This is a fantasy including BDSM sex between men. Any resemblance to persons living or dead is purely coincidental. The fantasy world is disease and injury-free, but as always, play hard, but play safe!
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Watching Him
I've finished my exercises--and that's all they are: a precisely planned routine to maintain the health and function of my body, no more. My keeper is punctilious, but bored, and returns me to bondage as quickly as possible. I am kept naked, of course, and the irons on my wrists and ankles have been riveted in place. My ankles are chained to rings on the floor; my wrists to a diabolical mechanism that monitors my blood pressure, holding my arms over my head until the circulation in my arms is significantly affected, then lowering them until the circulation is properly restored, when the cycle begins again. It does this without allowing any slack.
There is also a post on this device, topped with an inflatable dildo to keep my midsection in place, and a harness with a ring at the top to keep my head still. A pump inflates the dildo, or a gag, at random intervals, vaguely suggesting sex. My cock and balls hang free, untouched. They have been untouched now, for perhaps two months. Admittedly, it is difficult to keep track of the days. I am released from this position by my keeper, who secures me to a mat for precisely seven hours, he says, so I can attempt to sleep, after which I am once again taken through my exercise routine. If this occurs every twenty-four hours, I've been here for about sixty days. But I cannot be sure.
I am here to watch. My--what? Master? Captor? Tormentor?--is an exhibitionist, and I am here to watch Him play. Some days, I watch videos of previous sessions. Some days, He simply exhibits Himself. This is what first drew me to Him, as He stood near a pool table at our local leather bar. He was wearing form-fitting leather pants and a sheer top that revealed His well-muscled arms and torso. I now realize He had carefully placed Himself near a light fixture that emphasized the contours of His flesh and His classic face. Several men came up to Him, touched or even stroked Him, complimenting Him on this or that aspect. Despite temptation, I resisted, enjoying the show. Then, His gaze fell on me and I found myself drawn, even pulled toward Him. He told me candidly that He wanted me to watch Him have sex, and that He wanted to keep me bound while I watched Him. He even invited me to select a victim. Foolishly, I agreed, choosing a dark-skinned young Italian I knew to have a substantial cock.
At His home, the Italian was caged while He took me to an adjoining room and secured me for the first time in the device I described. Once I was helpless, He turned off the light and left, and I realized I was facing a half-surfaced mirror and could clearly see the well-lit playroom. In a few moments He entered the playroom, and stripped while the Italian boi and I watched. His body lived up to my hopes: well- developed thighs and calves, a powerful back, and that classic torso. He uncaged the Italian and stood while the boi licked His body, head to foot, lingering at the armpits and the ass. Next, I watched the Italian rub oil all over Him, so His body glistened like a photo from an old porn magazine. At last, the boi knelt at His feet and begged permission to suck His impressive cock. I, too, would gladly have done that, but I bided my time instead, imagining myself in the Italian's place, discovering after a few moments that my mouth was hanging open; that I had been moving my own tongue in harmony with the Italian's as he tongued the shaft. At last, the boi took the cock in his mouth, managing to take about half of it. Our Master allowed the boi to struggle for a while, until at last he'd taken the whole shaft. He did not cum, however. Instead, He commanded the boi to kneel with his mouth opened while He deposited His substantial load, ordering him not to cum. Finally, He ordered the boi to lie on the floor and service His feet while he was allowed to jack off and release his own impressive load. He watched the boi smear the cum all over his torso. Then they left the room together, while I waited for my opportunity to serve Him.
Instead, the keeper appeared. He explained that the man he called Master was retiring for the night, and that I was to do so as well. Resigned to a simple jack-off session, I followed the keeper to a small room, empty except for a mat only a foot or so off the floor. The keeper secured my arms and legs so that I could move a bit, but not enough touch my cock. The keeper turned off the light and disappeared. I eagerly anticipated a morning delight.
It did not come. Instead, the keeper put me into a sort of harness that made it impossible for me to touch my junk, then explained that Master wanted me to exercise, to "improve" my body. He took me through the routine, and explained that I would be expected to do it every day. At last, he secured me to the device again, as last night.
I waited.
Eventually, He appeared, wearing only a body harness that somehow made Him look even more magnificent than He had the night before. He stood before the half-surfaced mirror, admiring himself, smiling--perhaps at me, more probably at his own image--and began fondling His body, caressing and stroking it, even slapping it at times, until my cock was straining painfully. He turned and waved His buttocks in my direction, showed me His asshole, slipped a wet finger into it. Then, the lights went out. I could see nothing, but the gag began to inflate and I surrendered to it, imagining it was not rubber, but flesh. His flesh.
The keeper appeared with a light meal, fed it to me and insisted that I eat it all. "For your health," he said. Half-mad with lust, convinced He had ordered this, I obeyed eagerly. But I soon felt strangely drowsy, and then slept. I awoke secured to the sleeping mat, and only the next morning discovered the irons had been riveted to my limbs. As the keeper put me through my exercises, I said, "I don't know how much more I can take. When will He fuck me?"
The keeper replied by correcting my position as I continued doing push-ups. "I have to get to work Monday," I said. The keeper did not reply. "Look," I said, getting angry, "I'm having a terrific time, but if I'm not going to get to Him, I'd just as soon leave."
The keeper forced me, with unexpected strength, to keep doing push-ups. "I am permitted to strike you if you do not continue your routine," he said, and the tone of his voice left no doubt that he was both serious and capable. He was by no means unattractive, and I found an occasion to compliment him on his build. "Thank you," he said, almost mechanically.
"Do you ever play around?" I asked, attempting to touch his crotch.
He slapped my hand. "That is not permitted," he said, and put a shock collar around my neck. From then on, I stuck strictly to the exercise routine.
Many days, He has guests. The playroom is long, and I am at one end of it. I do not know if His guests know that I'm watching; if they do, they ignore me. He does, as well, but He makes certain that He is fully visible as much as possible during His sessions.
This time, His guest was a boy, barely of age, who put on knee pads, then allowed Him to tie his ankles to his thighs so he had to crawl about on his knees. Next, the boy sat up while He put mitts on him. Master commanded the dog-boy to "stay," while He walked to the far end of the room. He turned and said, "Here, boy!" and the dog-boy scrambled over to Him. "Heel," He said, and the dog-boy crawled behind him back toward the mirror. He pulled out a butt plug with a rubber tail. The dog-boy crouched, holding his butt in the air, and He slowly worked the plug in. I could tell it was beginning to hurt. I thought the dog-boy might say something, but he only whimpered. And then, almost too quickly to see, the widest part of the plug disappeared and it was in. Dog-boy had a tail.
The dog mask came next, a leather combination of a dog's face and a head harness. On His command, the dog-boy rolled over, sat up and begged, and retrieved a ball. After each trick, the dog licked His hand and at least once His face, panting and begging for what appeared to be actual dog treats. Throughout the session, he was limited to barking and, occasionally, whining. At last, He sat on His throne, a heavy, leather-upholstered chair, while the dog-boy buried his head in His crotch, licking and sucking and wagging his tail.
I told myself I must have miscounted, that perhaps the sleep schedule had been distorted to make me think the next day was Monday.
I confess it was at least two more sessions before I was convinced that I had, in fact, been imprisoned. My pleas to the keeper were ignored, resistance was shocked out of me. My only hope was that someone would realize what had happened, would notify the authorities. I swore to the keeper that I would say nothing if released; swore I would move out of town, leave the state--nothing worked. I began to imagine that I was never going to have the sex I so desperately wanted with Him; that just perhaps, I might never have sex again. At first, I dismissed that thought as silly, but as the days went by, it began to seem less and less absurd.
He has a variety of guests, ranging from some surprisingly young--or at least young-looking--lads to hirsute brutes considerably larger than Himself. They are similar only in the pleasure they take in His domination. That domination takes a variety of forms, from humiliation to complex tortures. Some of His guests like nothing more than to be walked on with boots or sneakers. Still others prefer Him barefoot. Some want nudity, or nothing more than a collar; others want bondage more elaborate and painful than mine.
One of his guests--his victims--comes to be tied. His chest is tied first, above and below his nipples. From these bonds, a network of rope crisscrosses his torso, passes between his legs, up his back and then over his shoulders. He is commanded to lie on his stomach; his hands are tied behind his back and his ankles are secured and pulled back until they can be tied to his wrists. He uses a nose hook and a complex interlacing of rope to embrace his head, pulling it back, as well. He is rocked forward and his legs are bound at the knees. He hooks a hoist to the bonds, and His prisoner is lifted into the air so He can fuck his mouth. After this, He raises the victim higher and ties his genitalia, hanging a weight from his balls. He attaches clamps to his nipples, and weights to these, then fucks the victim's mouth again. This is all done with excruciating slowness; ropes are tightened slowly until the victim is begging, pleading, crying for release. Then, at long last, his cock is milked into a bowl until he is completely drained; he is lowered to the floor and untied at the same hypnotically slow pace until he lies at the limit of his endurance, his body covered in red echoes of the ropes. When he has begun to recover, he is rolled over onto his back, his own cum is poured over his body, and He ejaculates on the victim's face and torso. The victim rubs their mingled cum over his body, dresses, and leaves, exhausted but presumably satisfied.
He is apparently an expert in whipping, caning and flogging. He sometimes compels his victims to choose which device He will use, and then secures them appropriately. He usually arranges these sessions with the victim facing me, so I can watch his struggles and hear his cries and pleas. Others are stretched on His rack and tormented with clamps, hot wax or electrical shocks. One especially well-built young man is secured bent at the waist, with hands and neck locked in the pillory and legs spread, while He attacks the prisoner's ass. He uses a variety of butt plugs and dildos, as well as His fist, before fucking him.
Another victim, young and lithe, is suspended upside down with his head in a bucket that He gradually fills with His piss. An Asian man, or perhaps boy--it is hard to tell--is lifted by a rope and pulley, suspended upside down with his arms behind his back. Rather than tying the rope off, however, He gives the rope to His victim, who desperately grips it to avoid dropping to the floor, while he services His cock.
And there is the throne. He sometimes sits in it, clad in leather, while one victim services His cock and another, secured beneath the throne, services his ass. Other times, He allows slaves to lick and suck his boots or his feet. "Oh, my Lord, thank you for allowing this pathetic slave to wash your magnificent feet with his worthless mouth," one of his regular slaves says, before beginning a session of foot worship that seems to last for hours.
One victim appears every week or so to have his body shaved from head to foot, before offering his mouth and ass to Him. Another wants only to be spanked and sent away. (This one, I believe, knows that I am watching, since it adds to his humiliation.)
The keeper tells me that my landlord has been informed of my departure due to a family emergency, and that all my things have been put in storage. The same message has gone to my boss, followed a few days later by a letter of resignation.
He is an expert at tormenting his victims, at bringing them to their limits and then holding them there. He is an expert at bringing those of them who wish to ejaculation, as well. This, no doubt, is why so many of them return to Him, time and again. Some others appear in chastity devices, apparently sent by their own Masters for punishment. Most recently, one of these victims was flogged, then sent away wearing nothing but a diaper, with a massive plug in his ass.
"What will he do?" I asked the keeper as he took me from the device to my bed. The keeper shrugged. "Do you suppose he takes the bus?" I asked. "Can you imagine the looks?" I saw the keeper's mouth twitch, as if he were swallowing a chuckle. Seeing this near-human response, I went on. "Please," I said as he secured me for the night. "This is kidnapping. It's a crime, and you could go to jail. Help me escape, and I swear I'll say nothing about you. I beg you!"
"I will show you something," the keeper said, and his voice sounded almost gentle. He left the room for a few minutes, then returned. "This is a picture of you when you first arrived." I looked, and saw myself in the bondage machine for the first time. Had it not been me, I would have been turned on by what I saw. "This is a picture of you taken today." At first glance, this second photo seemed identical to the first, except that the lighting was better. Then I realized that it wasn't the lighting. My body was actually more defined, even younger looking. "You see?" The keeper actually smiled. "You are growing healthier. You are being well cared for. You are healthy, and secure. You see wonderful things, day after day, every day. You are very fortunate." The keeper took the pictures back. "You can see these whenever you want, to monitor your improvement. Now rest." He left the room, and the light went out. My heart was hammering, but for what reason, I couldn't say. Arousal? Fear? The realization, at last, that I had no escape?
Another day. A man comes in, naked. Master harnesses him to a pony cart, jumps in, and they are off, the victim wearing a bridle, a bit in his mouth. They circle the room several times. Then the horse is guided into figure eight maneuvers. He executes them perfectly, but I can see his body is shining with sweat.
I am not wearing a chastity device. My cock is free to become erect whenever and as often as it wants. But I have no way to relieve its hunger. I cannot touch it, and my bondage allows me no opportunity to rub it against anything or anyone. I can only watch.