Postby snobound » Fri Aug 27, 2010 8:31 pm
Part 2
Everything was laid out and ready to go when I heard Chris' big diesel F-350 cruising up the dirt road to my house. His door closed with a deep thud as my pulse quickened. Yeah, I would almost always prefer to be the one getting tied up, though I also found that reversing my usual role yielded an equally satisfying, while somehow different emotional response to bondage. If I could pack both experiences into one night, then all the better!
Our relationship was well beyond the having to knock before coming in phase, and Chris was soon descending the stairs to the basement. "Ohhh my! You've been a busy little beaver, Hunter." he laughed. Chris approached the spine board tabletop, atop which sat our new investment in cowhide and steel. He ran his hands over the sleepsack's entire length, then examined the five body straps and exterior reinforcements.
I walked up behind him and lifted Chris' hoodie over his head, followed by the plain white T-shirt underneath. "Fucking anxious, aren't you?!" laughed Chris.
"YES! Now strip!" I barked, giving Chris a little shove. He did, and it was evident that his excitement was as peaked as my own. "Sit!" I spat, pointing to a metal folding chair. He did as I commanded, eagerly, in fact. Resting on the nearby pool table was an amazing sensory deprivation hood that was almost as intense as the sleepsack looked.
Chris looked at me apprehensively as I pulled two soft foam ear plugs from the pocket of my favorite old sweats. I was only wearing these, a pair of red boxer briefs, and a pair of thick, comfortable tube socks. Chris only pulled away for a moment before I inserted the plugs into his ears. So that he didn't have a moment to reconsider, I quickly pulled the complicated hood over his head, cinching the lacing tightly. I buckled the collar, as well as the straps that passed under Chris' chin, and those over the padded portion covering his mouth. Finally, I tightened the strap that passed over the heavy padding over his eyes and ears. Also sitting on the pool table were a number of small padlocks, which I applied to the hood's locking buckles, just for aesthetics and my own gratification.
"I want to see your tongue!" I yelled in order to penetrate both the thick hood and the ear plugs helping to shut out Chris' senses. Out it came! I was just making sure that his mouth was lined up with the hood's solitary breathing hole, no bigger than a dime. Chris slowly raised an arm to touch the outside of his head. He felt for a moment along the hood's leather straps, and then over the padding being pressed snugly into his eyes by the partial head harness built into it's exterior. This thing was a real head trip, and could certainly induce panic in a less experienced sub- though Chris was no neophyte.
With his head plugged, padded, and strapped, it was necessary for me to carefully guide Chris to his feet, and then across the short distance to the spine board, resting roughly at waist height. I positioned him at the side of the board, with its lip touching Chris' navel. Chris' hands found the soft leather of the interior layer of the sleepsack. Despite the complete sensory confinement of the hood, he knew what to do.
Chris turned slightly and slid onto the narrow spine board, sitting on the leather lining of the bag's interior. He pulled his naked legs up, quickly finding the soft, though snug foot compartment of the inner bag. I grabbed his shoulders, and guided Chris' back onto the smooth, black leather. I prompted him to scoot to one side a bit with a few pats of my hand. I grabbed his wandering right hand, directing it toward the narrow sleeve designed to isolate Chris' arms from the rest of his body. I leaned over and fed Chris' other arm into its own leather tunnel.
I moved toward Chris' feet, running a finger along his toned chest and tight stomach. Seizing the pull near his feet, I slowly began to zip the inner layer of the sleepsack closed. I had to pause momentarily to deal with the obstruction that was Chris' clear arousal. This particular sleepsack was constructed with three different zipper pulls, allowing access to any point along a sub's body, even when he is fully laced up and strapped in!
Even though he wasn't communicating verbally beneath that deprivation hood, Chris was obviously tuned into the proceedings. He pulled his leather-clad arms snugly against his sides as I brought the zipper pull over his chest and neck, ending just under the chin, where it almost perfectly kissed the leather of the hood. He murmured softly through the breathing hole, then moaned! Even now, with only the application of one layer of leather and a zipper, Chris was utterly and completely helpless. He squirmed a bit, flexing his well-defined muscles against the leather cocoon.
For no more than a few seconds, I rubbed with my hand the bump under the leather that I knew was screaming for relief. Chris raised his knees and grunted- he looked like a slick, black caterpillar! I turned my attention to the thirty shining miniature D-rings, fifteen on each side, bordering the opening of the sleepsack's thick, sturdy outer layer. A long cord sat coiled on the floor. As an engineer, I could usually identify any given substance with reasonable ease, though I was at a loss to give a name to whatever material made up this amazingly strong and stiff, yet flexible cord.
I lifted an end of the cord from the floor and passed it through the D-rings closest to Chris' feet on either side of the opening. I pulled until there were equal amounts of the cord hanging from both sides of the spineboard. Then I began to lace. It was an almost Zen-like experience, methodically threading the stiff cord through the D-rings as if lacing up a black leather boot. Upon my first cinching of the lacing, just above his knees, Chris let out a low, long groan. "You're welcome!" I spat loudly, hoping it would penetrate through the straps, padded leather, and plugs.
I continued lacing the sleepsack up to the still-visible bump under the zipped up leather body sleeve, gave Chris one final rub of encouragement, and cinched the two ends of the cord tightly once again. He continued to make unintelligible grunts, moans, and groans as I tied off the cording in a simple knot- this would make the rest of the lacing easier. Chris began to buck his legs back and forth slightly, likely seeking out some friction for his imprisoned package.
I slung a leg over the waist-high spineboard and sat atop Chris' thighs. He lifted his hooded head from the spineboard in an attempt to sit up, though his padded and strapped face met with the palm of my hand, and he went crashing back down with a thud. "Fuck," I heard Chris gasp as he fought to catch his breath with the limited quantity of oxygen getting through the hood's only opening. It was big enough, wasn't it?
"Easy there, tiger!" I laughed. "You're not going to have a panic attack on me, are you?" I didn't expect a response, and didn't get one. I knew Chris would want this to be as intense and tight as possible- just as I later would. From this comfortable perch I resumed my methodic lacing. I boosted myself up on to my knees after producing a few more crisscross patterns with the cord, and was now straddling Chris' stomach. Pushing into Chris' sides with my knees to keep from slipping off the edges of the spineboard, I gave the two cords an additional cinch before lacing right up and over the collar at the base of the hood. A final, mercilessly tight cinch made Chris gasp for breath as I tied the cords off in a neat square knot.
"Find that happy place yet?" I shouted, bending close so that Chris could hear, close enough to feel warm breath spilling from the air hole. Was that a whimper? There was a bit more than a foot of cord left at each end after bearing down on the square knot. I fed each of these through D-rings anchored to the eye strap at both the left and right sides of the hood, tightening them down good and taut. If it's there, use it, I say. I wondered what it must feel like to be entombed in leather like this- sort of like being vacuum packed, I imagined. I gave the side of the hood a little slap, sitting back on Chris' chest. He may not even be aware of what's coming next, I thought. I climbed off of Chris, and was apparently as aroused as he was.
Next came the straps. The five two-inch body straps riveted to the back and sides of the sleepsack. First I did the ankles, and then the knees. Chris had been alternately bending and then relaxing his knees slightly as I applied these wide, thick straps, buckled as tight as I could manage. I moved on to the strap at the top of Chris' thighs, giving it as much attention as those before it. It started with a subtle squirm, but Chris was soon rocking back and forth as if trying to shake off a straightjacket. I squeezed Chris' shoulders, letting him know that I was still there, and at the same time preventing him from falling. I doubted that he was even currently aware that he was lying on a spineboard, three feet off the ground.
His breathing steadied, and his body seemed to relax. I got right back to work. The last two straps were positioned around the arms and torso- the first at the forearms, just above the wrist, and the second just above the elbow. I buckled both quickly, and hopped back on top of Chris, again straddling his chest on my knees. He was squirming again, and with even more intensity. I held down his legs with my own, and pressed upon his head with my palms. "EASY big fella! I yelled at the strap where an ear should be. I would have been concerned, but the noises Chris was making from beneath that hood weren't those of pain, distress, or panic. I laid there for a few minutes more, mostly for my own benefit, before climbing off a now calmer Chris.
These thrashing fits wouldn't stop, I was sure. For now, though, Chris was still, and I took a rather foolish chance leaving him unattended as I made my way toward a large chest in the corner of the basement. I returned in mere seconds with an armload of black leather. More straps. Ten more, to be precise! These, however, would bind Chris, utterly and completely, to the spine board that was now supporting his helpless body.
I unloaded the heap of cowhide on top of the pool table. Being careful not to knock the board off the sawhorses, I grabbed a hold of Chris' lower legs and shifted his knees to the right a couple of inches, ensuring that his body was perfectly centered on the spineboard. I took hold of one of the shorter straps- maybe thirty inches in length- and wrapped it around Chris' ankles, passed the end through the closest hand grip, under the board, through the opposite hand grip, and back across his ankles where it was cinched tightly and buckled.
There were six more pairs of opposing hand grip cut-outs along the perimeter of the board, and I intended to put each and every one of them to good use. The next belt wrapped just below the knees, and the one after just above. I wrenched down on the next strap so hard that it bit into the leather of the sleepsack covering what I was sure was a very caged and restricted hard-on. The next belt would test the toned muscles of his abdomen- almost a six pack! "Bite if you like it!" I yelled at the hood, sticking a finger through the hood's air hole and into Chris' warm mouth. He bit- a little too hard, actually.
I took that as permission enough to apply yet two more belts across his chest and arms. Soft moans poured regularly from Chris' lone, small outlet to the outside world. I placed the tip of my forefinger over the hood's breathing hole for only the briefest of moments, yet managed to elicit what seemed like a full-body muscle contraction. The absolute control I was able to exercise over Chris' existence made me incredibly horny.
I still had straps in need of a home. The thirty-inch strap used on Chris' ankles had a twin, and I used it to belt his head to the board. Two straps were left, and they were the long ones. I fed the end of one of the belts through the hand grip cut-out near Chris' right shoulder, passed it under the spineboard on a diagonal, where it reemerged on the opposite side near his stomach. There was enough of the strap left to reconnect with it's buckle, after being cinched tightly, back near his shoulder. I repeated the process with the last strap, only beginning and ending with the opposite shoulder. The effect of this positioning was that a large, taut leather X now topped off what could only be described as a sarcophagus of leather and steel.
There was no movement now. There simply couldn't be. Was it possible to be any more intensely restrained as Chris was now? I didn't think so, but I wasn't done. Not yet. Upon entering the basement, Chris was too transfixed on the sleepsack to notice the four strategically placed heavy lag eye bolts that I had installed in the rafters above the spineboard- one above each of its four corners.
Leaving Chris to whatever sensory head trip he was surely experiencing, I retrieved the step ladder from against the concrete basement wall and positioned it near the head end of the spineboard. Remember the chains that I had draped over my shoulders and carried back from the shed? I attached one of these to each eye bolt with a large, heavy duty carabineer, first near Chris' head, and then at his feet. Four thick chains now dangled near the corners of the board.
I gathered up four more of the same heavy carabineer- yes, my basement is like a hardware store. I attached the smaller end of each to the free ends of the four hanging chains. Then... I paused for a second, thinking. I grabbed the edge of the spine board, and with a great deal of effort, stood it on its side while still resting on the sawhorses! Chris didn't shift an iota. I let the board come back down softly and slowly, though Chris was now upside down, facing the floor! I moved to each corner of the spineboard, hooking the larger end of each carabineer around one of the hand grips.
I circled this spectacle a couple of times, admiring my handiwork. Without a moment's hesitation, I kicked the sawhorse closest to Chris' feet out from under the board, which dropped suddenly, but no more than an inch. I did the same to the other saw horse, and stood mesmerized, watching the world's most perverse swing sway back in forth. I augmented the motion with a push from my hand, wondering if Chris even knew that he was upside down, never mind suspended from the ceiling.
After all that, I didn't want to stare at the back of a spineboard, plastered with leather straps or not. I got down on the floor and slid underneath Chris' suspended and utterly immobile body. What could he do, wiggle his fingers and toes a little? That was it. I aligned myself so that my face was directly beneath his. Just as I had earlier, I slowly lifted a hand toward the hood, sticking a finger through the air hole and into Chris' mouth. "Bite if you like it!" I bellowed like before. He bit.
Chris had just worked three consecutive twelve-hour shifts in the wilds of northeast Vermont. He had to be utterly exhausted. I watched him for hours, trying not to move a muscle, thinking about what it must feel like inside there, and why we even do such things...
...
My eyes blinked open, and I took a deep breath, startled. Sleep. I had fallen asleep! I focused my attention on the mass of leather before me, and I could tell from Chris' deep, even breaths that he too had finally succumbed to sleep.
Last edited by
snobound on Sat Aug 28, 2010 12:41 pm, edited 2 times in total.