I looked at the supplies and tried to figure out when my two Masters would return. The day had passed slowly. I had tested the restraints thoroughly. The chain from my neck to my wrists ended at my crotch, and the chain from my wrists to my ankles allowed me to stand up straight if I pulled both tight. When I did so, the wrist and ankle cuffs dug into my flesh, and the heavy iron collar pressed uncomfortably down against my collarbone. All were close fitting irons that I had worn before, and I knew that I wouldn't be able to slip out of them. I cupped and pulled at the seedpod in frustration. I had been wearing it since the day I left my apartment, almost five days ago. I drank a full gallon of water, pissed a couple times through the pod aiming it over the bucket, and ate two cans of tuna. In the afternoon, I lay still on the floor with my head on the pillow and watched the light change through the few small, ceiling-level basement windows. There was a glare across the glass on one of the framed Tom of Finland posters. Under it, the hospital gurney was unoccupied. My two Masters had added the gurney to the dungeon since I met them, and I had spent many nights securely strapped to it within my leather sleepsack, which they knew had become my favorite form of bondage.

When the light was gone, the dungeon became dark, chilly, and lonely. I had difficulty sleeping on the concrete floor, and whenever I shifted the noise of the chains intensified my solitude. I could make out the chains and bar of the hoist fastened to the ceiling above me. I wondered if my two Masters ever planned to use it on me. I wished I were in the sleepsack, tied to the gurney, with all my senses occupied by bondage, instead of in chains on the floor.

Early in the morning, my cock insisted on attempting to become erect, and I woke in pain. By then, I was hungry enough to consume the dry cereal. I felt unclean as it was and, worried that I'd have to move my bowels, wanted to eat sparingly. I drank lots of water, daydreamed, fantasized, and hoped they'd come back soon. I could smell my piss in the bucket, so I picked it up and carried it to a far edge of the small perimeter that demarcated the area in which the floor chain, about 4-5 feet long, allowed me to move. I carried my pillow to the opposite side and lay down on the rough concrete floor again. I experimented some more with the chains, to explore all the possible arm and leg positions they allowed. Then my thoughts returned to Mike. Would he let himself be put into such a situation? I banished him from my mind and instead concentrated on Bob and Jim, my two Masters. Even after knowing them for more than two months, they rarely involved me in any activities with them that didn't reinforce the roles of Masters and slave. If languishing in chains in their basement pleased them, then I shouldn't question it. There were still five days left before I was due to return to work. Surely they didn't intend to leave me alone the whole time? Trying to figure out how much was there, I studied the canned food—at least two more days' worth!

I played with the chains and wished the bondage were more challenging. When I realized that the afternoon light was beginning to fade, the image of myself spending a second night alone in my two Masters' house, where I would sleep chained to their basement floor, weighed heavily. I considered the phone, on which there was a post-it with the number of a cell phone they carried with them. What would I say to them—that I couldn't take any more? Please come home? Or, instead of calling them, I could call 911. That would be interesting. What if the house caught fire?

I gave in to my hunger and ate two cans of beans and franks. Cold, canned food was a new experience for my palate. More time passed. The basement was getting dark. I turned on the phone, and it displayed the time—7:32 p.m. Interesting, I thought, that I had had the ability to keep track of time but hadn't realized it. I punched in a phone number I had memorized a year or two before. It came from an ad in a bondage magazine, placed by a bondage top I had used to talk to on a regular basis. He was a long distance from me, and we had never met, but we had enjoyed many telephone conversations about bondage. While our discussions had been stimulating, we never talked about Master slave-relationships. It wasn't within my realm of experience before I met Jim and Bob.

There were four rings before he answered. He was surprised to hear from me and listened for several minutes as I explained where I was. He was extremely inquisitive about the details of my confinement and my relationship with my two Masters, and I was glad to supply all the information he wanted in response to his many curious questions. It was fun to talk about it with someone, and I could tell he was getting off on hearing about my predicament. With the dungeon having gone completely dark and the phone pressed against my ear, I lost track of time.

Still on the phone, I heard Bob and Jim overhead. They had returned. I quickly said goodbye and noted the time before I turned off the phone—8:46 p.m. A basement light came on. I heard a door and then someone on the stairway. I blinked my eyes to adjust, and then they were both standing over me. They were dressed in exercise clothes and looked refreshed, clean, handsome, and tan. They had obviously been in the sun. On my knees, as they had taught me, I crawled toward them to press my nose and lips against their shoes. I looked up.

Bob spoke first. "What emergency came up that you needed to make a long distance call?"

I hesitated. They stared at me in silence. "Sirs, there was no emergency."

"With whom were you on the phone?" Jim asked. The grammatical correctness and tone of his voice sounded ominous.

I could feel my face redden. "Sir, I was so bored that..."

"We're not interested in excuses. Answer my question, slave."

"Sir, just a guy I used to talk to. I memorized his number a year or two ago from a bondage magazine. I've never met him. We've only talked on the phone. I'm sorry, but I just felt so ignored..."

Bob interrupted: "You will be very sorry, boy. Give me the phone."

I complied quickly and then watched them turn toward the stairs to leave. I felt a tear escape and travel down my face as they ascended the stairs and the light went off. The clatter of the chains against the floor as I twisted to rest my head on the pillow was depressingly familiar. Heartsick with worry, I found that sleep was totally unattainable. The night lasted forever. To complete my misery, I had to have a bowel movement in the bucket, at which point I discovered that I could only clean myself by bending over and reaching between my legs with the toilet paper.

Jim came down early the next morning and released me from the manacles. He also unlocked the chastity pod, told me to remove it, and ordered me to clean things up. He reappeared with Bob as I finished showering. A little chilled and wet, I stood naked before them.

Jim spoke. "Get dressed. We're taking you home."

I felt my pulse quickening. "Why, Sirs? I have three or four more days before I have to be back."

Jim again: "If you've come this far in your training and we can't trust you to follow orders, we're not interested in continuing."

"But, Sirs, it was just one phone call."

Bob said, "No. It was more. It was an issue of trust, a test of your obedience, and a test of your commitment to being our slave. If you can't stay quiet all by yourself in our dungeon for just 36 hours, we don't want you as our slave."

A cold feeling came over me. I resisted the urge to shiver. "Please, Sirs, I'm sorry. I won't ever do it again. I can take the time alone. Even more if you want. I promise. Please give me another chance." I assumed a kneeling position at their feet, bowed my head, and looked at the floor. I could sense a silent exchange between them but I dared not look up.

I heard Jim's voice. "All right, you can stay. When did you eat last, slave?"

I was flooded with relief and had trouble remembering. It took me a few seconds to come up with the answer: "Beans and hot dogs—two cans. Last night before you came back, Sir."

Bob gave the order this time: "Go get the metal stocks and position yourself on the floor of the shower."

Bob disappeared while Jim followed me into the bathroom and locked the double rigid irons on me. I felt one of Jim's hairy, powerful legs against my side. I bowed my head and contemplated my rigidly bound hands, held fast between my ankles, and my unfettered cock, poking up against my stomach.

I felt Jim's hand against the bristle of my buzz cut and then his other hand came under my chin. "Up here, boy."

His good looking, stern-featured face had a look of sympathy. "You need a thorough punishment, boy. It's not going to be fun for you, either. Once we start, you have no choice. If you object or complain, things will just get worse. Understand?"

"Yes, Sir."

"Still want to stay?"

I could feel my heart pounding. "Definitely, Sir."

Bob reappeared. I heard him ask Jim if I still wanted to stay. When Jim said yes, Bob stooped down with some pills in one hand and a can of Ensure in the other. After I consumed them, they left me. I sat alone on the cold tile floor of the shower. My cock had wilted with nervousness. I considered the words and repeated them in my head: "a thorough punishment."

First, the stomach cramps started, and then a feeling of drowsiness came over me. I lost track of time passing. At some point, I carefully shifted to my right side and held the rigid iron, my left foot, and my wrists propped up against the shower wall. The cramping intensified as I began passing watery feces onto the tile. The odor was overwhelming, but I felt powerless to do anything about it. Next, I saw booted feet, and the shower was turned on. I closed my eyes to shield them. The cold water counteracted the drowsiness. I felt awake again. Then there were hands on my body, and I was flipped over onto my back. I saw Bob's face and felt the end of the douche hose being inserted. I sensed time passing as the water flowed in and out of me.

Released from the iron stocks, standing, I was weak and a little dizzy after they were finished cleaning me out. They led me out to the dungeon and sat me on a bench they had positioned in the center of the room, where I had been chained to the floor. Tired and compliant, I stopped being able to distinguish who was doing what. They fastened my arms behind me in laced-, strapped-up leather sleeves that kept my elbows bent and my joined forearms against my back above my waist. A large rubber gag went into my mouth with an outer flange pressing against my lips. A leather hood, one that did not feel familiar, was pulled over my head. I felt the front of the hood being positioned against the gag and realized it had a breathing tube. The hood was adjusted, zipped, and laced closed. I had no sight. I felt a hand holding my chin, something being inserted into the breathing tube, and then the hood tightening further. I thought I could feel straps being pulled as the pressure on my brow, under my chin, and around my neck increased. The flange of the gag was sealed against my lips, and my jaws were held fast around the gag.

I sensed a hand on my chin, and then I was no longer able to breathe through the gag. I inhaled quickly through the small eyelets at the nostrils. I heard Bob's voice. "If you can't keep your mouth closed on your own, we'll do it for you." He took his hand away, and I exhaled through the small tube in the gag.

Next, I was on my stomach on the bench with legs bent at the knees as I felt wide, heavy leather cuffs strapped around my ankles. Then, my ankles being pulled and lifted, hands guiding my body, the bench moving, and the realization I was suspended upside down. Swaying back and forth helplessly, I was taken by surprise by a series of rapid strikes over my butt. Through the hood, I heard the sound of what felt like a strap hitting me repeatedly, and it quickly became very painful. I twisted and bent my knees to try to have some control over where the blows landed, and the beating continued. Eventually, I stopped caring about my reaction and moaned loudly within my leather encasement.

Bob and Jim were shouting at me, but I couldn't process all the words: something about learning to obey, not to object, and to be grateful for my punishment.

Soon after the beating stopped, I was lowered to the floor and pushed onto my knees over the bench: cold jelly against my sore butt, rubbed over my anus, and then the slow insertion of a large plug. Next, they sat me up and guided my feet into what felt like a leather pouch. When they stood me up, they removed the arm binder, and then I recognized the familiar feel of my arms going into the inner sleeves of a leather sleepsack. At first, I thought it was the one in which I had spent many nights strapped to the gurney, but, as they pulled it up over my shoulders, the texture of the leather was stiffer and its smell stronger. Usually I was in a horizontal position when I wiggled into the sleepsack before bedtime. Having me stand vertically while they fastened it around me, and being enclosed in it during the daytime, seemed unusual. I verged on tipping over a few times, in response to yanks of the straps and laces, but they always steadied me and ordered me to stop moving as they adjusted and tightened the bindings. My cock, which automatically hardens (or tries to) when I get into my sleepsack, had been pushed down uncomfortably under the leather before the zippers were closed. I had the sense they were rigidifying the sleepsack as much as possible. In response, without considering the consequences of cumming without permission, I thrust forward, to increase the pressure on my cock, and I let out some grunts. I was on the verge of cumming, but my cock was in an awkward position for it. I felt a strong hand on my shoulder and a sharp slap on my inflamed butt through the leather. The unmistakable tone of Jim's masterful voice came through: "Stay still!"

They were finished enclosing me. Sensing the absence of hands to steady me, I felt frightened and thought I had lost my balance, only to discover I was actually being lifted by shoulder straps, evidently built into the sleepsack. (The leather one I was familiar with had no shoulder straps.) The upward motion stopped, and, twisting and squirming reflexively, I hung upright. I had the sense of tightening, as if my body was descending deeper into the sleepsack and my arms were shifting lower into the internal sleeves. At that moment, it felt like the most complete bondage I had ever experienced, and I was reacting with a mixture of excitement and panic. I sucked air greedily through the small channel in the gag.

I heard Bob's disembodied voice: "Should we sedate him some more?"

Jim responded, "No, he'll get used to it." They were talking loudly, obviously so that I would hear.

I heard Jim's voice next to my ear. "You're in your new sleepsack. It's custom-made, skintight, sized to your dimensions. It arrived while we were gone. We intended it as a reward, but we've decided to use it as part of your punishment now instead." My mind raced back to the day, weeks ago, when they had taken detailed measurements of almost every part of my body. My cock, even more squashed than before, hardened further in response to the idea I was confined in a fitted sleepsack.

I felt the zipper being pulled at my crotch, and then hands fishing around and pulling my cock and balls. Free and exposed (unlike the rest of me), my cock strained upward. My breathing intensified, and I stretched against the stiff leather. The urge to cum was strong. I realized I needed to keep myself calm and still to avoid it.

Bob uttered comments next to my ear. "That's excellent, slave. You're a faceless nonentity, leather-encased, bound for punishment and your Masters' amusement. You're transformed into a bondage object, nothing more than an erect cock attached to a leather-bound thing. We can keep you this way for days if we want. You're totally cleaned out, plugged, gagged, muzzled, hooded, wrapped in leather, all laced and belted up, suspended helplessly. We can chose to ignore any whining or complaints that make their way through that leather cocoon. If you get too panicky and we happen to notice it, maybe we'll give you some sedatives through your gag along with fluids and liquid nourishment."

My cock throbbed, and a series of grunts and moans escaped from me uncontrollably. The total-body constriction and suspension, combined with trying to hold off from cumming, plus the humiliating taunts of my two Masters, were producing unmanageable waves of bondage ecstasy.

I heard Bob's mocking tone. "I think he's trying to tell us something, don't you?"

Jim said, "Sounds like the oinks of a bondage pig."

I wanted to beg for permission to cum, but with the gag and muzzle all I could manage was unintelligible moaning. On the edge of orgasm, I thought I would go crazy if I didn't cum.

"Well at least he appreciates his new sleepsack. Fits him like a glove." I winced inside the hood at the additional smack over my leather-covered butt.

I heard Jim's firm voice clearly through the hood in the explanation that came next: "Here's the deal, slave. You've chosen to continue with us, and now you've reached the next stage of being punished for making an unauthorized phone call. You're sentenced to hang here for a minimum of six hours. While we can see that you're enjoying yourself, the real purpose of your confinement is to contemplate what it means to follow our orders, even if that entails quiet time alone, or boredom, or being ignored, or not cumming. You need to better understand that disobeying us while you're our slave carries consequences. If you get through six hours without cumming, and we happen to be around, we'll let you out. If you cum, we add another six hours to your sentence. If we notice you cum a second time, then you get another six hours, and so on. We're serious. You have no choice. As Bob said, we can keep you this way for several days--a liquid diet, with sedation if you get too agitated."

Jim's words penetrated my horniness and sent me over the edge. The spasms took over my entire body as it tried to stretch the leather, strained against the encasement, and swayed in response to my instinctive, thwarted movements. My cock, oblivious to the consequences, pumped itself mercilessly.

Comments

[Bondagebuddy]

How lucky can a young slave get. He just earned another 6 hours suspended in the leather sleeepsack, and no doubt will cum again. Very hot story, great bondage and 2 superb Masters. Some guys are very lucky indeed!

[Pete]

Great reading your account. Makes me realise how one can addicted to the bondage. That makes you not only physically bondaged, but also are in psychological bondage!

[Pete]

Actually loved reading your accounts, so well an elaborately written.I also love to be tied up but not to do certain other things that you had to do. So in a way I guess slave training is not for me, as it is much more than just simple bondage.

[Pete]

Great reading your account. Makes me realise how one can addicted to the bondage. That makes you not only physically bondaged, but also are in psychological bondage!