At 8:30 the next evening, I was standing at the dining room window, where I could see the driveway and a short bit of street where any car coming to my house would make its approach, but where the large Japanese maple in front of the window made it difficult for anyone outside to see me in my strange outfit, a pair of very old khakis with holes in the knees, and grass and dirt stains; and an old t-shirt that I'd distressed during the day with bleach (to make it easily rippable) and a saw (to give sections a shredded look).
When the gray SUV pulled into the driveway, I picked up my small backpack, walked through the kitchen and into the garage, and then out onto the driveway. I keyed in the code that would close the garage door behind me, and I got into Aaron's car.
"Hey," I said.
"Don't talk," he said, turning to back up the driveway. "We can socialize later. For now, just be silent.
"When we get to the light at Chestnut, I'm going to have you put on the hood you'll find between your seat and the console. If anything happens during the trip -- if we get into an accident, for instance -- take it off and stuff it back between the seat and the console. Otherwise, you'll wear it until I tell you not to." He looked at me, and I nodded.
Maybe 20 minutes later, we pulled off the road onto a gravel drive. We lived in a mid-sized city, the kind where a 20-minute drive puts you in the country, so when he finally stopped (maybe a quarter of a mile away from the road), I was not surprised to hear nothing but crickets and tree frogs when he opened the door on my side. He ordered me to get out of the car, and once I was standing, he took off the hood and threw it on the seat.
"That'll just make this easier," he said. He led me around to the back of the car, opened the tailgate and took some equipment out of a box there.
There were cuffs for my wrists and ankles -- beautifully made: black leather outside, and a lamb's wool lining -- and a collar for around my neck. The wrists cuffs fitted over my thumbs. The back of the cuffs -- the side at the back of my hand -- had three heavy-duty, chromed steel rings for restraint, and the front -- the side closest to my palms -- had three buckles that allowed the cuffs to be fastened very tightly around my wrists and the heel of my hands. The ankle cuffs were similarly made, with the rings on the outside of my ankles.
As he put these on me, he went over the rules again.
"You can say anything you want," he said. "You can curse and scream, or beg and cry for mercy. Nothing you say will change what's happening at all UNLESS you say the Master's name. Say his name, or snap your fingers repeatedly, and the scene is over -- and, I think, the relationship, as well. I've never seen him bring back a person who stops a scene.
"He isn't usually verbal. He probably won't say much to you, and he'll only talk to me when he needs me to help him move you from one place to another.
"It's hot in there. The place is air conditioned, but he usually specifies that the air be left off the entire day when he's doing a scene. You're going to sweat, he's going to sweat, and I'm going to sweat. I hope you like sweat."
I looked at him, not knowing whether I was supposed to answer. The fact is, I love sweat. The image I always hold in my head when I think about these scenes is of me, restrained, and dripping with sweat.
The cuffs in place, Aaron pulled short lengths of chain out of the box, and fastened one between my ankle cuffs, and then another between the chain on my ankles to the cuffs on my wrists, so that I was shackled, unable to walk except by shuffling. He said, "The chains are held with spring clips, so you really could remove them any time. You'll have to imagine that you're unable to get out.
"Now, back to your seat."
I shuffled to the passenger seat, waited for Aaron to grab the hood, and then sat down. He helped me get my legs into the car, and then he put the hood back over my head.
Another long drive on gravel, and then we stopped. He got out, came around to the passenger side, opened my door, and helped me to stand. Rather gruffly now, he grabbed hold of my upper arm and pulled me away from the car. "One step," he said, and then, "Another step," and then I heard a door being opened in front of us.
"One more step up," he said, and I was over the threshold and inside the house. I heard him close and lock the door behind me.
The house was sweltering. It had been in the 90s that day, and with the air conditioning off and the house closed up (I would later learn that the entire house, including the windows, had been sealed and soundproofed), the heat had built up tremendously inside.
Aaron walked me forward a bit -- I briefly felt a chain against my shoulder, probably hanging from the ceiling -- and then he removed the chain running between my wrist cuffs and my ankle chain, and ordered me to kneel. One at a time, he pulled my arms out to my sides and fastened my wrist cuffs to chains that were obviously attached to the floor some distance away on either side of me, and then he attached the collar around my neck to the chain I'd felt a moment ago. With this completed, he had rendered me helpless: the chains attached to my wrists kept me from getting up off my knees to release the chain attached to my collar, and the chain attached to my collar prevented me from bending down to release the chains on my wrists. He backed away, off to the right.
I was left there for maybe five minutes, and then I heard someone walking toward me from directly in front of me. It was Matt, I assumed, but he said nothing. He walked around me for a time, as if inspecting his property, while I knelt there, shaking from the Adrenalin pumping through my body, despite the heat in the room. He grabbed a handful of my hair, and pulled my head up. Holding me in this position, he ran his other hand roughly across my chest, grabbing and pinching my nipples through my t-shirt. I groaned involuntarily. Moving behind me, he pushed his knees into my back, reached down and put both hands down inside my shirt to rough up my nipples directly.
He disconnected the chains from my wrists, put a hand under one of my arms, and pulled me up to a standing position. He detached the collar around my neck from the chain it had been atached to, and then reattached it, only higher up. Then, he then attached my wrists cuffs farther down the chain, behind my back. He ran his hands over my body again, first pinching my nipples, and then punching my chest and stomach, and grabbing my genitals roughly.
The heat was stifling, and I could feel sweat breaking out all over my body. The tattered tee shirt began to stick to my chest and stomach, and he grabbed the neck of the shirt in both hands and ripped the shirt open, exposing my chest. He ran his hands over my bare skin, pushing the torn shirt off my shoulders, and ripping it further, until it was hanging in shreds around my hips, caught on my still-bound wrists.
Then, he removed the hood. I saw him for the first time, his shirt unbuttoned to his abdomen, a thick black leather belt holding up his jeans. We were in one of a few dim pools of light in the darkened room, and the spotlight above highlighted the sweat gistening on his skin.
He removed the belt, held the buckle and the opposite end in one hand, snapping the loop against the palm of his other hand. He drew the loop across my chest very gently, playing with my nipples and pecs, brushing it back and forth to make the nipples hard. I tried to look away, but he grabbed my jaw and forced me to look directly at him, as he slapped the looped belt against the side of my right pec, and then my left, and then my right again, over and over, hitting my nipples directly. I gritted my teeth, not gasping or crying out, looking at him with hatred. Eventually, he stopped, stepped back, sweating heavily now. He threw the belt on the floor and stripped off his shirt. He stepped behind me, pushing his chest against my back and his hips against my ass. He wrapped his arms around me and ran his hands roughly over my chest, again finding the nipples and pinching and twisting them. He reached down to my groin, and he used both hands to pull my thighs open and my ass back into him, as he nuzzled his face against my shoulders and neck.
After some time at this, he abruptly disconnected the chain from the collar around my neck. Aaron stepped forward from the darkness, and the two of them dragged me to a different spot on the floor, where more large screw eyes were imbedded in the floor and chains hung from overhead. He attached the leather cuffs on my ankles to the screw eyes in the floor, so that my feet were forced wide apart and my legs were open. He attached chains from the ceiling to the leather cuffs on my wrists. Then, he moved off to the side walls of the room, where there were switches. He flipped two of the switches, and I heard sounds from above me. I looked up.
Although it was difficult to see beyond the spots aimed straight down at the floor, my eyes quickly adjusted so that I could see that the plasterboard ceiling had been removed, leaving only the ceiling joists, and allowing me to see all the way up to the roof rafters. There were numerous winches attached to the ceiling joists, each with a chain hanging down. Because of the switches Matt was operating, the two winches directly overhead were turning, retracting the chains attached to my wrists, forcing my arms out at first and then overhead, until I was held spread-eagle, taut and completely helpless to stop anything he might decide to do. I thought about Matt's promise that I would always be held with simple spring clips, and that I could always get myself out of any situation they might put me in. Would I be able to stretch even further than I had been stretched already, I wondered, which would have been necessary to release the spring clips attached to my wrists?
Again, Aaron moved off to the side, and Matt moved over to where he'd dropped the belt before. He picked it up, walked to a spot immediately behind me, and started beating me across the shoulders and back. I didn't cry out; I just grunted as the beating continued. Eventually, he moved around in front of me, and he started beating me on the chest and stomach. I kept silent, but the straining I did against my bonds caused me enough exertion so that sweat starteded running down my face and chest.
He stopped, moved closer, and started flicking his fingers against my nipples. My nerves were so raw and my Adrenalin level was so high, that I started trembling just from this light touch.
"No," I mumbled. "Please, no!"
He slapped me across the face, and said, "Shut up." Then, he continued with the nipple stimulation, driving me crazy. Noticing my cock, swollen and semi-rigid, tenting my pants, he spoke for the first time since I had seen him that night.
"What have we here?" he said. He ran the fingers of one hand along the length of my cock, and I jumped in response. He slowly undid the button and the zipper on my pants, and the pants fell to my thighs. I wasn't wearing underwear, so my swollen cock jumped up when the pants fell. I gasped at the shock of being exposed like that.
Standing in front of me and to my left, he started stroking my cock with his left hand and simultaneously licking at my bruised left nipple with his tongue. I got fully hard immediately, and I tried to pull away, pleading with him to stop.
"Please, no!" I cried out, "Please don't make me cum!"
He continued nevertheless, and just when it appeared I was about to explode, he raised the belt, which was still in his left hand, and he hit my cock with it, again and again, until I was no longer erect. I cried out in pain and surprise at this new attack.
He moved off to a table, where he had a bunch of different instruments laid out. He traded the belt for a mat knife, expose the retractable blade, and came back toward me. I started screaming at him at this point, afraid that he would cut me.
"Shut the fuck up," he said, and he grabbed hold of the cotton pants still hanging at my thighs and cut one leg open, and then the other, leaving me completely naked. He went back to the table, left the knife, and picked up the belt and a ball gag. He forced the ball gag into my mouth, and fastened it roughly behind my head. Then, standing behind me, with my ass exposed to him, he began to beat me across the ass, and back, and shoulders, but working primarily to get my ass good and sore. Once he had accomplished that, he moved on to beat the back of my thighs, and then, moving around in front of me, the front and inside of my thighs. Finally, he stood directly in front of me, looking into my face, and he began swinging the belt underhand, up into my balls. I looked into his eyes at first, begging silently for mercy. Seeing no mercy there, I turned my head and buried my face against my shoulder in an attempt to bear the pain.
When he finally stopped, he moved back to the switches on the wall, and he operated them until my arms were lower, with my wrists at about the height of the top of my head. In this slightly more relaxed position, I slumped against my bonds, and he took a salve from the table and began working it into my skin, concentrating on the violently red patches on my ass, my back, and my chest.
He stepped aside, and Aaron came up, offered me some water (which I gulped down, once Aaron had removed the ball gag), held up a bucket to allow me to piss, and then disappeared into the dark corners of the room. Matt came back, ran his hands tenderly over my shoulders, cradled my face in his hands, told me that he'd be back for more later, and left the room, turning off most of the lights as he left.
It was very dark, but my eyes soon adjusted, and I was able to look around. The space suggested that Aaron had taken a standard ranch house, and opened up the living room, dining area, kitchen and a half bath to create one large space. Posts and beams stood in where load-bearing walls had been before; the kitchen had been reduced to one wall of cabinets, a sink and an under-counter refrigerator; and what had been the bathroom had been turned into a cell with a tiny stainless steel sink and a toilet. As I'd noticed before, the ceiling had been removed, and the wall studs and roof rafters had all been covered with what appeared to be a layer of insulation, probably for sound-proofing. I guessed this because there were NO windows in the space; they, too, had been covered over. The "walls" were 4' X 8' peg board panels, and much of the area on them was covered with restraints, chains, whips and other torture devices.
Sometime later, Matt returned. I had no idea how long it had been, but I was sure it was close to midnight. I had been under stress the entire time, with my hands losing circulation and my legs trembling from the strain of being held wide apart.
He began with a long sequence of playing with my nipples, getting me aroused, edging my cock, slapping it down, and then starting the sequence all over again. I moaned alternatively with pleasure and pain, again and again, until I eventually broke down in tears. He put his arms around me, and I tried to kiss him, in the hopes that he would abandon the scene and release me. He broke the embrace, held my shoulders and moved me away from himself gently, so that he could look directly into my eyes.
"Hey," he said, "we're not done yet. I need you to suffer a lot more. Let's get to it."
He went back to the table to retrieve two short lengths of chain. He attached them between my ankle cuffs and the screw eyes in the floor. I thought at first that their purpose was to allow me to bring my feet a bit closer together, a small gift to me. But I soon learned that I was wrong. He went back to the switches on the wall, and he played with them, running the winches to pull my arms way above my head. Quickly flipping the switches on and off expertly, he shortened the chains more and more, until the real purpose of the short lengths of chain at my ankles was revealed to me, and I was dragged up on my toes, with my legs, arms and shoulders stretched to their limit.
I looked up, opening and closing my fists to encourage circulation in my hands, while he walked around me.
"This position is amazing," he said as he inspected me. "Your thighs, your calves, yours ASS, are beautiful when you are held in this way." He ran his hands over my body, enjoying the obvious tension in the muscles under the taut skin. "Now, to increase the degree of difficulty ...."
He went back to the table, and he returned with a long piece of rope. It had a slip knot tied in one end, and he put the loop around my genitals and tightened it until the knot was hard against the place between my scrotum and my ass. The loop was so tight that my cock began to swell immediately. He ran the rope between my legs, and handed the end to Aaron, who had moved a ladder beneath a pulley hanging from the ceiling joists a few feet behind me. Aaron ran the rope through the pulley, and then tied a large hook -- the kind painters use to hold the paint can when they're up on a ladder -- to the other end of the rope. Then, he moved the ladder and came back with a pile of 2-1/2 lb. weightlifting plates.
"Start with one," Matt said, and Aaron hung a plate on the hook. The rope went taut, pulling my genitals back between my legs and causing my cock to thicken even more.
Matt went over to the table again, and came back with two rubber-tipped spring clips. He stood in front of me, pinched and twisted one of my nipples, and then put the first clip solidly onto the nipple. I gasped in reaction to the discomfort it caused. He repeated the process with the second clip on my other nipple, watching my face for a reaction, and smiling when he saw one. Aaron came up behind him, and handed Matt lengths of string, which Matt tied to each clip. As Matt did this, Aarom brought the ladder around and climbed up to take the strings from Matt and run them through two screw eyes in the ceiling a few feet in front of me. Then, he tied small S hooks onto the other ends of the strings. Finally, he hung small fishing weights -- 1 ounce lead sinkers -- on each of the hooks. The strings went taut, and the clips pulled gently on my nipples.
"Now," Matt said, "let's see how much of this you can take." He hung another 2-1/2 lb. plate on the hook weighing on my genitals, and another two of the 1 ounce weights on each of the hooks weighing on my nipples. Again, he walked around me, admiring the straining muscles he saw. My cock was now thick and hard, the head a shining shade of purple. Matt touched it gently, and I jumped in response, my eyes closed.
"We'll be back," Matt said, "but we will be able to see you and hear you, in case you need us." He and Aaron walked out of the space, turning off the lights and closing a door behind them that I couldn't see.
I stood in the darkness, straining, sweating, in pain. The strain on my arms, shoulders and legs -- especially my calves -- was so great that tremors began to run through my body. Even without gross movement, my body was working so hard that I began to sweat profusely. The sweat dripped off my nose and the tip of my cock, and I could feel it trickling down the small of my back and the inside of my thighs.
Once again, I had no idea how long they were gone, but when they returned I was semi-conscious, and I didn't even hear the door open or see the lights come on. Matt came up to me, grabbed a handful of my hair again, and pulled my face around to meet his.
"Now, real pain," he said.
He picked up the belt again. My predicament -- on my toes, with my genitals pulled down and back between my legs -- had forced me to stick my ass out. He stood behind and to the left of me, and he used the belt on my left ass cheek and the back and inside of my left thigh. Once the left side was red and the skin looked as if it would begin to break down, he ducked under the rope pulling at my genitals, and started on the right side.
When the right ass cheek and thigh were red and bruised, he moved around to my front. To get the best access to me, he had to remove the clips on my nipples. He removed the weights hanging from the strings first. With the strings slack, he could stand right in front of me and put a hand on one of the clips. He paused there for a few seconds, and then he removed the clip. I cried out from the pain caused by the return of blood to the nipple. Before I could breathe in again, Matt removed the second clip. As my screams ran out of air, he placed his thumbs directly on my nipples and pressed in deeply, grinding against them. I looked directly at him with pleading eyes, but he continued until he was satisfied that the pain had faded.
The belt was still in his hand, and he took it and began beating me across the stomach. Eventually, he moved to the fronts of my thighs, and he beat them red, as well. Then, he put his left arm around my right side, embracing me fully, so that his sweaty left chest and abdomen pressed against my equally sweaty right side, grabbing my left shoulder from the back with his left hand. Faces almost touching at this point, he used a short length of the doubled-up belt to hit my sore, red left nipple again, and again, and again. After 20 or 30 blows, he turned it all around, and beat my right nipple.
He stepped back to observe me. I was not focusing on him -- on anything really. He used his fingertips to fiddle with both my nipples, and the nerve stimulation sent shivers through my body. He continued this for many minutes, bringing me to a point of near-delirium. Then, to bring me back to reality, he started using the belt on my swollen cock, and the swollen balls in my taut scrotum behind it.
Eyes closed, head back, back still arched because of the weight pulling on my genitals, I just grunted in reaction to the blows to my cock and balls. This went on for many minutes, but I eventually stopped even grunting, and my chin fell on my chest. Sweat was pouring down my chest and stomach, dripping off my swollen cock and wetting the leather of the belt. He stopped, walked around behind me,and removed the weights from the hook. Then, kneeling close behind me, he opened the slip knot around my genitals, freeing them from the rope. I groaned.
"Let him down," he said, and Aaron, at the wall switches, started the winches to lower my arms. The punishment of being held on my toes with my arms stretched to their limit above my head ending, I cried out at the new punishment of having my muscles released from extension, and I nearly collapsed. Matt caught me, held me up with one arm around my back, and undid the ball gag with the other.
Aaron came to my other side, and together, they walked me over to a large wooden table, a 4X4 timber frame with a top of 10-foot-long 2X12s. "Sit down here," Matt said.
He sat me down at one of the narrow ends of the table; made up of four 10-foot-long, 12-inch-wide planks, the table's end was about four feet wide. I didn't resist at all; I didn't have the energy for it. Matt gently laid me down so that my ass was just at the edge of the table. He brought my feet up onto the table and fastened my ankle restraints to large screw eyes near the corners of the surface, forcing my feet and legs open and exposing my ass. There were more screw eyes embedded in the surface all along the edges, so he and Aaron, working on either side of the table, moved my arms over my head and attached my wrist cuffs to screw eyes that stretched me but did't strain me too much. Matt went back to the table where all his equipment was laid out, and he came back with a small black box with wires attached, and a couple of other objects. There was a stainless steel object, shaped somewhat like an antique plumb bob, but with a rounded tip. He used a sterilizing lube to coat it, and then he pressed it against my sphincter.
I reacted immediately, shouting (or, more accuturately, croaking in a voice gone hoarse from screaming) and squirming. He climbed up on the table, putting his full weight into a hand on my chest, and he looked into my eyes and said, "This is going to happen. It can be easy, or it can be hard. Relax, and it will be much easier." I panted, looking directly back at him for a time, and then swallowed and turned my head away.
Matt returned to the probe, put it at my tightly closed asshole, and pressed. I gasped as the curves of the probe open my ass wider and wider, and I cried out in pain when the widest part passed through the sphincter and settled inside my rectum. He picked up another object, and put the lube on it, too. He came up between my knees, holding it in his hand. a long, thin, steel sound, with a hockey stick-shaped curve at one end, and a flat panel at the opposite end. He grabbed my penis.
"Oh, God, no!" I moaned.
I moaned continuously as he pushed the sound deeper into my urethra. Matt knew from experience that some men experience sounding as pleasurable, some as painful, but it was all good to him, regardless. When he got the first section (the section before the bend) completely buried in my penis, he applied slightly greater pressure to force the bent area through my semi-rigid shaft. My moans grew louder. Soon, I felt the sound "sit" in place, with the tip obviously at the base of my prostate. He took a length of surgical tape, and taped the sound to the head of my cock.
He took up the black box with its wires, and attached the alligator clip on the end of one wire to the flat panel at the end of the sound, the other to a terminal on the anal probe protruding out of my asshole.
"I've used this TENS unit on myself," he said. "Or, more accurately, I've had a top I trust use it on me. I couldn't feel anything at all with the intensity set at level 1, but I had to beg him to back off at level 6. Level 5 produced clear discomfort, rather than 'pain' -- but, even more disturbing, it produced strong involuntary spasms in my groin, rectal and abdominal muscles, which I felt for hours after the treatment. This setting" -- he turned a knob and flipped a switch, and then held his thumb over a red toggle -- "delivers completely random electrical pulses." He pushed the toggle, and over the space of 20 seconds or so, he dialed up the intensity to 5.
I began grunting and tensing my entire body against my bonds when the electrical pulses hit me, and breathing heavily between pulses. Matt stood next to the table for a few minutes, watching my muscles contract, and then he ran his fingertips through the sheen of sweat on my stomach, my chest, my nipples (which were hard from the muscle exertion) and my face. He held my chin and turned my face toward him. "It's late," he said. "I have to get some rest. This thing is charged for at least an hour of run time. I'll be back."
I had no idea how long he was gone. I suffered through the pulses delivered by the TENS unit until it lost its charge, and then I collapsed, and dozed off. By the time I realized he was back, he had already disconnected the wires from the two probes he'd violated my body with, and he was starting to pull the anal probe out of my rectum. I didn't experience pain when these were removed, just relief. Still dazed, I didn't resist when he released me from the table's bondage and got me to stand up. Aaron was there as well, and they walked me over to another area of the room, where a very sturdy, padded piece of equipment resembling a saw horse stood. They pushed my crotch up against one padded end, and then forced my legs apart by fastening the cuffs on my ankles to screw eyes mounted on the outside of the legs at this end.
They then pushed my torso down onto the long padded surface of the horse, and fastened my wrist cuffs to screw eyes on the legs on that end. My full torso, from my crotch to my clavicle, rested on the padded top of the horse; my head and neck hung off one end, and my ass hung off the other end. Standing on one side of me, Matt reached down to grab both my nipples, twisting them. I screamed in pain because of how raw they were, and I pleaded with him not to inflict any more punishment to them.
"You want me to fuck that tight little ass of yours instead?" he asked. "You can't deny me the pleasure of seeing you suffer without offering a trade-off."
"No, please, not that!" I said.
"Then it's the nipples," he repliedy, and he started pinching and twisting my nipples again.
"God, no! Please!" I cried. "I'll do anything! I'll suck your dick! Please let me suck his your instead," I begged.
He came around in front of me, kick off his boots, pulled off his pants, and slipped his underwear down, revealing his swollen, semi-rigid cock. "Take it," he commanded.
Grabbing my hair with one hand, he held my head up while he used his other hand to slap his rigid cock back and forth against my face. Then he instructed me to service him in various ways: sticking my tongue into the piss hole, running my tongue around the head, licking the full length of the shaft. Then, of course, he put his cock into my mouth and slowly forced it down my throat. I gagged, and he pulled out a bit, but then went in again. Eventually, he humped my face with the full length of his cock.
He took his cock out of my mouth and slapped my face with it again. Sensing what he was planning, I tried to take his cock back into my mouth. "Please, let me suck it."
But he moved behind me. "I have a better idea," he said. He pressed the head of his cock against my sphincter.
"Please, no! You promised you wouldn't."
"I said no such thing," he replied, and he pushed his cock deep into my ass.
He pounded me until he climaxed, and then he lay down on top of me, his sweaty chest and stomach against my sweaty back. After a while, he got up, released my wrists from where they were attached to the horse, and forced me to stand up. He fastened my wrists behind my back, disconnect my ankles from the horse, and he and Aaron walked me, unresisting, back to where the chains hang from the ceiling. Together, they qickly attached my wrists to the chains, and then Aaron worked the winches until I was again held with my arms out and up overhead. With both Matt and me completely naked now, he spent a good deal of time pressing his body against mine, rubbing his hands all over me, and punishing me by slapping my ass cheeks, punching my stomach and chest (and focusing on my nipples), and beating my cock and balls. Then, with my body spread out for his enjoyment, and without any ropes or strings blocking his access, he gagged me again, and then took up the wide leather belt, and started beating me across the shoulders and back, chest and stomach, even inside my thighs and into my armpits. This new beating lasts for a half hour, during which he kept me off guard by hitting me again and again in rapid-fire mode, and then pausing for half a minute or so to allow me to think that, perhaps, the worst was over. It wasn't.
He left me there, beaten and sweaty, arms held overhead, for a somewhere around an hour.
When he returned, he brought with him a box of small candles, which he put on the long platform where he had tortured me with the TENS unit. He left the winch-controlled chains where they were, but he took my arms down and restrained my wrists in front of me. He walked me over to the platform, made me sit somewhere in the middle of the long side, and then forced me to lie down on the platform. The platform was 10 feet long, long enough to allow him (and Aaron, who appeared to assist) to fasten me down to the screw eyes along the edge so that I was spread-eagle. Matt then took a box of matches, and he began lighting all of the short, flat-bottomed votive candles in the box and placing them around me on the platform.
Gagged, I shook my head "No."
He took up one of the candles, and he talked while he watched the melted wax pool around the flame. "Most people like to drip the wax, drop by drop," he said. Holding the candle close to my chest, he delivered four or five drops directly on my right nipple. I snarled into the gag. "But I'm not sure that's the most effective way to go," he said. He placed five drips on my left nipple, and I snarled again. "What do you think?" he asked, pouring all the remaining wax in the top of the candle across my chest. I screamed into the gag.
He put the candle down, picked up another one, and poured all the wax pooled in its top down my right side. I yelled into the gag and strained against my bonds, but before I was finished, he had put the second candle down, picked up a third, and poured wax down my left side. I choked, taking a breath mid-scream. He poured wax from a fourth candle from my sternum to my navel, and then wax from a fifth and sixth candle onto my thighs. With all the candles back in place around me -- still lit and pooling more wax -- he sat on the edge of the platform and looked into my eyes as I dealt with the pain. He waited until my breathing returned to normal before picking up a candle again.
This time, he concentrated on my nipples again, dumping a load of wax on each nipple. Then a load went into each armpit. Then a load went into my suprasternal notch and down between my pectoral muscles. Then he moved to a position between my legs, lifted my flaccid penis, and prepared to put wax on my genitals. Through the gag, I begged him not to, but he dripped wax slowly onto the underside of my cock and the front of my scrotum until the candle in his hand was emptied.
He blew out the candles, one by one, and then he sat at my side, running his hand over my body, peeling away the cooled, hardened wax. He exposed my nipples, and then he began playing with them again,using those quick flips of the fingertips. Although I was drained, I reacted to the stimulation, and my cock began to swell. I felt the wax breaking away from the skin on the underside of my cock as the organ becomes engorged. With one hand, he continued to stimulate my right nipple, while he stroked my cock with the other hand. I moaned hoarsely, as he made me hard.
On the brink of cumming, eyes closed, head turned away from him, I was jolted back to reality as he slapped my balls. They had nowhere to go, since my scrotum had contracted, pulling my balls tight against my body. He slapped my balls again and again, and my cock shrank as I cried out in pain.
Finally, he got me up off the platform, chained my hands behind my back, hugged me, played with my nipples and my cock again, and then walked me over to the wall where he and Aaron are able to shackle me -- neck collar attached to a ring at neck height, wrist cuffs attached to rings that hold my arms down and away from my sides, and ankle cuffs attached to rings that kept my legs wide apart -- and where I remained on display, until he was inclined to torture me again.