A fantasy, or a memoir of sorts, about bondage, sadomasochism. As usual, play safe, contribute to Nifty, and the author retains all rights to this work.
To Arnheim
It makes no sense, of course--perhaps it is a mark of maturity when one stops expecting anything to make sense. I am mature: I have a job, a home, friends. I pay my taxes, contribute to worthy charities, do my best to be pleasant, even when someone I am dealing with is angry or upset. I brush my teeth twice a day, am kind to animals and children, and get enough fiber.
But...
I stand quietly, naked, in front of the door to the room. I wait. He walks up behind me and slides a leather hood over my head, carefully securing it for a snug fit. The hood has openings for my eyes and mouth, so that I can see to follow his instructions and answer his questions.
He tells me to open the door and go into the room, and I obey. The room is perhaps six feet wide, eight feet deep, entirely of concrete except for the door, which is heavy, metal-clad. There is a long wooden table in the middle of the room. Shackles hang from its corners, and there are leather straps as well. He tells me to bend over the end of the table with my legs spread. I obey. There is a moment of cool wetness, and then I feel him pressing a plug into my ass. There is pressure, then a burst of pain as the widest part of it conquers my anus, and then the last of it slips in. The plug is equipped with a vibrator, remotely controlled. He triggers the vibrator and I tell him that it is working. He turns it off.
I stand and turn around as he pulls my testicles and penis through a metal ring with two leather straps. He passes one strap between my legs, tells me to hold the other against my abdomen. He passes a third strap around my waist and through the ends of the first two straps, then buckles it to hold the plug in place.
Now, he tells me to lie on the table, on my back. I obey. There is a mirror on the ceiling. It is tilted slightly, so I can see the table, and all of my body except my head. I watch. He guides my legs to the corners of the table, and secures my ankles with metal cuffs. He walks to the right side of the table and moves my right leg closer to the edge of the table, securing my right leg with a leather strap just below the knee, and another just above it. He moves to the left side of the table and does the same with my left leg.
He takes a few steps along the left side of the table, one hand idly siding along my body. He pulls a wide leather strap across my hips and buckles it. He tests the harness strap across my waist and tightens it one notch. He walks a bit further, and passes another wide strap across my chest, secures it. He guides my left arm into position above my head and secures my wrist with a metal cuff. He adds straps above and below my left elbow. He moves to the right side of the table and secures my right wrist and arm in the same way.
He continues down the right side of the table, examining his work, then moves away briefly. Seconds later, he is back, standing at the left side of the table. He lifts my head slightly, passes the end of a metal collar under and around to the front of my neck, closes it, and locks it. This, for no reason I can explain, causes my cock to reach a full erection, which he ignores. He secures the collar to the table with short chains to the left and right.
He speaks for the first time since I lay on the table. He asks if I am ready for the blindfold. I take a last look at the mirror on the ceiling, at the image of my bound body, and agree. He secures the blindfold with six snaps. Now there is only a hint of light at the bottom of my field of vision, so slight it might be an illusion.
He asks me if I am ready for the gag. I thank him, and he puts it into my mouth, fills my mouth with it and with the taste of the leather which covers it, and secures it with a strap. He locks the buckle. He slides a hook into each nostril. He attaches these to the corners of the table with thin chains, so I cannot turn my head, or raise it. I hear him walk around the table again, and then to the door. The last trace of light disappears. I hear the door close, and a heavy lock slide into place.
I struggle, just a bit, to be sure that what I already know is in fact true: I am helpless, locked in a dark room, separated from the outside world. I might be anywhere. My cock gradually goes limp. I have no sense of time. I know it is passing, of course, but whether in moments or hours, I cannot tell. The vibrator will awaken at odd intervals. I know it will run for somewhere between ten seconds and two minutes, but cannot tell how long it will stimulate me, or when.
White noise. The sound of my own breath, of the blood flowing through my body. I imagine voices drifting in and out of the white noise, bits of conversation I cannot quite understand, perhaps laughter. Vague clouds of color I cannot quite focus on drift in and out of black: my retina triggering at random, trying to fill the void.
I imagine myself on display, somehow. Perhaps an image of my helpless body is flickering on some electronic screen. Perhaps there is a debate about what may happen to me. Perhaps muscular men will offer me to their companions for their pleasure and they will touch me, beat me, pierce my nipples, press boots to my face and cover me with cum. Perhaps they make love just beyond my reach, teasing me with knowing sneers, bodies caressing bodies, muscles against muscles, tongues against flesh.
Now there is the smell of flesh, of sweat, of the acrid odors of feet and armpits. Perhaps streams of warm urine wash over me, or hot wax where I do not expect it. Perhaps, chained hand and foot, I crawl from one to the next, taking their cocks; perhaps I hang upside down while they flog and then rape me, dig powerful fingers into my flesh and laugh when I scream. Perhaps I have been sold, will remain like this for the pleasure of some cruel lord, a toy to be played with, then discarded, passed to another.
I sleep, somehow, for a moment or longer. Things happen at the speed of imagination, of dreams; I flow from place to place, torment to torment, passion to passion; faces, and the meanings in faces, bodies and parts of bodies: a chest, buttocks, a left calf and thigh; boys and men I lusted for and never knew; I become their dreams, their dark hungers, victim lover master slave somehow my cock rises eager and all of me passes from me...
I awaken, confused for an instant, and then the taste of the gag and the sudden stillness of the vibrator remind me where I am, that I am helpless and in darkness. Perhaps the chamber around me now floats in a void. Perhaps the walls have fallen away and the table to which I am bound is floating. Is it drifting aimlessly, or toward a destination? Is there a destination? I am helpless, unable to move or speak, unable to see and can only feel the wood beneath me, the straps and shackles on my body like armor. I might struggle, or try to call out, but why and to whom? I indulge for a moment the fantasy that I am alone in the universe, or indeed that I am the Universe and everything I may have believed I experienced was illusion. Perhaps I am meant to be thus, stripped as much as possible of anything that might define me, that might distract me or conceal me from myself, that might be of me, but not me.
I extend in all directions.
I feel everything.
Free