## Trust... *Part 2* (m/m)

Post by snobound » Mon Nov 22, 2010 6:15 pm

Trust...
It was his third visit. The previous two had been both passionate and intense. Nonetheless, Dylan was trembling slightly as I gave him a quick, welcoming hug. Was it nerves? Excitement? Both? He stared at the floor, blushing slightly. "Thank you for inviting me back, sir," he said, failing to make eye contact.
Sir. I can't seem to get used to being called sir. I've never demanded it of my subs, nor have I encouraged its use. Dylan, however, is one hundred percent sub, where as I'm a true switch. Adherence to the master/slave dynamic is a major part of what turns Dylan on, and I'm happy to accommodate- he's damn cute, after all. Just under six feet, with a slim, though athletic, build. Sandy, what I'd call "skater" hair, hung down over Dylan's blue eyes. I guess you could call him a stereotypical college sophomore- for Vermont, anyway.
I wanted to set the tone for the evening, deciding to save pleasantries and small talk for later. Besides, the kid was clearly exuding tremendous sexual energy. I ripped the duffle bag from Dylan's hand, tossing it aside. A ski bum like myself, Dylan was wearing a Burton hoodie, which I pulled over his head without warning. Still only standing in my foyer, Dylan was already stroking a hard-on beneath his well-worn and torn jeans.
Grabbing Dylan by his bicep, I dragged him into my living room then bent him over the arm of a leather sofa. From my jeans pocket I pulled a gleaming pair of hinged Smith and Wesson handcuffs. Dylan saw, and positioned his arms behind his back without prompting. The cuffs were snug, but not too tight. "Uh... thank you, sir," Dylan muttered as I pulled the black Converse sneakers from his feet without undoing the laces. Leaving his thick white sweat socks, I wrenched Dylan's jeans down to his knees, revealing his red Calvin Klein boxer briefs.
Dylan's jeans were soon in a heap on the floor. From another pocket, I retrieved a set of heavy Clejuso leg irons. German precision and heft- like nothing made in the U.S. I knew that the feel of cold steel clamping down upon Dylan's socked ankles and the smooth, satisfying ratcheting of the leg irons were working a special magic on my eager sub. Gripping his bicep, I pulled Dylan from the sofa and into a standing position. Dripping pre-cum had stained the boy's briefs, and I couldn't resist giving his crotch a few rubs. Dylan pushed against my shoulder with his head, moaning. "Uhhhh, thank you sir!" he stammered as I pulled my hand away.
The night's festivities would take place in the basement, but not before a quick trip to the loft for gear selection. "Upstairs," I commanded.
"Yes, sir," replied Dylan, obediently. The short, ten-inch hobble of the leg irons made it difficult to climb the twelve stairs, though I maintained my hold on Dylan's arm as we climbed. The chain slapped noisily against the hardwood as my captive fought his way up the stairs. Hanging from the central beam under the loft's vaulted ceiling was a single stout chain that extended almost to the floor.
The chain bristled with gear. There were restraints for every conceivable use: wrist, ankle, thigh, arm, and suspension. Some were padlocked to the chain, while others were attached with snap hooks and carabineers. Among the restraints were collars, floggers, blindfolds, and an impressive variety of one of my most enduring fetishes- headgear. There was the Israeli military gas mask, along with its counterpart of Russian origin. Below these- about seven feet from the floor- were hoods; two leather and one rubber. Scattered about were other sundry gags: bit, plug, and ball. Finally, hanging at eye level due to their frequent use, were the head harness muzzles of varying composition and complexity that have long been my favorite form of head gear. Easily one hundred pounds of limitless possibilities hung from that chain.
Of course, I had already planned out and prepared for the intense bondage that Dylan was about to endure, though I wanted him to choose his headgear for the evening. Dylan had seen my "bondage tree" before, but stood transfixed nonetheless, taking in the variety of restraint devices before him. I pushed him into the column of leather, rubber, and steel. "Do you want to be gagged? Hooded? Muzzled?" I asked as Dylan regained his balance. The sub's eyes scanned up and down, finally settling in the direction of the hoods.
"That one. With all the straps," said Dylan enthusiastically, with a glint of excitement in his eyes.
I was surprised. My sensory deprivation hood is not for the faint of heart, nor is it for the panic-prone. "Are you sure? That thing's a trip by itself."
"Yes, sir. I think I can handle it. It looks awesome!" Dylan was an overgrown boy after my own heart, I thought. A fully adjustable sit-up bench sat in the center of the room. The backrest was positioned at roughly a sixty degree angle.
"Sit with your chest against the bench," I ordered.
"Yes, sir." Dylan sat. I removed a sixty inch long, two inch wide, double pronged buckling strap from a trunk filled with other leather goodies. With this strap I encircled Dylan's arms and torso, along with the backrest, securing him to the often-misused piece of workout equipment. Kneeling near Dylan's hobbled feet, I unlocked the shackle from his right ankle. The hobble was short, but I managed to pass the chain over the frame at the underside of the bench. I reconnected the shackle, though now both of Dylan's ankles were lifted from the floor. "That feels great, sir," said the boy.
The hood was fastened to my perverse "bondage tree" with a snap hook. Dylan followed my every move with keen interest. A brief moment of apprehension seemed to flash across his face as I retrieved the complicated sensory deprivation hood from the hanging chain. He stared at the leather cocoon with intensity as I approached the bench. With Dylan's slender body strapped so securely to the bench, there was plenty of room left for me to join my captive on the seat. I sat against Dylan- my chest against his back- and plunged him into a world of leathery darkness.
I wrenched down on the collar of the thickly-padded hood, fitting it snugly against Dylan's head. His entire body tensed in response- the effects of sensory deprivation took immediate control. The lacing went quickly, and this alone made the hood conform to every contour of Dylan's face and head. My captive pulled against the leg irons and handcuffs as I cinched a bow just above the collar. I spoke near the thick padding covering Dylan's right ear. "I want to see your tongue."
An inaudible murmur came from the single nickel-sized opening that must be lined up with the wearer's mouth. If Dylan could stick his tongue through the air hole, I knew that he could breathe. "Stick out your tongue, slave!" I was confident that the last word would rouse Dylan back to his senses. The pink tip of Dylan's tongue shone momentarily through the breathing hole. I was satisfied. I buckled the hood's built-in collar- snugly, but not too snugly. The constriction of a tight collar, together with the strict confinement of the hood, could have easily brought on a spell of panic in a relative novice such as Dylan. I had pushed Dylan to his limits on each of his previous visits, and this one would be no different.
There were two other reinforcing straps on the exterior of the hood. One crossed over both Dylan's padded ears and eyes. Cinching of this particular strap prevented even the wearer's eyelids from opening, and blocked out nearly all sound not actually intended for the sub. Dylan was stock still as I buckled this strap, as well as the last, which passes under the chin, effectively limiting his ability to open his jaw.
I sat back momentarily, admiring my willing captive. Dylan's feet were wrenched upward to my left and right by the short hobble of the Clejuso leg irons. I ran my fingers over both of Dylan's socked feet simultaneously as he shrieked through the hood and fought the single, highly effective strap securing his upper body and arms to the sit-up bench. The chain hobble clanged against the steel of the bench's frame as Dylan exerted a tremendous amount of energy in a pathetic attempt to avoid my fingers.
Dylan's shrieks turned to grunts after at least a full minute of ceaseless torture. I removed my fingers from his left foot, continuing to tickle Dylan's right. With my free left hand, I covered a quarter of the hood's breathing hole... then half. Dylan's heavy breathing grew increasingly frenzied, though I tickled with even greater ferocity. Then, for no more than a few seconds, I plugged the breathing hole completely. Dylan's body shuddered as each of his muscles flexed involuntarily, only relaxing when I saw fit to grant my boy the oxygen he so desperately needed.
I stood abruptly, allowing Dylan to catch his breath and recover as I retrieved a three foot spreader bar from a closet. Dylan sighed as I unbuckled the strap securing his torso to the bench. I positioned the spreader across Dylan's back, under the crook between his forearms and biceps. Eager to aid in his restraint in any way possible, Dylan held the spreader in position with is arms as I gathered an armload of tan buckling straps. I sat again, behind Dylan, with a number of the long, versatile leather straps draped over my shoulder and around my neck.
Leaning in close to Dylan's ear, thickly sheathed, I asked, "Is the boy okay?"
Dylan's response was quiet, but clear. "I love it, sir."
Good, because I'm just getting started, I thought with a grin. Still perched on the bench behind Dylan, I encircled the boy's arms at the elbows with one of the straps, just below the spreader. I did the same above the spreader, capturing both biceps with this second strap. I adjusted the straps so that all slack was removed from each. Then, by advancing both locking buckles two additional slots each, I reduced the space between Dylan's arms to a mere four inches. This elicited a grunt from my captive that tickled me in that special way. I knew that I was on the right track.
More leather. I lashed Dylan's left arm to the spreader with one long strap, capturing those already binding him. I followed suit on his toned right arm with a second strap of equal length. Four longer straps of the same construction remained draped around my neck. Two were used to lash the center of the spreader against the small of Dylan's back- in a crisscross pattern between his bound arms. Keeping my plans for later in mind, I buckled these straps, as well as the next two, more tightly than the others. I wrapped the next long strap around Dylan's chest and upper arms, bracing them tightly against his back. I did the same below the spreader bar with the final strap.
I placed the palm of my hand against Dylan's back, above the multitude of leather straps. He was breathing deeply and evenly; something I've always associated with bondage-induced ecstasy. The leg irons continued to anchor Dylan to the bench, ensuring his complete obedience as I dug through a large plastic storage trunk. Quickly finding what I needed, I returned to Dylan's side holding a five foot length of chain and three carefully-chosen padlocks. I draped the chain around my neck and stowed the locks in my jeans pocket.
Crouching at the side of the bench, I unlocked the leg iron from Dylan's right ankle, freeing the hobble from the steel framework. I stood, leaving the single shackle of the leg irons unattached. "Stand!" I commanded, pulling upward on the bundle of leather binding my captive's arms and torso. Dylan stood, though shakily, as I guided him away from the bench. I knew very well just how disoriented Dylan felt in that leather cocoon, as well as how exhilarating such complete helplessness can be.
I captured each strap in the thick band between Dylan's arms with one end of the chain. I encircled the leather a few times before cinching, then locking the chain, effectively tightening each of the straps as a result. The remainder of the chain hung well past Dylan's cuffed hands; the end swung just a couple of inches above the hobble of the leg irons. I used a special padlock with an elongated shackle to lock the hinged Smith and Wesson high security cuffs to the same chain. Finally, I knelt to secure the center of the short, ten-inch hobble to the last link in the dangling chain. My figuring was close, but I was forced to wrench down slightly on the chain in order to capture both the hobble and this final link with the last padlock. Dylan grunted again in that special way as I resecured the open shackle of the leg irons.
The pre-cum stain on Dylan's red Calvin Klein boxer briefs had grown considerably, as did the hard-on concealed beneath them. My eager sub tested the combined effectiveness of the straps, spreader, and chains as I pleasured him momentarily through his briefs. He pressed forward, into my hand, growing desperate for release. Thankfully, I quickly foresaw what might have resulted. The sensory deprivation hood was disorienting indeed, and Dylan leaned much farther forward than he would have otherwise. I was already on my feet by the time he mindlessly attempted to take a considerable, stabilizing step forward that was abruptly halted as the hobble went taut. Had I not grabbed a hold of the chain, Dylan would have went crashing forward, face first, into the balustrade at the loft's edge.
I held Dylan closely and securely as he gasped for calming breaths. I could sense his jugular thumping beneath the hood's collar. I talked at his ear again. "That was close. The boy is still okay?"
"Yeah...yes...okay," he stammered. "It was my fault, sir."
"NO!" I corrected, sternly. "That was MY fault. I'm the one in control."
"Yes, sir. Sorry, sir."
"Shut up, boy!" I laughed. I released my grip on Dylan just long enough to snag one last padlock and another spreader bar from the closet. This spreader was longer- a full five feet. With the large padlock, I secured one end of the spreader to the chain where it was wrapped around the leather straps. Spreaders are versatile. On this day, one would serve as a lead.
The leather imprisoning Dylan's arms and torso creaked as he flexed against their unyielding strength. The chains repeatedly tensioned, then went slack as Dylan took a tentative step forward. Grasping the spreader, I steered my bondage toy toward the stairs. "To the basement!" I called. Dylan was remarkably immobilized for someone not actually tied down to something, and he knew it. I pushed him forward with the spreader. Dylan pushed back; his socked feet slipping against the carpet.
I knew what he was afraid of- the stairs. All twelve of them. Hardwood. I would have been frightened too. Regardless, I overcame Dylan's feeble resistance, thrusting him toward the top stair. Panic was rising within my sub. He thrashed back and forth, though I only tightened my grip on the rigid lead in response. I pushed him to the edge. Dylan's toes curled over the lip of the last riser. He shook his hooded head back and forth vigorously. Dylan squealed as I gave the spreader one additional thrust that forced him over the edge...
TBC...
Last edited by snobound on Fri Dec 03, 2010 5:54 pm, edited 1 time in total.
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### Re: Trust... (m/m)

Post by Scottstud94 » Mon Nov 22, 2010 9:08 pm

Not usually my cup of tea... But PHENOMINAL! Great work

### Re: Trust... (m/m)

Post by Jason Toddman » Tue Nov 23, 2010 8:15 am

Excellent title for an excellent story.
Trust is indeed a very important part of such intense relationships.
When such trust can be safely given by the 'sub' and is always carefully protected by the one in control, the sensation for the 'sub' at least is... wonderful!
Dare to be different... and make a difference.
To boldly go where no one in their right mind has gone before...

### Re: Trust... (m/m)

Post by snobound » Thu Nov 25, 2010 7:43 am

> Jason Toddman wrote:Excellent title for an excellent story.
> Trust is indeed a very important part of such intense relationships.
> When such trust can be safely given by the 'sub' and is always carefully protected by the one in control, the sensation for the 'sub' at least is... wonderful!

I think this is why it's so hard to make the leap from online relationships to face to face TUG hook-ups. No matter how well you think you know someone based on online interactions, that first meeting can be one of the most nerve wracking experiences- especially for a sub! Dylan was cute on his first visit. His phone rang about twenty minutes after he arrived... the tentative, brief conversation he had was obviously code for "things are okay". No phone call came during his second and third visits. I guess he trusts me now!!
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### Re: Trust... (m/m)

Post by pinochio892000 » Thu Nov 25, 2010 8:11 am

Awesome, you always have an incredible writing skill...
I don't know if I sill remember right or not.... Dylan is your childhood's friend, right?... And all of u played TUGs since u r kids... So Amazing
When reading the part you play breath-control with Dylan... I breath heavily and my heart beats faster... and just wonder why that's not me?... why is he so lucky?... LOL
I like that hood... thnx for sharing ur story

### Re: Trust... (m/m)

Post by snobound » Thu Nov 25, 2010 8:25 am

Thanks, pinochio! Dylan is actually a pseudonym.... I just happen to like the name. I tend not to use real names in my stories, though some are.
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### Re: Trust... (m/m)

Post by pinochio892000 » Thu Nov 25, 2010 7:10 pm

> snobound wrote:Thanks, pinochio! Dylan is actually a pseudonym.... I just happen to like the name. I tend not to use real names in my stories, though some are.

I got it... thnx for ur explanation
So when will you give us the rest of this interesting story?

### Re: Trust... (m/m)

Post by BoundTight1 » Fri Nov 26, 2010 7:29 am

Thanks for giving people in this Duplex Ideas about what else to use are work bench for....

### Re: Trust... (m/m)

Post by fratboydanny » Sat Nov 27, 2010 6:29 am

Dylan is one lucky college boy...almost like going to his own version of The Institute. Thanks, SB, for sharing this experience with all of us.

### Re: Trust... (m/m)

Post by snobound » Sat Nov 27, 2010 1:17 pm

> fratboydanny wrote:Dylan is one lucky college boy...almost like going to his own version of The Institute. Thanks, SB, for sharing this experience with all of us.

My gear would be lonely without visitors
I haven't forgotten about the Institute.... should be posting soon! It's grown to mammoth proportions.
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### Re: Trust... (m/m)

Post by Jason Toddman » Sat Nov 27, 2010 10:41 pm

> snobound wrote: My gear would be lonely without visitors

Which makes me feel like I have to ask this question:
Do you ever just have someone tied up and helpless somewere in the house when you are actually writing some of your stories?
Perhaps you are watching them waiting for you to do something to them as you type on the keyboard. Would this be something that gives you inspiration?
Just wondering. Don't mean to be a nosey bastard.
Dare to be different... and make a difference.
To boldly go where no one in their right mind has gone before...

### Re: Trust... (m/m)

Post by BoundTight1 » Sun Nov 28, 2010 5:26 am

> Jason Toddman wrote:

> > snobound wrote: My gear would be lonely without visitors

> Which makes me feel like I have to ask this question:
> Do you ever just have someone tied up and helpless somewere in the house when you are actually writing some of your stories?
> Perhaps you are watching them waiting for you to do something to them as you type on the keyboard. Would this be something that gives you inspiration?
> Just wondering. Don't mean to be a nosey bastard.

Yes he has me in his Closet right now.... Thanks to this older laptop on the closet shelf I can type away myself.....

### Re: Trust... (m/m)

Post by Jason Toddman » Sun Nov 28, 2010 8:53 am

You can't be tied up in his usual style then if you type at all - or even see the keyboard.
Dare to be different... and make a difference.
To boldly go where no one in their right mind has gone before...

### Re: Trust... (m/m)

Post by BoundTight1 » Sun Nov 28, 2010 9:38 am

Believe me typing is hard to do with your wrist tied together in front of you then tied to a belt around your waist... LMAO
I'm just joking.... I'm using one of my roomies as a chair while the upper part of my body is being wrapped with clear packing tape just above my elbows, and around my chest....

### Re: Trust... (m/m)

Post by Jason Toddman » Sun Nov 28, 2010 10:54 am

Like I said; not SB's usual style - which would probably leave you with all the sight and mobility of a rock!
Interesting activity with your roomie though...
Dare to be different... and make a difference.
To boldly go where no one in their right mind has gone before...

### Re: Trust... (m/m)

Post by BoundTight1 » Sun Nov 28, 2010 12:00 pm

> Jason Toddman wrote:Like I said; not SB's usual style - which would probably leave you with all the sight and mobility of a rock!
> Interesting activity with your roomie though...

That would keep my mind off the pain as well so I would love it if SB could keep me..... , , &

### Re: Trust... (m/m)

Post by Jason Toddman » Sun Nov 28, 2010 12:06 pm

> BoundTight1 wrote: I would love it if SB could keep me.....

I trust you are not under the delusion that you are the *only* one who wishes that.
If we ran a poll to see who on this board would be chosen most desired captor, Snobound would undoubtedly win hands tied ... uh, I mean hands down.
Not that he has a lot of competition here (most of us seem to prefer being captives to being captors, alas - including, perhaps, SB himself), but still...
Dare to be different... and make a difference.
To boldly go where no one in their right mind has gone before...

### Re: Trust... (m/m)

Post by snobound » Mon Nov 29, 2010 5:09 pm

> Jason Toddman wrote:Like I said; not SB's usual style - which would probably leave you with all the sight and mobility of a rock!
> Interesting activity with your roomie though...

> BoundTight1 wrote:

> > Jason Toddman wrote:Like I said; not SB's usual style - which would probably leave you with all the sight and mobility of a rock!
> > Interesting activity with your roomie though...

> That would keep my mind off the pain as well so I would love it if SB could keep me..... , , &

> Jason Toddman wrote:

> > BoundTight1 wrote: I would love it if SB could keep me.....

> I trust you are not under the delusion that you are the *only* one who wishes that.
> If we ran a poll to see who on this board would be chosen most desired captor, Snobound would undoubtedly win hands tied ... uh, I mean hands down.
> Not that he has a lot of competition here (most of us seem to prefer being captives to being captors, alas - including, perhaps, SB himself), but still...

I realized a few years ago that bondage has to be a two way street .... pure tops seem to be quite rare. As I said in this story, I regard myself as a true switch. Don't get me wrong- I'd rather be tied up! I'm probably 40/60 dom/sub. I do, however, find myself enjoying the role of captor more and more. I think it's the creative factor.... I also enjoy getting a sub to that special place that *I* enjoy so much. I can be quite... imaginative, and it's cool to see my "creations" come to life as I encase my sub in ever more intense levels of restraint.
Have I had a sub bound and under my control while writing a TUG story?? YES! It was my oldest TUG partner, Jordan. I had trussed him down to a bed in what i call a "super spread eagle". Aside from wrists and ankles, arms, legs, and torso are also heavily restrained. He was also hooded- big surprise! Jordan's appetite for restraint is nearly as insatiable as mine, and I had grown bored after two hours of teasing and tormenting him. I had milked him twice... he didn't have a third in him that day! Yet, he simply didn't want to be untied. Not that I blame him. I retrieved my laptop, laid on the bed beside him, and wrote the sleepsack story (which involved HIM!).
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### Re: Trust... (m/m)

Post by BoundTight1 » Mon Nov 29, 2010 5:15 pm

> snobound wrote: I realized a few years ago that bondage has to be a two way street .... pure tops seem to be quite rare. As I said in this story, I regard myself as a true switch. Don't get me wrong- I'd rather be tied up! I'm probably 40/60 dom/sub. I do, however, find myself enjoying the role of captor more and more. I think it's the creative factor.... I also enjoy getting a sub to that special place that *I* enjoy so much. I can be quite... imaginative, and it's cool to see my "creations" come to life as I encase my sub in ever more intense levels of restraint.
> Have I had a sub bound and under my control while writing a TUG story?? YES! It was my oldest TUG partner, Jordan. I had trussed him down to a bed in what i call a "super spread eagle". Aside from wrists and ankles, arms, legs, and torso are also heavily restrained. He was also hooded- big surprise! Jordan's appetite for restraint is nearly as insatiable as mine, and I had grown bored after two hours of teasing and tormenting him. I had milked him twice... he didn't have a third in him that day! Yet, he simply didn't want to be untied. Not that I blame him. I retrieved my laptop, laid on the bed beside him, and wrote the sleepsack story (which involved HIM!).

You should call him bob... I'm Jordan and have been teesing people for a few hours.... Telling them you had me locked in your closet....

### Re: Trust... (m/m)

Post by snobound » Mon Nov 29, 2010 5:27 pm

LOL If you were locked up in MY closet, you wouldn't have been able to get yourself out! Nothing more than a few muffled grunts....
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### Re: Trust... (m/m)

Post by BoundTight1 » Mon Nov 29, 2010 5:32 pm

I know... but it was fun cause everyone beleived me that you had tied my hands in front of me and I was doing 1 finger typing from beond ur closet.... Bound & gagged....

### Re: Trust... (m/m)

Post by Jason Toddman » Mon Nov 29, 2010 9:43 pm

> BoundTight1 wrote:I know... but it was fun cause everyone beleived me that you had tied my hands in front of me and I was doing 1 finger typing from beond ur closet.... Bound & gagged....

Uhhhh... nope.... *I* didn't believe you for a second! So not *everyone* believed you. In fact, I challenge you to prove that *anyone* believed you!
Dare to be different... and make a difference.
To boldly go where no one in their right mind has gone before...

### Re: Trust... (m/m)

Post by BoundTight1 » Mon Nov 29, 2010 10:17 pm

> Jason Toddman wrote:

> > BoundTight1 wrote:I know... but it was fun cause everyone beleived me that you had tied my hands in front of me and I was doing 1 finger typing from beond ur closet.... Bound & gagged....

> Uhhhh... nope.... *I* didn't believe you for a second! So not *everyone* believed you. In fact, I challenge you to prove that *anyone* believed you!

Everyone But Jason... Even tho he says he din't he really did.... LMAO he just don't want to seem so gulable... LMFGAO

### Re: Trust... (m/m)

Post by Jason Toddman » Tue Nov 30, 2010 12:02 am

Hardly, dude. I pointed out during the thing I didn't believe you, remember? And hopefully nobody else was as gullible as you seem to think *I* am either.
Anyway, Snobound, I hope here's more to this story. Last I knew we were still at an almost literal cliffhanger...
Dare to be different... and make a difference.
To boldly go where no one in their right mind has gone before...

### Re: Trust... (m/m)

Post by BoundTight1 » Tue Nov 30, 2010 8:35 pm

> Jake wrote:I believed it.
> LOLJKS

Ok I get it Jake..... *Mumbles under his breath..... Glares at Jake*

### Re: Trust... (m/m)

Post by Jason Toddman » Tue Nov 30, 2010 10:35 pm

I'm old; I had to have that explained to me.
Dare to be different... and make a difference.
To boldly go where no one in their right mind has gone before...

### Re: Trust... (m/m)

Post by xtc » Wed Dec 01, 2010 1:52 am

I'm even older. I STILL don't get it!
Boxer shorts are cool,
but little speedos rule!
More by the same author: viewtopic.php?f=5&t=22729

### Re: Trust... (m/m)

Post by BoundTight1 » Wed Dec 01, 2010 9:22 pm

''Woof''

### Re: Trust... (m/m)

Post by snobound » Fri Dec 03, 2010 5:54 pm

> BoundTight1 wrote:''Woof''

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### Re: Trust... *Part 2* (m/m)

Post by snobound » Fri Dec 03, 2010 5:55 pm

Trust... : Part 2
Dylan, bound and helpless, scrambled blindly down the first two steps, then sat suddenly on the third. Again, he shook his hooded head vigorously. My captive seemed to believe that he was being made to navigate the stairs alone. Had he failed to sense the spreader bar lead padlocked between his arms? Did Dylan really think that I'd endanger him so thoughtlessly?
Still clutching the spreader, I stepped down and sat beside the vulnerable boy on the third step. I put my arm around him- he was trembling. It was the hood that was fucking with him so badly. I considered removing the thick leather sensory deprivation hood, but was deterred by Dylan's continued hard-on. He just needed to relax a bit and regain his composure, I thought. I gave Dylan a tight squeeze and spoke near his right ear.
"Do you think that I'd let you fall?"
No response, though the trembling had abated. I repeated my question, louder. "Would I let you fall?"
"No... no, sir," Dylan answered.
I grabbed a hold of the spreader lead near its padlock, wrenching backwards upon it. I shook it to the left and to the right as Dylan grunted. "Feel that?" I spat. "You're like a piece of meat at the end of a stick. Got that? I'm NOT gonna let go, no matter what! Got that?" I said sternly, though reassuringly.
Dylan's breathing had returned to normal. "Got it, sir," spilled forth through the hood's breathing hole.
"Good boy!" I laughed, patting Dylan's thigh. I stood. Grasping the spreader with both hands, I forced my pacified captive to his feet. Dylan quickly took a step under his own power- then another. In order to demonstrate just how securely he was held, I pulled back on the spreader as Dylan moved to take his next step. He responded exactly as I had hoped- by leaning forward against the backward pull of the spreader lead. Had I let go, Dylan would have fallen down several stairs- face first. Trust.
With a slight manipulation of the spreader, I propelled Dylan sideways into the wrought iron railing. The other spreader- the one strapped securely to Dylan's torso and arms- knocked into the wall as he grunted in protest. Another thrust forward. The chain hobble of the leg irons ground roughly across the lip of the stair as my sub attempted to find a footing on the step below. I felt like an animal control officer using one of those poles to lead a frenzied dog to his kennel.
Dylan scrambled blindly over the remaining stairs as I wrenched upward on the spreader to prevent him from collapsing into a heap. His feet finally touched down on the ground level floor. The boy seemed relieved, though if only temporarily. Dylan was fighting to catch his breath through the barely adequate air hole of the hood, and flexed against the leather and steel imprisoning him as I wryly informed him that we'd need to repeat this trauma on the way to the basement.
"I trust you, sir," he whispered, barely audibly, through the hood. I gave Dylan another tight squeeze before resuming.
"Giddyup!" I bellowed, thrusting the spreader forward toward the basement door. There were just as many stairs to traverse as before, though these seemed to have taller risers. As I grew increasingly excited by his reactions, Dylan emitted yelps of fear and apprehension as he transitioned to each new step. In order to further disorient my sub, I pulled instead of pushed him toward the center of the basement once we'd reached the bottom of the torturous stairway.
There's a considerable quantity of hardware poking out from the rafters and carrying beams that constitute the basement's unfinished ceiling. I angled the free end of the spreader lead toward the heavy beam above, into which a large lag hook had been secured. Dylan moaned as I yanked upward on the spreader. I strained to get the eyebolt at the end of the spreader to pass over the hook.
The spreader pulled against the chain, which, in turn, wrenched on the straps binding Dylan's arms to the shorter spreader and his upper body. I was pleased to see that this positioning had forced Dylan to stand with his legs together and knees locked, as the chain of the leg iron hobble was pulled high off the floor due to the upward pull of the spreader tethering him to the ceiling.
I left Dylan standing there, helplessly immobile, as I retrieved two lengths of chain from a steel cabinet. Standing on a stepladder, I fastened an end of each of the chains to yet more eyebolts with large carabineers. The chains hung three rafters forward of the one to which Dylan's spreader lead was attached, with roughly three feet separating them. As I worked, I watched my captive boy pulling against the spreader tether and the chain joining it to his wrists and ankles. Dylan was relishing every moment, as evidenced by the steady hard-on, now poking above the waistband of his briefs.
I wasted no time. Like me, Dylan thrives on being restrained with ever-increasing levels of intensity. A number of padlocks sat on the pool table nearby, and I gathered up a few and placed them in my jeans pocket. Standing before my captive, I grabbed a hold of the two protruding ends of the horizontal spreader lashed to him with dozens of feet of leather straps. Slowly, I walked him forward- toward the two hanging chains. The further Dylan was pulled from the spreader tethering him to the ceiling, the more upward pressure it applied to his heavily bound torso.
Dylan grunted and moaned as the leather and chain grew tighter. "You like that, boy?" I asked, laughing.
"Uhhhhhhh... yes, sir. Very much, sir!" Dylan responded in a whisper amidst his bondage euphoria.
With one arm wrapped around Dylan's back, I struggled to pull him forward the final six or eight inches to the dangling chains, while removing a single padlock from my pocket. I hooked the lock's open shackle around one of the spreader's eyebolts. With as much strength as I could muster, I managed to capture a link in the chain to Dylan's right. The lock was snapped closed.
I stepped back for a moment. The end of the spreader that I had just locked to the chain was pulled much farther forward than its opposite end, cocking my captive on a sharp angle relative to the rafters above. One hell of a Cheshire Cat grin must have spread across my face as I contemplated my next move. I grasped the remaining free end of the spreader with both hands, wrenching its eyebolt forward toward the waiting chain. A loud, gratifying "Ahhhhhhhh...uhhhhhhhhh... oh, fuck!" spilled from beneath the hood as I clicked the second padlock into place.
I was pleased, though not completely satisfied with the results of this creative positioning. The keys to my locking bondage gear are kept on a lanyard around my neck when I play. I leaned forward and unlocked the last padlock that I had applied, then forced the spreader's eyebolt an additional three links up the hanging chain before relocking it. This would do, I thought, repeating these steps on the other lock affixed to the spreader's opposite end.
"Oh my god. Oh fuck. Ohhhhhhhhh!" Dylan whined in ecstasy. This minor adjustment had forced my bondage toy onto his tiptoes, though just barely.
"Does piggy like?" I spat, laughing.
"Fuck yeah!" he responded between moans.
"Fuck yeah, what?!" I barked.
"Fuck yeah, sir!" Dylan replied quickly, and as loudly as the tight chin strap and muzzling effect of the hood would allow. I knelt down, reached into Dylan's boxer briefs, and made him buck and moan until he DID actually snort like a piggy! I gave him no more than twenty or thirty seconds- any more, and he would have painted the inside of his briefs.
Dylan humped pathetically at empty space as I cruelly withdrew my hand. Remaining on my knees, I unlocked and removed the Clejuso leg irons. You didn't think I was done yet, did you? I pulled down Dylan's briefs- now heavily moistened with pre-cum- and tugged them from beneath his toes. Dylan's quite athletic, and I was surprised that his calf muscles and feet were already trembling under the strain of being forced onto his tiptoes.
I clamped my hands around Dylan's right thigh and calf, kneading his muscles. "You need to relax," I advised softly. "Let the spreaders take your weight." I felt the tension within the boy's leg melt away as the chains and leather moaned under the increased strain, along with Dylan himself.
The chain that had formerly been locked to the hobble of the leg irons still dangled between Dylan's butt cheeks and legs. I seized the chain and passed it between Dylan's thighs, pulling it tightly before encircling the straps passing across his abdomen where the remaining end was locked off. The steel links brushed against the balls and hard-on of my over-stimulated sub. Dylan was working himself into a panting frenzy trying to hump the chain, though it wasn't enough to grant him the release he was growing increasingly desperate for.
Again, Dylan was fighting to support himself with his toes- something he certainly couldn't maintain for long. Beads of sweat were breaking out on the trembling boy's chest and under his arms. It must have been hot as hell under that hood, I thought. I slapped Dylan's left thigh a couple of times to remind him to relax, though, this time, he failed to respond. I sighed, and made my way back to the steel cabinet on the far side of the basement.
Three coils of rope were nestled under my arm upon my return- red, thick, and soft. I unraveled one short coil, then knelt before my sub. I wrapped the rope around Dylan's right ankle three or four times before tying off the end and standing. I fed the remaining end through the eyebolt to Dylan's left, then took up the slack. My boy groaned as his right foot was wrenched out from under him, and forced upward and toward the left. Dylan struggled to regain his composure and balance, and pathetically fought to support himself on the toes of one foot before giving in to the bondage completely.
I knelt again, applying the second rope to Dylan's left ankle. His foot now only brushed lightly against the concrete floor. This rope was also threaded through the spreader's eyebolt, though on the right side. Dylan's ankles crossed in midair as I drew the slack from the rope and tied off the end. Dylan trembled, his chest heaved, and he glistened with sweat. He couldn't have been more erect. In fact, he later told me that he'd never been so aroused in his life... that's what I like to hear!
There was still one coil of rope left, and I planned on using it. "How's that?" I asked loudly.
"Fuck. Oh, fuck," he muttered. "Awesome, oh my god."
With the remaining length of red rope, I began to lash Dylan's crossed ankles together, passing over and around each repeatedly in an intricate crisscross pattern. Three or four feet were left, and with it I captured the bundle of straps that bound Dylan's arms- at the same spot to which the single end of the longer spreader was chained. Again, I drew up the slack, pulling my ridiculously bound sub's feet even further off the floor.
A pathetic whimper- that's the most accurate way to describe the sounds Dylan was emitting through the sensory deprivation hood's air hole. I ran an index finger over the sole of one foot, then the other. A deep, convulsive shudder spread through the helplessly restrained boy's body. The reaction got me damn excited, though I knew he couldn't handle one of my dreaded tickle barrages in bondage this intense. Maybe next time, I thought. I did, however, retrieve two wooden clothespins from the pool table, which were then applied to Dylan's nipples, just for good measure.
Finally, to add insult to injury, I wrapped the base of Dylan's cock and balls with poly cord. Dylan, I knew, was in a far-away place, awash in endorphins that guys like us can only access by fully submitting our bodies to another. He couldn't bear the strain of restraint this intense for long. It was time to give Dylan what he needed...
Last edited by snobound on Fri Dec 03, 2010 10:30 pm, edited 2 times in total.
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