Date: Mon, 28 Aug 2017 10:15:26 -0500
From: Jeff Moses <chainedcoot@gmail.com>
Subject: To Arnheim

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