Try it 'til you like it.

Under-foot

2012-03-08T11:00:00.000-08:00

There are very few things I find to be legitimately and fully degrading, but being so far below a guy you're literally under his feet is fuckin hot. Only thing that can make it more degrading is if a guy's in sneakers or boots and the guy under them is naked.

Tickling

2012-03-06T14:52:00.000-08:00

One of the first things that ever interested me, as I began exploring bondage with some degree of a sexual context, was tickling. No real idea why it's always been appealing, but it's always great to discover a guy's ticklish while he's bound. Video hosted via Johnny Gear's site Kinkasaurus.

Chastity Interrogation

2012-02-28T23:39:00.002-08:00

EDIT: A long time ago, there was a story in Bound and Gagged magazine that involved the Dom in a scene being locked in chastity. Prior to being tied up, the sub would hide the key and would subsequently be tormented for a given amount of time. During that time the Dom would interrogate the bottom into getting the location of the key.

In the story, the sub was tortured until he finally gave the location of the key away through a series of "hot or cold" questions since he was hooded. At this point the Dom ties him to a bench, stomach-down, with his legs and cheeks spread by some means, with some form of electrified brush/wiring right on his hole. He uses a bucket to trigger the electro at some point, and goes downstairs to a bar to leave the boy in agony.

Not exactly a safety-abiding story, but it's still hot as fuck. Story after the jump thanks to Johnny Gear and a gentlemen on Recon.

YOU’RE FUCKED, ASSHOLE

ST. LOUIS, MO. My partner and I met in Chicago because I saw him ask for a copy of Bound & Gagged. I was fascinated with bondage but never had the nerve to connect with anyone. I was so excited to see a beautiful, virile man from home with my interest that I had the guts to meet him. It turned out that underneath the clean-cut exterior is the body of a god and the imagination of a demon. I've put both to good use.

Sometimes our sessions are as simple as an ambush settled with rope and socks, others are as complicated as our relationship and involve lots of equipment and ingenuity. I thought I'd tell you about one of the most complicated ones.

We usually meet at Greg's place. He's rehabbed an old commercial building near downtown, an area usually deserted at night. The first floor houses his office and the second his loft. The third and forth haven't been remodeled: we use the third for a gym and the fourth is still a big, empty industrial space, with rough wooden floors and beams and thick brick walls. The sense of isolation and aloneness is terrific.

Our relationship isn't settled: we both like all aspects of a bondage relationship and we fight for position. In our formal sessions over the past two years we've developed complex and careful game rules and regulations. Greg is a perfectionist who'll plan and experiment secretly for months to make certain things go as he wants. I can get sloppy when things get hot, but not Greg: everything looks like he imagined, never a rope or chain out of place. Equipment fits exactly and does just what he wants. I've had to hold still for measurements most men never dream they have, never knowing how he'll use them against me.

Greg has a fetish for subjecting me to a kind of remote-control torment. He likes the thought of me alone and helpless, as some diabolical plan of his is carried out on my body by his weird "machines." As an engineer he's very good at this, and adapts all kinds of innocent things to torment me (toy and hardware stores are now erotic places to me). I've spent many an hour stretched taut as strange clockwork or battery-powered devices do unspeakable things to me.

Sometimes he's there to observe his handiwork, others he leaves altogether, to enjoy the thought of me fighting hopelessly against gadgets that won't stop until they've carried out his wishes mercilessly. Often he sets up videocams and all I have for company are the red recording lights, observing my torment emotionlessly. Greg may be watching on monitors in his quarters or only VCRs may be watching, recording for his pleasure later. He has walked to a local bar with a walkie-talkie fed to an earplug. As I was fighting to beg into a microphone fastened inches from my sealed lips, he was calmly enjoying a beer with rednecks, listening to my struggles and telling anyone who asked what game he was listening to, "My own, and I'm winning."

This night I reported to Greg at nine. He had won the last session and was top this night, which means he has to wear a special piece of gear we've perfected together. It's too complicated to describe here, but it's a small, effective chastity belt, which locks the cock into a small, flexible metal basket, sealed in turn under a leather jock. Locked with small padlocks, it makes an erection agony and doing anything with it impossible. The key becomes the bottom's property and its possession is the object of the game. If the top forces the bottom to give them up, he stays in control. If the bottom resists, or gets the top so hot he begs for the key for release, he gains the top position next time. It keeps things interesting.

Tonight I strip Greg down and lock him up to my satisfaction, while he stands at attention, feet spread and arms held high. I take time to enjoy my work, hands lingering over the job, hoping to make things painful for him and enjoying the only control I'll have this evening. Then he goes upstairs, so I can hide the key (in a beer can in the trash). Then my ass is his.

When he comes down he's looking hot and dangerous in tight black shirt, jeans and boots, the basket bulging clearly under the fly. In a second I'm slammed against the wall, hands braced overhead, feet forced far apart by the booted legs. He moves in close and I feel the muscles of his thighs flexing against mine under our jeans. He gives me a slow, thorough body search with loving hands through my clothes (I've been known to hide keys in interesting places). The bastard is showing off his control.

When he's satisfied, I'm stripped to the waist and blindfolded. My arms are forced behind me and I learn it's to be a leather evening as leather cuffs are strapped to my wrists. These must be new: very heavy and wide, they seem to be padded and reinforced. They wrap firmly around and are complex to fasten, involving several straps and buckles. An even larger pair is strapped onto my arms, fitting into the natural crook of my biceps. A heavy leather collar follows quickly, and when I jerk in surprise I find the top edge is lined with teeth, which bite into my neck when I move. This is fastened by a belt threaded all the way around, buckled under my chin. Next comes a massive belt around my waist., which feels four inches wide and jingles softly with hardware. It's complex to fasten too, involving a series of buckles in front, just above my fly.

When it's time to fasten all this I hear the clink of chains. Rings on the wrist cuffs are locked together behind my back. This is fastened to a length of chain, which is fed through a D-ring in the belt and then stretched along my spine, to be fastened to a ring in the back of my collar. My hands are now tightly bound, held close to the small of my back, and any struggle passes through the chain and pulls at my neck. My elbows are thrust out, but in a moment another chain joins the straps on my biceps behind my back. When a lock joins the two chains where they cross at the center of my back, my hands and arms are held tight and helpless.

I guess what's coming next. Greg has custom-made a gag that has to be experienced to be believed. A giant black rubber cock, shaped and veined like the real thing, is fastened to an oversized face plate, which is stiffened and molded to fit my face over my cheeks. I brace myself, but it's always a shock as my jaws are forced wide and the cock thrust between my lips and deep into my mouth, filling it completely and pressing my tongue down firmly. The wide straps fasten at the back of my neck with double buckles, and as they are cinched tight, my face is pressed tightly into the front plate, which is padded and completely seals my spread lips. It's the most effective gag I've ever experienced, and the only sound I can make is a grunt deep in my throat. Even that is mostly muffled by the face plate.

My jeans are peeled down, and wearing only leather and chain I feel Greg kneel before me. I flinch as the cock ring is buckled on. Then I fight to control myself as what feels like a heavy mesh cock sheath or jewel case is fitted over my cock. It feels like it's made of small leather straps, joined by studs. A ball cage made of the same mesh comes next, squeezing tight and locked on by a medium-sized ball stretcher. A ball spreader separates them and wedges them more tightly into the mesh bag. A series of clicks and the whole thing is locked together, confining and uncomfortable where the studs bite into tender flesh, but it seems a breeze to me. I've been locked in worse.

Then something new: I feel prickly metal spurs, or large burrs, being forced under my bound arms into my armpits. A strap runs through these, and the ends are brought over the front and back of my shoulders and fastened tightly to the sides of the collar, pulling the burrs firmly into my armpits, and making them shift and catch when I move my head or arms. They aren't exactly painful, but on the uncomfortable side of ticklish.

A pause and then Greg hooks off the blindfold, and when I'm used to the light I see him leaning casually against the far wall, with a half-smile on his face, and his favorite crop in his hand. I know to keep my eyes on his as he enjoys the sight of me, stripped, bound and humiliated. I risk a glimpse down and see that the straps on my arms are deep black and strongly reinforced. What I can see of the cock cage turns me on despite myself. Through the open mesh of black leather I see flesh straining at its bondage, and suddenly I'm introduced to the discipline of the device. The straps give my swelling cock no place to go, and the bite of the studs around both cock and balls quickly gets serious. More, the swelling, tender head is forced into a cap lined with serious studs, and I instinctively flex my knees and bite down on the gag. Greg smiles with amusement.

A flick of the crop sends me stumbling on the embarrassing trip through his loft and up the echoing concrete staircase, arms straining and walking awkwardly bowlegged to avoid painful jolts to my privates, dangling heavily in their cage. Up past the abandoned third floor to the fourth floor landing, where hanging beside the closed door is another familiar piece of equipment: a leather hood. As heavy-duty as everything else, it's made of heavy outer leather with a layer of padding between it and the glove leather lining. There are eye slits, now covered by a leather strap, and a nose opening, but where the mouth should be is smooth, unbroken leather. It fits me tightly, and as I'm laced in, I feel it sealing the tight gag even tighter, and forcing my chin up, jamming my teeth and tongue into the soft rubber cock. A zippered flap covers the lacing, and is in turn locked to the hood's own collar. I feel Greg lacing a thin chain through loops in both the hood collar and the larger collar already fastened on me, locking the two together. I'm blind, mouth stuffed tight, lips sealed over, and my entire head encased in layers of tight leather. Sound comes to me dimly, and as Greg unlocks the door and shoves me in, I could give a last scream with all my might and not be heard at the foot of the stairs.

Inside things happen fast. Toward the center of the empty space I run into a bench, covered with leather and about navel height. Forced to bend over it, I find it's very small: my neck and head hang over the top, ass and dick dangle over the bottom. It's also narrow, and my bound arms and sides of my chest extend over the sides. Very solid and attached firmly to the floor, I'm lying on it from my pecs to my abdomen.

In moments I'm fastened tightly down. Heavy straps run under my arms and over my back, fastening to the bench beneath me. Another strap is fed through rings on the cuffs binding my biceps, and pulled tight beneath the bench, drawing my arms forward and pulling my wrists tight.

So far my legs have been free, resting on the floor. Now two more of the incredibly heavy cuffs are being strapped on my ankles. I fight a little as Greg drags my legs apart, but the effort is laughable and with a click both ankles are chained to the floor, spread wide behind me. Next my legs are buckled into restraints, and these are incredibly heavy too: they must be eight inches wide, and circle my legs from the bottom of my thighs to my knees. They take four buckles each to close! Chains are fastened to the front of these and pulled taut to the floor under my chest. Bending my knees until my ankles are pulled tight, I'm now in a kind of crouching position over the bench, which is supporting my weight. Feet barely touch the floor, head dangles free until the teeth of the collar bite, ass stretched and exposed, cock and balls hang down toward the floor. Two more straps are pulled up over the front of the bench and each of my shoulders, like suspenders. But they're passed separately down the sides of my back, pulled under my forearms, and instead of fastening to the belt at my waist, they're pulled tight between the cheeks of my ass, passing down past each side of my cock's root and buckled to each side of the bench. Jerked taut, they prevent any movement up and down the bench, and force my ass cheeks wide apart. I quickly realize the surfaces touching this tender area are studded.

More to come: a chain is locked to the collar beneath my chin, pulled straight down and fastened to the floor. This makes my head almost immobile, but keeps the collar from biting into my neck. Strong clamps are clipped to each nipple, and the chain connecting them fastened under the bench and attached to a weight, which swings freely and sends electric sensations through my stiff nipples.

Gently something is fastened to the straps that hold my balls in thrall, and drawn forward until my balls are pulled taut from my body. I do what protesting I can through the gag and hood, but Greg is concentrating, making tiny adjustments and working so closely I feel his warm breath on my tender flesh, causing painful stirrings inside the cock sheath.

I sense he's finished, and is simply admiring his work, running a hand over my exposed flank like a rancher admiring his tied bull. After a moment the strap that covers the eye slits is pulled away, and I see Greg crouching on his haunches in front of me. He moves in close and cups my leathered chin in his hand, pulling it forward until our eyes are inches apart, his blue and amused, mine nearly invisible in the hood. I'd think he was going to kiss me if he didn't have my lips strained around a rubber cock and sealed beneath several layers of leather. He smiles and whispers his only words of the evening: "You're fucked, asshole."

He disappears behind me, and I strain to hear him bolt the door and his boots descend the stairs: down, down, down, gone… I take a while to test the situation. My assessment is that even if I was unlocked from the floor the sheer weight of the leather and chains strapped to me would keep me harmless. I feel the air on my exposed asshole, but what I need to scratch that itch is locked in a cage of its own, and probably on its way out for a drink with the boys.

The area is dimly lit, and I strain to see what I can through the hood's eyeslits. I can glimpse an ankle and a knee on both sides. The chains are as huge and oversized as the cuffs: what kind of struggle is he expecting, anyway? Until the collar stops me, I can bend to look under myself and the bench to glimpse my poor cock, aching in its cage, balls pulled tight in their sack by a cord which runs to a ring in the floor, then doubles back to disappear behind me. I can't move an inch.

I have plenty of time to contemplate the weirdness of this. I am stripped, bound, silenced and spread in this obscene position, so a man who loves me can enjoy my abasement and torment. I am angry, humiliated and hurting, and my cock is as hard as granite, burrowing into the painful nest of studs placed to receive it. The burrs are digging into my armpits, clamps punishing my nipples, studs tormenting my ass and balls, and all I can do is suck on the rubber cock stuffing my mouth and dream of revenge, listening to the leather strain and squeak.

Then another sound penetrates the hood: the trickle of water. I know this means trouble, so I strain to survey the room, digging the burrs into my armpits and the collar into my neck for my trouble. But I locate the sound: about 20 feet in front of me, a five gallon bucket is hanging from a pulley in the ceiling. The rope holding it passes through guides attached to the ceiling over my body, and disappears as well. I can barely make out the tiny stream of water falling from a hose in the ceiling into the bucket. A chart on the wall behind the bucket marks off stages of the coming descent: two bright red Xs mark the points I can expect something painful to happen, telling not what but when. The bucket is descending slowly, and the first X is about two feet down.

It takes a long time, and when the bucket reaches the first X I am sweating and tense. Greg has measured exactly, and when they meet I feel the jolt of an object pressing against the lips of my ass. His careful aim scored a bullseye. I squirmed and fought, trying to resist the invader with my sphincter muscles, but as the bucket filled, the ropes and pulleys somehow transmitted the weight to whatever was trying to fuck me. It felt like a damn baseball bat! It was vibrating a little, as if eager to get on with it, and all at once the pressure was too much and my ass swallowed the head of the thing.

It was just the beginning. As the bucket continued inexorably down, the shaft of this bastard roughly spread my asshole and penetrated. I actually was forced to work to accommodate this mindless rapist, straining against the leather that held my ass and balls, to work the shaft into my ass without it tearing me apart. Sweat is running down my eyes, pouring off my back, running down the crack of my ass to meet the thing boring into my asshole. Each convulsive jerk I gave, trying mindlessly to free myself from the attentions of this monster, strained my legs and shoulders, dug the studs in the strap into my ass, twisted the burrs in my sopping armpits, and damn near pulled my balls off. But I couldn't help myself. Greg loves this point, when I lose control. I've spent several evenings tied to chairs while he shows tapes of his greatest hits, pointing out the exact moment I lost control and he conquered. I jerked, fought, and sweated uselessly, screaming soundlessly into the gag, helpless and foolish.

I thought I would lose my mind. My ass was ravaged and still the thing came on, each inch seeming larger and rougher than the last. About the time I thought the artificial cock ramming its way up my ass was going to meet the artificial cock rammed down my throat, the bucket reached the second X and phase two began. The base of the rapist reached my ass and started to press against me. My ass lips were spread wider than ever—there was no last narrow neck on the shaft to give me relief. All across the cheeks of my ass something was pressing in, as though the mechanical rapist had hips like a man. It wasn't smooth, but covered with what felt like very stiff, wiry hair: the rapist has a bush too, and the whole weight of the bucket is pressing it into me.

I know what's coming before my ass lights up like a switchboard: the "hair" is copper wool, wired for my pleasure. If I wasn't gagged by a pro, they would hear the scream across the block. The tender lips of my gaping ass have been given particularly close attention, and are going off like fireworks. The more I fight, the more the sweat pours down me and the worse the jolts get. Now my cock and balls light up, the studs in the leather mesh electrified as well. The voltage travels randomly; now in my ass, now my balls, now making the head of my cock feel like it's plugged into a cigarette lighter. Now everything lights up at once, making me nearly bite off the cock in my mouth, until there is a sudden respite, leaving me limp and moaning as the breath whistles through my nose and I brace myself for the next shock. Bound, furious, fucked and electrified, I scream and scream, never making a sound.

I have no concept of how long this lasts when I notice Greg in front of me, calm and unhurried. He remains a sightseer for a while, then crouches and gently cups my tortured balls in his warm hand. "Think how wonderful it would feel to be out of all this," he whispers. "Anything you want to tell me?" I want to kill him, but I waggle my head frantically. I'll do anything to stop it—take out the gag and I'll promise anything; plead, beg, debase myself. Not his plan, though. We begin a long, tortured game of bigger-than-a-breadbox, him asking questions about the hidden key, me nodding yes or no and trying uselessly to make him understand the words "beer can". "Is it above the kitchen counter or below?" "Inside a cabinet or out?" If I hesitate, hoping to make him take out the gag, he walks away and lets his machine torture me alone for a while, then comes back and says "Ready to talk now?" Let me, you bastard.

I thought it would take all night, but at last he is before me, key in hand, stripping off his clothes and uncovering the chiseled chest, tight beautiful ass, muscled legs. He unlocks the chastity belt carefully, and the beautiful cock springs free at last. Sauntering to the wall, he unhooks the bucket from the rope and sets it down, easing the terrible pressure on my ass. Stepping behind me, he does something that stops the electrical current, and thank you god, slowly draws the rapist out of me, inch by inch, agony and ecstacy. I am crying with relief.

He is behind me, between my spread legs. He slowly lowers himself onto me, cushioning his cock and balls on my spread ass, chest weighing down my bound arms, powerful legs moving against mine. Stretching until his mouth is resting next to the side of my head, he says softly, "Make this good and you're a free man." Out of pure meanness he reaches down and picks up the leather jock where he let it drop. He positions the basket over the nose opening in the hood, and buckles the waistband behind my head. Every breath pulls in the deep, strong smell of his manhood.

Greg is an accomplished cocksman, and I did what I could to make it memorable for him. I wanted to see him, but the best I could do was bend down to watch the muscles in his legs working, flexing, straining. He worked me over long and hard, as long and hard as his fucking machine, but it was human flesh working against mine, real balls pressing into my ass. He came with a roar and a rush, feeling like he would blow my head off. He lay prone on top of me for a long time, relaxing and listening to me grunt and beg into the gag.

He pulled on his jeans and boots before me, lingering and teasing because he knew I wanted his body bad. I heard him cross and pick up the bucket, and in an incredible rush empty it over my back. After the shock it felt almost good, washing off the sweat, pouring down my ravaged ass, dripping cool from my tortured cock. I was concentrating on keeping the water out of my nose and dreaming of what it would be like to be free, and I didn't see him rehang the bucket on the rope, now high on the wall again.

He crouched before me once again, cool and detached except for the sweat gleaming on his chest. Again he bent close and took my chin in his hand. Looking me in the eye, he says quietly, "Not good enough." I hear him cross the floor and bolt the door behind him. After the sound of his boots on the stairs dies away, I'm alone with the sound of water, trickling into the bucket.

More Boy Storage

2012-02-27T16:07:00.003-08:00

I once had a Dom in LA threaten to tie me so that I couldn't sleep and would have to watch HIM sleep, and I always thought this first picture would be great for that. The other ones would just be wicked-hot interim positions, and I really want to build them and just keep them stowed in my closet to be used on me.

Random Foot Pics

2012-02-22T11:23:00.000-08:00

Even though I'm sure I'd have no interest in half these guys' feet in person, they're all dominant (or whatever I want them to be) when they're just a picture!

Electro Fun

2012-02-17T18:27:00.000-08:00

I've been digging through two old hard drives lately in the spirit of moving, and came across some vids and pics I'd completely forgotten about. Among them a short vid of a guy using the Mr. S e-bead and blue bands on me. The video is hosted via my friend Johnny Gear's site Kinkasaurus.com. Amazing site for video/image hosting, where you don't have to worry about things being moderated for being too racy.

Forced Nudity / Inspection

2012-02-16T09:27:00.000-08:00

Nudity can become very commonplace when involved in the fetish community, but there are still some psychological components to it. It may sound over-the-top, but don't forget why we have clothing: for protection. No matter how comfortable you become with your own body, there's still an element to clothing that extends beyond modesty. Depending on the sub, forced nudity may or may not be a significant contributing factor but it can, at the very least, enhance a feeling of vulnerability. Personally, having the Dom fully clothed amplifies the effect for me, especially if I'm having to do something degrading like servicing his feet.

Sensory Deprivation

2012-02-15T10:52:00.000-08:00

I've been into bondage nearly my entire life, and it was present in my life just short of a decade before sex. In becoming more interested in submission bondage still plays a huge part, but naturally there are transitional periods between positions where the stoic nature and control aspects of the scene need to remain. I tend to be pretty cooperative, but not having a choice as to whether or not I'll cooperate is EXTREMELY hot. Sensory deprivation in bondage is hot enough, but when you actually need to be aware of your surroundings and they've vanished from your perception? A good Dom could have you in a 6' x 6' space clear of obstacles and have you afraid to move more than a few inches for fear of personal harm.

Automated Abuse

2012-02-13T12:25:00.001-08:00

This story is from the old RopeJock site. Most of it was dedicated to tickling stories and some cum control, but there were a handful of bastinado stories mixed in. This one in particular got me going before I was even remotely interested in pain because of how much the Dom enjoys it. Basically the guy was tied to a chair like in the picture below with his legs spread and strapped down. After this, two sets of thin canes spun in circles against fixed poles so that they would flex and then smack into his soles. Needless to say I reeeeeally want to make this scene a reality. Full story after the jump.

EDIT: There is a part in the story where pepper spray is used on the sub. I don't condone this, but will not alter a story written by someone else.

Feet Beaters

My collar was locked to the back of the Torture Chair, and straps at my wrists and just below my elbows secured my forearms to the arms of the chair. There were four thick, heavy leather straps attached to the two leg extensions. He fastened one of these straps on each ankle, another just below each knee, and the third and fourth were buckled across each thigh. When He finished, my legs were spread by about 60 degrees and were totally immobilized, parallel to the floor. i had never felt so totally vulnerable in my life.

He walked across the room to a cabinet and removed several items. "Open your mouth," He ordered. When i obeyed, He inserted a rubber tube with a flange at one end. The tube was about 1-1/2 inch in diameter and approximately 4 inches long. It pressed down on my tongue and held my mouth open. i could bite into it, but it was too resilient for me to bite through or collapse more than just minimally. A leather thong was attached to the flange that was now pressing against my lips. He tied the thong tightly behind my head, securing the tube-gag in place. "This," He said, "will let me enjoy all your nice screams while relieving me of any tiring comments from you.

He next placed a headset on me. It was similar to the type used by performers on stage, with a boom-type microphone which He positioned directly in front of the tube gag. How strange it was, i thought, that he would want to prevent me from speaking but yet placed a microphone at my mouth.

He went back to his cabinet and returned carrying two large steel posts with clamps attached. Each post was about 18 inches tall, and He fitted them into holes in the leg extensions next to my ankles. When he was satisfied that they were properly positioned, He grabbed my left big toe and pulled it back toward my knee, flexing my foot back next to the post. He screwed the attached clamp down cruelly on the space between my big and second toes, holding my foot rigidly in place. The clamp dug painfully into my helpless foot, and i thought i could feel the small bones inside bruising by the second. My right foot was then subjected to the same abuse. When he had finished, both my soles were hyperflexed and totally immobilized.

"Hmmmm.... i wonder," He said, dragging a fingernail slowly up my hyperticklish left sole. Despite the dreadful ache in my bones from the clamps, his fingernail on my sole had its inevitable, humiliating effect. My spasmodic, hysterical giggling through the tube gag, my involuntary twitching, squirming, and futile struggling all seemed to delight him. With my feet truly helpless, i realized that He had discovered my fatal weakness--my unbearable ticklishness. i've always HATED being tickled, but He could continue this non-destructive yet devastating torture for as long as it amused him to do so. For the next several minutes He subjected me to one of my worst nightmares as He sadistically scratched both my soles simultaneously with his wicked fingernails.

"But enough of the foreplay," He said at last. "I promised myself I would TORTURE you all day today, and a full day of TORTURE I shall enjoy!"

He stepped behind me, out of my sight. When He returned, He was pushing a small machine. The base was a cube standing just lower than the level of the chair seat and leg extenders. Rising up from the center of the cube was a rotor, fitted with four rubber hoses, each about two feet long, reaching outward horizontally like spokes. These were parallel to the floor and were spaced 90 degrees from each other. He moved the machine so that the end of one of the rubber hoses was touching my right heel, then adjusted the height of the rotor until the hose touched the very center of my right sole. Satisfied that the hose was now at the proper height, He affixed a vertical metal rod into the corner of the cube nearest my foot, then carefully repositioned the machine so that the vertical rod was in line with my right knee and ankle, maybe twelve to fifteen inches from my sole, and the rotor was just to the right of my foot. He manually turned the rotor, causing the hose that had been next to my sole to slide off. The next hose, however, bent backward as it came in contact with the upright rod. He continued slowly turning the rotor with his hand until the tip of the second hose finally snapped past the tripper rod and cracked against my unprotected sole. i yelped at the initial sting, then held back a groan as the deep pain of the rubber ached through to the very marrow of the bones in my foot.

"Ah, yes," He said, "that's the beauty of rubber! It stings the skin and bruises even the deepest tissue, but hardly leaves any marks on the surface at all! But we don't want you to have no souvenirs at all, now do we? So let's improvise a bit. You see," He continued, "the rubber hoses are not stiff enough to stay perfectly horizontal like this on their own. No, inside each one is a thin fiberglass 'whip,' like sections of a fishing rod. So let's just slip a couple of these rubber casings off, to make things more...," he paused, "...interesting." He removed two rubber hoses, revealing the two bare fiberglass whips underneath. i then watched as He just as carefully and methodically positioned another, identical machine by my left foot, again removing two of the four rubber hoses, leaving two more fiberglass whips exposed. "There," He said. "Now the fiberglass whips can slash into your soles, and the rubber hoses will deliver deep, aching agony! Automatic bastinado! I call them the 'feet-beaters!' Ingenious, don't you agree?"

After another trip to his storage cabinet He came back carrying a coil of heavy copper wire. He pulled up a small stool and sat down between my spread legs. He grasped my scrotum in one hand, cruelly pulling and squeezing my balls. With his other hand He wrapped the stiff copper wire around my scrotum several times, between my cock and balls, then brought the wire between my balls, separating them. He wrapped each nut separately then pinched the wire with his fingers, causing it to dig into my helpless balls even after He released them. He cut the wire, leaving about an inch sticking out from my nut sac. He cut a second piece, about 12 inches long, and doubled it. "Guess where THIS is going?!" He said. Initially i assumed He would shove it up my ass, but i realized to my horror that He had an even more diabolical plan in mind as He grasped my cock. "That's right! In it goes!" He began shoving the doubled end of the wire into my piss slit. The wire was smooth, so it didn't cut my urethra as He forced it in, but it hurt like hell as it plowed along the delicate mucous membrane. He bent the two free ends of the wire perpendicular to the portion that was invading my cock, smiling as he said, "Don't want to lose it!" He completed the installation by reaching under the chair and pulling out an electrical cord with an alligator clip attached to the end of each strand. He clipped one to the end of the coils around my balls, and the other to the doubled wire inside my cock.

"In case you're too slow to figure this out--which that terrified expression on your face tells me is NOT the case--this wonderful little device is the 'cock shocker.' Somewhat of a misnomer, of course, because in order to shock your cock, it also has to shock your balls. It's activated by that microphone in front of your mouth. And since the gag is holding your mouth open, the mike can detect even the slightest sound you might make with your voice, so a whimper will get you shocked as surely as a full scream will. Also, since the 'cock shocker' has been programmed to increase the severity of the shock every time it's activated, that little whimper will also kick the next shock up a notch. Let's try it out, shall we?"

He slipped on a pair of latex gloves, then used the fingers of one hand to hold my eyelids open as He shot pepper spray directly into each of my eyes. i screamed in agony, and the cock shocker responded instantaneously with vicious voltage throughout my groin. My second scream, prompted by the shock, was answered by an even stronger charge to my bound, helpless cock and balls, just as He had promised. It was all i could do to silence my screams and merely sob in silence.

"Excellent!" He shouted. "Excellent! I'll give you a few moments to contemplate what this means while I get comfortable." He started to remove his gloves, then stopped, sprayed a bit of the pepper solution on one finger, and smeared it inside my nostrils. i tried to stifle my scream, with only partial success, and was shocked yet again for my efforts. He removed his gloves and dropped them in the trash.

He moved a large leather recliner in front of my Torture Chair, facing me. He extended the footrest and satisfied himself that it would not interfere with the rotating whips and hoses of the 'feet-beaters,' then sat down to make himself comfortable. After several minutes i had calmed down a bit, and He began speaking again.

"You're going to entertain me today," He said. "You're going to do that by torturing yourself. And I'm just going to sit here and watch you do it. And as I watch you suffer I'm going to get hard. Very hard! Eventually, of course, I'll get so horny that I'll have to cum. Oh, but don't worry! That won't interrupt your fun! Oh, no! Then I'll want you to make me hard again, and to make me cum again. And again! AND AGAIN! Yes, you're going to treat me to MULTIPLE ORGASMS today!

"In just a moment, I'll switch on the feet-beaters. Each will run at a slightly different speed, so the whips will hit your feet at irregular intervals. That will help keep you from preparing for them. Sometimes they may, coincidentally, both strike at precisely the same instant. But more often they will be slightly out of synch. As you've already realized, they are adjusted so that each and every strike will hit at EXACTLY the same spot as the one before. First a deep, penetrating ache from a rubber hose, followed by a sharp, cutting slash of a fiberglass whip. Then another deep rubber ache, and another fiberglass slash. Ache/slash; ache/slash; ache/slash. Over and over and over, again and again and again. And always on the same spot! I'm already getting hard just thinking about it!

"Oh, did I forget to mention that you can stop it at any time you like? You can you know. All you have to do is...

"SCREAM!
"The microphone in front of your mouth will register the scream. And as long as you're screaming, the feet-beaters will remain motionless. Until you stop screaming, that is. Once you stop screaming, the feet-beaters will resume their whipping. But they've been programmed so that when they do start again, they'll be going just a little bit faster than before. And, of course, the faster they go, the more intense each strike will be.

"I should probably also mention that only a FULL SCREAM will stop the feet-beaters. Muffled groans or whimpers won't have any effect on the feet-beaters at all. They'll just continue uninterrupted. Of course, your cock and balls will get zapped whenever you make any sound at all, so you might as well scream as loud as you can. But it's your choice.

"Keep in mind, though, that after you've screamed for a while, you'll start getting hoarse. Eventually, you'll get so hoarse that you won't be able to scream loud enough to deactivate the feet beaters. And by that time, you'll also be absolutely unable to keep silent, so i'll get to watch you shocking yourself involuntarily while your feet continue to be tortured. And you won't be able to do ANYTHING to stop it! What FUN!

"So. There you go. You get to decide how you'll entertain me for the next several hours. Will you try to stay quiet as your feet are being cut up and battered? Or will you surrender to your instincts and scream while your pitiful excuses for male genitalia are systematically electrocuted? Hmmm?

"It's going to be very interesting to find out. Very interesting indeed.

"Now. Entertain me! Make me HARD! MAKE ME CUM!"

He raised a remote control unit with one hand and rubbed his obviously swelling erection with the other. i unconsciously shook my head "no," silently begging him for mercy. He responded with an gleeful, "No? Yes! OH, YES!" He clicked the remote control.

The rotors atop both the feet-beaters began to turn slowly. A rubber hose flexed menacingly against the tripper rod at my left sole, while a fiberglass whip threatened my right. Tears of terror streamed down my face as He patiently massaged the growing bulge in his crotch.

Dean H.

Regret

2012-02-05T10:46:00.000-08:00

This video has been rapidly becoming a favorite of mine. On top of becoming more interested in bastinado as a form of abuse, I've been told by the maker of the video that this was a no safeword scene with a boy who had played previously with him and used a safeword. As the video progresses, this should become apparent. Although I didn't intend it to be a follow-up on my previous entry, it certainly falls under "be careful what you wish for."

Creating Devotion in an Unwilling Sub

2012-02-01T17:58:00.000-08:00

When dealing with more intense levels of pain, discomfort, or stress there are very primal instincts which begin to manifest. Generally most men will progress from struggling, to pleading, to exhibiting anger, to "shutting down," and finally to panicking. Some who are more willful like myself may skip straight from struggling to exhibiting anger, but it's likely a small portion of men. To anyone who has seen this in more intense porn it probably goes something like this: *grunt*, *test bounds*, "Please no," "I can't take this," "Fucking STOP," "SERIOUSLY, this is TOO MUCH" then the boy might lay there silent while the situation persists, only to eventually end up flailing wildly for a few seconds.

In operant conditioning, the term "extinction" refers to the process where an organism learns that a particular action no longer yields reinforcement. A good example of this would be a dog learning to sit for a treat. Without delving into intermittent reinforcement schedules, if a dog is never given a treat again the frequency at which they sit on command will decline until they stop entirely. Essentially, the behavior is driven by a reward which suits the dog - once this reward is gone the dog says "Wait .. what's in this for me?" and opts to disregard the command.

In the various stages of response detailed above, extinction applies. The difference is that in this instance the benefit is avoiding something unpleasant instead of obtaining something pleasant. If struggling causes the Dom to become nervous and stop abusing the boy, he will think, if even subconsciously, "What's in it for me if I struggle? Sir stops abusing me." If the opposite happens and the situation persists, the boy will try the next step in the progression to try and avoid the unpleasant experience. The process ends with panic, at which point the boy doesn't have the ability to control his actions for a short time and can't attempt to use various tools to get what he wants.

With a reasonable understanding of extinction in operant conditioning, you can use it to systemically destroy a boy's will. Doing so will effectively make him afraid to try to sway anything in the scene in his favor. The following 5 steps are a crash course to this end:

NOTE: The following is intended only for a boy who has expressed interest in control which transcends his immediate desires. If a boy hasn't specifically indicated he wants to be controlled regardless of how much he wants out in the moment, the process detailed below would be highly immoral, irresponsible, and tantamount to rape. The steps outlined below also assume the safety of the sub is assured, as well as respect of any pre-set limits.

Step 1: Set Expectations

This can be done either by setting very basic, easy to follow rules or through extensive discussion and negotiation. The expectations can range from those basic rules to a play-by-play on an entire scene. What's important is having an idea of what is expected of both parties. It's just as important there be an expectation for enforcement of the terms discussed as it is to have an expectation that they be obeyed by a sub. If the Dom is unable to fulfill the expectation of enforcement, the scene will not end with the boy's will being crushed.

Step 2: Exhibit a Sense of Entitlement

Having a sense of entitlement is the single most important aspect of this sort of dominance. Though you might not have hired the boy, he IS being tasked with performing a service - submission to you. Any aberration from the expectations set should be viewed as deliberate, audacious, and/or offensive. Imagine going to the store and finding the cashier talking on their cell phone as you try to check out. A boy not meeting his expectations should evoke a similar response. He is there to honor those expectations no matter what, and it is your right to require they be honored in any circumstance.

Step 3: Refine Expectations

Once you've reached a level where you feel like the boy is trying to honor his commitments - even if only to avoid agony - it's time to step it up a notch. By this point he might have even become complacent with some things that intially made him move through the progression described at the beginning of this entry. In refining the expectations, you essentially "upgrade" the conditions of submission. Suddenly "no talking without permission" can include grunting past a certain level. Suddenly expressing anger is viewed as an offense in and of itself. Suddenly the boy adjusting himself for comfort while serving as a footrest is punishable. Once you become comfortable with the boy submitting at base level, it should be more natural to notice things you may want to improve about his service.

Step 4: Emotional Detachment

This is something which requires a very cerebral interest in dominance. Guys just looking to get hard and jerk it are simply not suited to take a boy this far. Fortunately, not many boys are that stubborn so they may already be a slab of putty for the Dom to mold before this point. For more stubborn boys, they again begin moving through that progression. Because they tried to hold back for the first wave of expectations, they'll likely move through it faster out of frustration, feeling they've been trying to be good and meet half way. Now is when it's important to remember a Dom's commitment to the expectations set prior to the scene. Basically, as a boy requires higher and higer levels of correction it is important to remind yourself that this is what he asked for. As he's begging and pleading and trying to convince you at all cost to stop, take a deep breath and press on. Once he stops trying to influence your actions, there's no need to push him as far. If you're unburdened by the emotional strain this can place on a man and find yourself enjoying his anguish, then naturally it's your right as his controller to treat him thusly if you so wish. And if he should try to stop you from enjoying yourself by exhibiting anger or shutting down, etc, then it's your right to continue pushing him until he stops trying to rob you of something you enjoy.

Step 5: Aftercare

Depending on the circumstance, some boys may need aftercare/cool-down. It's not always a necessity (and for some boys may need to be avoided), but this kind of pressure can be very psychologically damaging. How you handle a boy who needs aftercare varies significantly from boy to boy and it may involve assuring him he did well while letting him relax, continued service in some way that the boy enjoys directly, edging him until he's horned up and wanting to participate more, etc. A good rule of thumb would be: if you can't read a boy well enough to know what would soothe him after being stressed enough to need aftercare, don't stress him that badly.

So essentially it boils down to a few basic principles buried in the text above: entitlement, accountability, consistency, and apathy. Take what you deserve, expect compliance, leave no disobedience unpunished, and don't fret if a boy bites off more than he can chew. And on that note, a word to any subs seeking this kind of dyamic: you're a big boy. There's a reason the saying "Be carfeul what you wish for" has weathered the ages - if you don't like getting what you ask for, it's not necessarily the Dom's fault.

Respect

2012-01-24T11:26:00.001-08:00

Hands off, head/eyes down, shut up. Three little rules, so much power.

Language Barrier

2012-01-20T13:21:00.000-08:00

So if my previous posts weren't any indication, I'm absolutely in love with the idea of operant conditioning in various scenes. Operant conditioning can lead to the control of nearly any animal on the planet, including humans, and any will is apt to crumble and break under such training.

Now, usually this would be done with open communication of demands to the sub. Basically various nonverbal cues are pretty strong and consistent, but verbal cues are more precise. If you're required to acquire permission to service your Sir's boots before doing so, but he grabs your neck and forces you to the floor, usually it would be a verbal cue granting the permission.

As an extra mindfuck, I'd love to be dominated by someone who doesn't speak English during the scene. All of the sudden, that same situation suddenly goes an entirely new route. You find yourself on the floor, boots in your face, and Sir says something. Do you assume he's instructing you to lick them? Is he telling you to be still? Is it some off-handed comment as to how worthless you are?

And suddenly we have it: damned if you do, damned if you don't. Depending on how broad the commands range, you could pick up a decent chunk of the language. Suck it, Rosetta Stone.

A Few Random Pics

2012-01-18T15:51:00.000-08:00

Beginning to get settled in to Chicago. Still have to go get the rest of my stuff, but it's definitely good to be here. While I continue to get settled, some random fun.

Interesting Predicament

2012-01-05T16:24:00.001-08:00

I'm not really into pup play and have no idea if this position is meant as a part of pup training, but I've wanted to try this position for YEARS. Head stuck in place, back has to stay arched, balls completely vulnerable. Anything that needs 3 pulleys to execute is bound to be fun.

Intense CBT

2012-01-04T11:14:00.000-08:00

Been in similar situations before. It's Hell at the time but once you realize you're seriously fucked, man oh man is it a ride.

The Difference Between Liking and Wanting

2012-01-03T16:15:00.000-08:00

In a culture so laden with advertising and sex, body image issues are an ever-present concern. Most people have, at some point or another, been on a diet as a result. Usually people complain about how much they hate the food and wish they could just grab a slice of cheesecake or bowl of icecream, but keep eating the sub-par food to lose weight.

I've been exploring BDSM for nearly half my life (and bondage for well over half), and one of the most frustrating things I've ever come across is people's general inability to distinguish between an act and a dynamic. Masochism is defined as "gratification gained from pain, deprivation, degradation, etc., inflicted or imposed on oneself, either as a result of one's own actions or the actions of others," so some confusion is at least understandable.

Although I identify as almost entirely submissive, I have a wildly sadistic side that comes out fairly frequently. As a result I'm able to run scenarios through my head from both perspectives to gain insight into how things might affect me. One of my favorite things to do is use this duality to "shoot myself in the foot" by telling potential Doms about things I'll know will genuinely unpleasant to me at the time it happens.

This is where the annoyance comes in. Because of the prevalence of masochism, I get accused of being a pushy bottom who's only trying to make a scene more enjoyable for himself, as though I'm sneaking things I will secretly enjoy into a scene for my own benefit. In these instances it was presented as though it were a treat which should be withheld to prevent me from enjoying the scene too much. If the only possibility for pain were masochism, corporal punishment would be nonexistent.

I speak of this frustration as a sub, but being able to distinguish between liking something and wanting it to occur is paramount for both Doms and subs. Essentially, think of it as a diet: just because you want a more fit physique doesn't mean you enjoy the food you have to eat to get there. A sub who wishes to communicate ideas to a Dom so as to put themselves in greater peril is not necessarily doing so to get themselves off faster. Something self-sacrificing to benefits the D/s dynamic, which benefits BOTH parties and should be encouraged rather than looked down upon.

I say a sub who can publish a top-10 list of things that will piss them off or make them absolutely miserable mid-scene has more balls than one who just wants a simple scene where they aren't pushed.

Foot Worship Follow-up

2012-01-02T21:27:00.000-08:00

Just stumbled upon this video on Xtube. Totally what I should be spending my time doing instead of packing.

My Favorite Mindfuck

2012-01-02T01:36:00.000-08:00

As people who know a fair amount about me are aware, I trained dogs professionally for a short while. During this time I became very familiar with the principles of operant conditioning. For those less familiar, these are the principles seen in Pavlov's famous findings where dogs would salivate upon hearing a bell which was rung before feeding, even when no food was present.

When I lived in Chicago, I spent a full year living in a studio off of the red line - when I say "off of," I mean my window was less than 50 feet from the track. Because the building was nothing but studios and the walls were terribly thin, noise during play was always a fairly large concern. I had a friend who was into some rather brutal CBT and could not only easily push me to my "reasonable" limit and beyond, but still want more even with me there. I was hoping to try and experience as close to legitimate panic as possible while inescapably bound, but I'd get too noisy during this level of abuse.

Eventually, in order to mitigate possibly having my neighbors complain, I told him that any time the train passed by he could wail on me as harshly as he wanted since the rumble would mask my howls. "Could" quickly turned to "would," and it was set up so EVERY time the train passed he'd wail on my balls until I was screaming.

Now, back to Pavlov's dogs. Much as the anticipation of food made the dogs salivate, sure enough the far-off rumble of the train became somewhat of a trigger. Once he got me to the point where I'd panic, after a few repetitions all it took was hearing the train in the distance to make me break into a cold sweat and instinctively try to protect my balls.

Ever since moving out of the studio it always saddened me that I can't duplicate the scene again - somehow using some form of a random noise generator just doesn't seem as thrilling. The conditioned response ought to be identical, so anyone looking to duplicate it may have luck with a fade-in track of some sort on random in iTunes or similar.

Foot Worship/Domination

2011-12-30T18:24:00.000-08:00

It's funny how people get so caught up in what are typical fetishes that they don't understand that two people can enjoy the same thing for two different reasons.

I've had a mild interest in feet from an aesthetic viewpoint for a few years now, but when faced with them in real life they never did much for me. Numerous times I'd even met up with guys who had nice feet, but when presented an opportunity to do something with them it was wholly uninteresting.

As my interest grew in submission grew, eventually dominance and feet ended up colliding and a Dom made me lick his feet even though I had no real interest in it in person. Since those gears started turning, any time a guy with even a marginally dominant attitude has hot feet, it really gets me going. Just one more reason my mantra is "Try it 'til you like it."

Agony

2011-12-28T22:19:00.000-08:00

Sometimes a hood just isn't as good as a face contorted in agony.

Helplessness

2011-12-13T21:12:00.000-08:00

I'd been talking to a guy for a few weeks, and he had expressed an interest in exploring his sadistic side. He hadn't tied many guys and was very inexperienced so I was hesitant to meet him because my "mentor" side had been temporarily burnt out.

Eventually we pegged a date to play, and since he was inexperienced with bondage I figured I could restrain myself before he arrived to remove the possibility of inadequate bondage.

I had on locking wrist and ankle restraints which were then padlocked to the chair's bars. My feet were padlocked to the bars at the back of the chair to keep them off the ground so I couldn't scoot the chair around. On top of that, my wrists were pulled down and tied to my balls which forced me to arch my back and keep my balls closer to the edge of the seat. I kept the key in my hand in case of an emergency, but the second I heard the front door I dropped the key, removing any illusion of escape.

No going back now, completely and totally vulnerable. I'd done this before and usually there's a "greeting" period where a guy would give some friendly gropes as a hello and move on to some edging or something else that was pleasant. Instead I hear the riding crop I'd laid out being picked up. FUCK.

Immediately he's wailing on my thighs, sometimes switching to his hand to make a larger area of impact, also alternating between slapping my balls and using the riding crop on my nipples, and even wailing on the tender soles of my feet since they were pulled so taut and immobile. I'm starting to freak out a little bit because I was expecting a more subtle introduction, and eventually things get a bit too intense for me to handle.

Panicking, I grab the bars on the rear of the chair trying to break them and free up the padlocks. I feel one bar bend no more than a few millimeters and give up trying to outright break the metal weldings. Instead I start shaking my head aggressively trying to get the hood off as I couldn't fully tighten it. I figured if I could glare at him and he could see the look in my eyes that he'd realize things had progressed too quickly.

Wrong. As the bottom of the hood reached about halfway up he back of my head and I begin to feel hopeful my duress is over, the abuse suddenly stops. THANK GOD! I'm feeling like a million bucks thinking he's about to take off the hood to check and see if I'm okay, and my posture relaxes significantly. Instead I feel his hand reach for the hood's laces which he tightens, zips the hood, and then goes on to tighten the extra straps. As soon as I realized what was happening I let out the most pathetic whimper I've ever uttered.

Once the hood is secured he returns to the abuse regimen, and I fall back in to suffering immensely. I'm fighting and protesting, but becoming quieter as I realize that it would take an act of God to deter this man.

After suffering a great deal more he finally tosses me a few courtesy strokes to a cock which has almost retreated into my abdomen. Immensely thankful for this mildly kind gesture, lets me go. No apologies, no hesitant "did I go to far;" just a decisive "I've taken what I want, so you can go" attitude. Although I was in hell during the scene, I tried several times to play with the guy before he moved a month or two later. What a damned shame.

New Toys

2011-12-12T19:39:00.000-08:00

Cravat, leather straight jacket, two pairs of forceps, locking waist belt, rubber truncheon, fiberglass cane, "unbreakable" paddle with holes, and full-face asylum mask.

Not a single piece I wish I hadn't gotten, but hopefully I'll lament having the tools available soon. Mmmmm.

CBT Accessability

2011-12-12T14:11:00.000-08:00

Forecast shows a 30% chance of tears, with a 99% chance of pathetic, subjugated whimpering.

Extreme Bastinado

2011-12-09T21:32:00.000-08:00

The sub in this video's a little too bearish for my tastes, but good god the dom knows how to make a boy suffer. Even better he's enjoying it enough that he's got the cane in one hand and is stroking his cock in the other around 1:45 or so. This video's why I got one of the 3/8" canes from Mr. S.

Cock Isolation

2011-12-06T17:32:00.000-08:00

There was a story on RopeJock back in the day (yes, I was kinky young enough to have found that site when it was still up) called "The Wall." Basically a guy was kidnapped and strapped to this wall with a hole for his cock. The wall separated two rooms instead of being a stand-alone wall, so his genitals were literally in a different room. Being sleepsacked or mummified with your only connection to the world being your cock is already pretty intense, so a different room would be a HUGE mind-fuck. Even hotter if it's the ONLY thing that's restrained so you're free to flail and panic on the other side to no avail.

Predicament Bondage

2011-12-02T19:44:00.000-08:00

One of the more creative predicament bondage situations I've seen. Kind of a take on the classic of making a guy hold something in his teeth that can drop and rip off nipple clamps.

Boy-statue

2011-12-01T14:06:00.000-08:00

I can't help but wonder how long before I would go crazy stuck like this. I doubt many people could last very long.

Boy Storage

2011-11-25T14:38:00.000-08:00

When it comes to bondage, my saying is usually "tight, taught, or tough" will get me going. Naturally for prisoner/captive or some weekend scenes this isn't always feasible since we all (including the top) have limits. For those break periods, I love the idea of completely inescapable bondage that isn't necessarily very restrictive. Essentially there's enough struggling to make you feel instinctively hopeful, but the inescapability becomes incredibly frustrating - enough to keep any boy's mind from wandering too much.

Forced Bastinado

2011-11-21T16:52:00.001-08:00

This is *exactly* why I got a 5-way zipper on my sleepsack. Absolutely no potential to resist, and nothing but dread while you feel your feet being hoisted up as the top reaches for his cane.

Hetero Lust

2011-11-20T21:54:00.000-08:00

Everyone knows that a reasonable portion of homos have a thing for straight guys. Whether it's the conquest, a simple case of wanting what you can't have, or the masculinity factor, it's something we've all fallen prey to at one time or another.

When you look at D/s play, it sheds a whole new light on the situation - with respect to humiliation, the prospect adds an unparalleled legitimacy. Naturally most people are into various aspects of BDSM for sexual reasons (whether it's getting stroked or fucked, etc) so removing that pretense can be very powerful.

The top in this picture happens to look almost exactly like my old boss, down to the hat and shoes. I swear the man owned nothing but Timberland apparel. At any rate, I don't know how many times I wanked to this pic thinking of him dominating me like that. Even if only once, just the thought that every time he looked at me after that I could feel that control burning.

An OLD Favorite

2011-11-17T17:01:00.000-08:00

This photo has been in my favorites since I was 15, and even after a decade of experience with bondage I still think it's hot as fuck. Legs forced open so your balls are vulnerable, slightly awkward stance so you have to balance a little, ass fully exposed, and hands out of reach from any knots? Yes, please!

Escape Challenge With a Twist

2011-11-16T17:51:00.000-08:00

I've seen guys discussing things regarding escape challenges somewhat frequently; fail to get out and you get spanked *hard* two dozen times, be put in a predicament bondage position for 30 mins after if you fail, etc. For those who have had the good fortune to try the ErosTek 312 box, this opens a new potential for such a scene.

I'm pretty big on mindfucks and legitimate control as opposed to fantasizing. In lieu of some vague threat that takes place after you've been too distracted by how hot the position you're tied in is, imagine under a pair of chastity shorts you have some bluebands on your cock/balls and sticky pads on each cheek. The box is placed far out of reach and set to a ramp-up setting over 30 minutes getting up to 70 when even 50 is uncomfortable for you. For the first 10 minutes you struggle just for fun with a raging hardon because of how well you're restrained, not really wanting it to end. By 15 minutes the shocks and jolts start to have you grunting and protesting, but your captor just kicks back and watches as you writhe. By 20 minutes the intensity is enough to have you legitimately fighting against your bonds, but you've wasted so much time that the now intense jolts keep you from concentrating on your escape.

Ten more minutes roll by, seeming like hours, and the intensity is now almost unbearable. You're panting heavily during the troughs and it's taking so long to recoup after each jolt that you're only just starting to try to untie yourself again as the next jolt comes. Your captor's still sitting back and watching, and it's suddenly very apparent you're not going anywhere for a while as your face contorts in hopeless agony.