Porn superstar Alessio Romero wrestles Joseph Rough to the ground and then takes him to his dungeon for some advanced bondage/sex training in ‘Hunky Bondage Boy’ — a video over at Bondagezine.

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Here’s a picture from Master Jack:

It’s from a video called “Home Invasion.” Click here to learn more about this.

Master Jack sent the pictures above, of Mr. Mike kidnapping PFC Phlege (of blessed memory). Fucking hot if you ask me!

To see more like this, visit Master Jack’s site, Bondagezine.

Also check out the PFC Phlege author page in the Metalbond Prison Library by clicking here.

By PFC Pfledge

We all remember when we first had an interest in bondage, and the first time we were tied up. You wouldn’t be reading this account if you aren’t interested in being tied up, or tying other guys up. I was first tied up when I was younger, then a number of times during high school, when I was a teenage wrestler. I loved wearing those skin-hugging tights, showing a huge bulge, as my buddies, Steve and Peter, would hogtie me.

In college, I had a lot of bondage at the hands of a local high school senior, ostensibly straight, but who enjoyed tying me up in skimpy Speedos, and being tied up himself, on his knees, to a post in my parents’ basement. When I was in the Marine Corps, and stationed in Hawaii, I was tied up in a tight spread eagle almost every night in the last three months of my enlistment. I also tied up my tormentor, David, many times, too. We wore the smallest possible Speedos in the hot Hawaii climate, and neither of us “noticed” the other guy’s straining bulge and packed, smooth curve of my or David’s crotch.

After my enlistment was up, I screwed up the courage to go to Missouri to the Training Center. (It has since moved to Georgia, if it’s still around.) There I was first introduced to heavy chaining, and long-term (3-4 days) imprisonment. There was no torture at first – that came later – just constant changing of chaining. I would arrive at St Louis airport, and be hog-chained and tape-gagged for transport. At the facility, I was stripped naked, every time, and chained in the cell, with my head in a Spanish head cage. Heavy manacles ran from an iron ring around my neck, to my wrists behind my back, down to my manacled ankles. I would stand there for a long time. It was useless to scream, because the cell block area was sound-proof.

This was an entirely new experience for me in bondage. From being a cocky wrestler boy to a Marine, I was now a real prisoner, stark naked, chained and head-caged in the middle of Missouri somewhere. The experience was taking me to a much higher level, and I was still only 25 or 26 years old, fresh out of the Corps, hard and lean. The man who ran the Training Center was named Chip, sometimes Captain Chip, but mostly just Chip. His guards – the muscle – were active-duty Marines and Army, and local state prisons guards. Later, when I was into the rhythm of the Training Center, I would “rebel,” fight the guards, and curse, so that I would be beaten up. One Marine guard loved beating me up, because I was the “faggot Marine.” Beating up meant being pounded by his fists, but also he administered pressure to areas of the collarbone, for example, an action that produced an instant and grueling pain. In this way, I was taught the word “Sir.”

The first time I went to the Training Facility was pretty much how it went every time. Picked up late at night at the airport, keyed up with excitement, and sleepless for a couple of nights, I was brought chained and gagged to the cellblock, where I was re-chained, standing up. Then, after an hour or so, I was spread eagled with four hand cuffs to the cell block bars. An hour or so of that, and I was re-manacled, as described above, and forced to kneel inside the hot box, sweating like a pig. Then, out, and spread eagled again. The guards worked in shifts, but the idea, clearly, was on Parris Island lines: keep the prisoner awake, chained, and unable to sleep, so that he becomes exhausted. That’s when Chip arrived. I had not seen him before that.

I am guessing that he always came down around dawn to see me, because, though there was no clock, I was usually fed an hour or two after he left me. By the third or fourth time I went out there, I knew that Chip was coming, because I was invariably spread eagled to the bars, stark naked, legs and arms wide, outside the cell, facing outward. Each time I was ball-gagged, something not normally in the routine. The first time I hung in this spread-eagle, physically and mentally exhausted, I had no idea what was coming. I was just trying to endure. I was alone in the cellblock, with a bright white light on me, hanging stark naked in the spread eagle, against the bars.

The door to the cellblock opened, and this little man, in Army fatigues came in. He was carrying a swagger stick, and he was smiling. The cellblock was deathly silent; no guards were there, just me and Chip. Chip’s smile was as warm as a skull. I was six inches taller than he, but I was the one spread eagled, and he was carrying the swagger stick. I do not remember a single word he said, but I remember the effect, as if it happened yesterday. He mesmerized me with his eyes, the way an Adolf Hitler must have done, and every one of his words was uttered with a soft, though inflexible and menacing, voice. I remember with unbelievable clarity how the hairs on the back of my neck rose up, despite the strap that held the ball gag in place. A cold terror, not a hot, panicky terror, seized me, as I looked down at him, and he looked up at me, with those shining, glistening eyes, like a cobra.

It was no wonder I went back to the Training Center again and again and again. That early-morning spread-eagle, the ball gag, my total nakedness and extreme vulnerability, intensified by Chip’s utter and complete control of me fascinated and attracted me. I do remember he would ask questions, insistent questions, to which I invariably nodded my head. He owned me, and he knew it.

One thing about it that was incomplete was that Chip never took me to the next stage. Master Jack took me to the next stage, after a couple of fairly easy sessions in his facility. When he deemed me ready, and the Training Center had laid a damn good foundation, I learned from Master Jack why I wanted long-term, heavy chaining, and near total isolation. I wanted no music, no sound, no interaction with him or anyone else. Except for the twice-a-day toilets and, at the same time, the meals. I was kept in chains, chained in a chair, chained to the post, chained in the cage. Most of all, I was hooded and gagged. Master Jack taught me that I wanted complete and utter (or as close to it as we could get) black, soundless, sightless, solitude, tightly chained, so that as the long hours wore slowly on, I could contemplate the whys of my bondage, and what I was seeking. There is nothing like 23 hours a day being chained, tape-gagged, and hooded. I have a raging hard-on just thinking about it.

Men have various reasons they want to be tied up. I have a young friend, age 26, who is a wrestler. For him, he wrestles for dominance and tying up the other guy, but he also becomes equally rock hard, if he is beaten, and ends up being tied up. Then, he wants to be the other guy’s toy, while he struggles hard against the ropes, and curses his buddy as his buddy forces his cock down his throat. I have another friend, who, like me, is 100% a bottom, but seeks bondage to which is added levels of extreme pain, like crucifixion, electrical, ball crushing, and so on. Every man who is into bondage has his own desires. There’s no right, or wrong way.

Every now and then, however, when exploring your own desires for bondage, and I know you wouldn’t have read this far if bondage doesn’t turn you on, a man meets another man who understands. A friend of mine introduced me to Master Jack, and I learned so much about myself from him, particularly why I loved bondage. Master Jack gave me a couple of mild sessions, I think to test me and see if I really had been in long-term imprisonment in the Training Center, and then, being assured I could take, gave me the full-court press, from airport pick-up on Thursday to release on Sunday morning. I lusted between that first session and the subsequent ones. I could only handle a 56-plus hour chaining, gagging and hooding once a year or so, but, during the sessions, I learned from Master Jack why I craved bondage.

Every man, as I mentioned before, who is into bondage, has his own reasons why he craves it. Some need to be slaves, some love the struggle against the ropes or chains, some want the pain that they are helpless to prevent. Master Jack taught me that what I wanted was to be ripped out of my world, a world surrounded by jewelers’ cotton, and chained, gagged, and hooded for an indefinite number of hours, the end of which was to be submission. The bondage, therefore, was to be the prelude, the necessary preparation for the submission. That is why I endured a minimum of seven hours tightly chained to that damn chair, heaving and thrusting uselessly against the chains across my chest, through my crotch, locking my wrists and ankles together, all the while gagged and hooded. Again and again Master Jack put me in that chair for punishment, for long, long, slow punishment, until my muscles screamed in agony, but there was nothing I could do to stop it! And even after I was released from that fucking chair (God, I hated it – hated its indifference to my slow agony, as chains chafed my body), I was presented with being chained in the cage, still gagged, still hooded.

The submission was actually quite simple. Master Jack knew what I wanted before I did, but the form of submission was hardly novel. After being released Sunday morning, I was totally physically and mentally exhausted, exactly what Chip achieved in the Training Center. This time, however, my Master, Master Jack, expected the submission for which the whole bondage scene, over 55 or 56 hours had been aimed. I knelt, dirty, unshaven, stinking, a high-and-mighty prep school arrogant prick, and licked Master Jack’s boots. He wore calf-length boots, and I whored on my knees, licking those boots. I originally started with my hands behind my neck, but then, lusting into the leather and the submission, I twisted my tits in pain. I whored into every inch of his boots, and particularly enjoyed the humiliation of licking the soles and heels. The erection that followed was incredible.

Why am I telling you all of this? For two reasons. If you’re young, and curious or excited about bondage, do it! Don’t wait. I spent incredibly happy hours tied up all night in a chair, in a friend’s house when I was 22 years old; my circulation prevents that from ever happening again. I went through the Training Center and Master Jack’s Hell on many occasions; I don’t look back and say, Oh, what if I had done that when I was 25? I did it when I was 25, again and again, and have the erections to prove it. Have doubts? Go see a true pro – see Master Jack. Don’t lie to him about what you want or what your experience is: if you’re a novice, say so. If you really have had extensive experience, be up front with him about that. But, above all, don’t check off his questionnaire saying that you want this and that and a hundred other things, when you haven’t done them, and don’t know what they are.

Copyright 2012 PFC Pflege & BBH Ltd. All Rights Reserved.

Re-posted here with permission.

Metal would like to thank Master Jack for sharing this first-person account, which was written several years ago by PFC Pflege (of blessed memory). You can learn more about Master Jack by visiting his popular and long-running site, Bondagezine.

Here are two screen saves from a new video from Master Jack of Bondagezine:

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General BZ page here

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Check out these screen shots of porn star Seth Santoro in “Duty Bound” at Master Jack’s site Bondagezine. (Hint: If you click on either of the images directly below, you can watch a free video preview.)

This is one of many videos available from Master Jack over at Bondagezine — a site with lots of pictures, stories, streaming content and much more. You can also order DVDs to be shipped to you. Master Jack has been online for more than 20 years now. He specializes in REAL bondage content featuring REAL MEN who are REALLY INTO BONDAGE. Fucking hot if you ask me. Check him out.

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You can order this video — and much more — from Master Jack at his site, Bondagezine

By PFC Pflege

I knew, generally, it was coming, but still I was totally unprepared for it when it happened. Scott’s revenge, I mean. He’s jumped me before, and made it stick – tying my hands before I know what’s going on, and then working me over. He loves jumping me, because I am taller and more solid than he is; and my arms and legs are very muscular. I love showing off my 17-inch biceps in tight t-shirts. Scott is a young, lithe, muscled wrestler, but if I ever lock him again in a bear hug, as I did once, all his wrestling skills are nothing, and he would, as he did, have to submit.  We have been doing stuff to each other for a number of years, all of it involving bondage in one form or the other.

Last time was Scott’s turn to get it, and he got it like this. I had him put on his wrestling singlet, smooth tight Lycra, and nothing else. The singlet showed off his muscles, his toned chest and abdomen, and his packed crotch. The singlet was tight, and I could see his big dick and his twin nuts outlined in the Lycra. As I tied his hands in front of him, I ground my knee gently into the package, feeling his cock hardening in the singlet. Then, I jerked his hands upwards, with a rope over a rafter. We were in my basement, which looked as if it were designed for bondage, with overhead rafters and pipes, and steel posts holding up the floor above. Lots of ways and places Scott could tie me, or I could tie him.

Scott, the hunky wrestler, barefoot, in his skin-tight singlet, was now strung up like a chicken, to the rafter. It was a submission scene, and he knew it. Scott would end up submitting to the Marine, the Marine with 17-inch “guns”, lording it over the wrestler. So Scott stood there, strung up to the rafter, while I gloated for a while. I was wearing my favorite outfit on those hot June nights: Speedos, and a tight t-shirt, with the sleeves cut off. Actually, it had been one of Scott’s t-shirts, with name of his school on it, and the word “WRESTLING” under the school’s name. I had stolen it from his place one time, cut off the sleeves, and wore it next time I saw him. I couldn’t decide whether a t-shirt, sleeveless, shows off my muscles better, or with the sleeves straining to cover my biceps. Don’t get the idea that my being a very strong, muscled Marine makes me cocky or anything.

I strutted around Scott, examining him with my eyes and my hands. I liked the feel of his body under the Lycra, the curve of his ass, the shifting muscle pack in his shoulders, the lean hard body. As I gloated in his face, he suddenly spat at me, and huge lunger of his spit hit me full in the face. In hot anger, I tied ropes to his feet, and pulled him apart, the way a man spreads a butterfly before pinning him. I tied the ropes off to the  posts, and looked at him. He was in pain, because, by spreading his legs, I had also pulled down on his arms, and the Vee of his legs was far too wide for any comfort. I didn’t care. I had Scott where I wanted him.

For the next hour or so, off and on, until my muscle-heavy arm got tired, I flogged Scott. I don’t mind saying I admired how much he could take. While I concentrated on his back and chest, I also did not neglect his legs and ass, and occasionally brought the flogger up between his legs. His cock remained hard, and jutted proudly out to his hip, encased in the skin-tight Lycra. I knew submission was part of his scene, but also I knew he had to work for it: I left broad red welts on his shoulders and legs which weren’t covered by the singlet. Without any compunction and without the slightest pity, I flogged my friend’s body until he screamed.

That was a couple of weeks ago, so, while I hadn’t forgotten that anytime Scott submitted, he would get back at me, I wasn’t prepared for his turning up that night. It was a Friday night, late in June, an incredibly soft warm night, where the air was so thick you could almost hold it in your hands. I had been slutting around all afternoon and evening, having taken off from work, and enjoying the warm, sweet air, and the packed feeling of my half erection in my tight Speedos. Again and again, I flexed my muscles before a mirror, enjoying how the thin cotton of the t-shirt strained over my shoulder muscles. It was the same t-shirt I had worn when I had flogged Scott. I liked it because it fit tightly, it had the word “WRESTLING” on it, and it was sleeveless. I was thinking that sleeveless showed off my “guns” better than sleeves. In other words, I was strutting, horny, smug, self-satisfied Marine, full of arrogance. What I got that night and the next morning was a lesson, not in humility, but in humiliation and degradation. My cock hardens even thinking of it, let alone going through.

We’ve all had nights like those, the nights where everything comes together in perfect timing, and when Scott’s mind and my mind were in sync, in some crazy way. We all remember that kind of night, because, no matter how hard you try, you can’t really duplicate it. It’s unique, and, while you have other exciting nights, this one stands out.

I am a heavy drinker, and, since I get up every day at 4:30am, I am usually out by 10:00pm., sometimes earlier. I don’t know when I went to bed that night, but I do remember the incredible soft warmth of the air, and I left all the outside doors, and the windows, open. The next thing I knew after I crawled in bed was being violently awakened, and finding that my wrists were handcuffed behind my back. Then, a sodden mass of cloth was jammed into my cursing mouth – I had awoken, saying stuff like “Who the fuck are you?” – and, quickly, rope tied the soggy mass into my mouth. At first, I thought the sogginess was urine, then I realized it was alcohol, vodka, actually. A damned effective way of keeping me docile. During the long night and day, Scott would lubricate the gag, liberally.

Nothing secures a man, nor defeats him, so easily as having his hands handcuffed behind his back. My big, 17-inch guns were useless against the simple steel mechanism of the handcuffs, and, even if I did have powerfully muscular legs, what good were they? I knew, without even seeing him, that my captor was Scott. I was face down in my bed, handcuffed and gagged, wearing the low-slung Speedos, which barely covered by now heavy erection, and the WRESTLING t-shirt., which clung to my chest and shoulder like a second skin. Already, because of the warm air, and Scott kneeling over me, and my first struggles against the handcuffs, I felt a pooling of sweat in the small of my back. I worked my mouth, gurgling, and thrust with my legs, and heaved my powerful body against the wrestler, who, kneeling over me, sat on my ass.

It didn’t take much time. At first, I resisted as I felt Scott bind my ankles together with rope, but his grab at my balls revised my strategy, and, in a few minutes, I lay hogtied on the bed, my dick rockhard, and, I bet, Scott’s, too. Suddenly, I was dumped on the floor, and dragged across the carpet to the stairs. Here I really began to heave and struggle, because I was afraid he was going to slide me down the stairs, face down. Todd had done that, once, very slowly, so as to catch my balls on each step. Scott didn’t do it slowly. Turning me around so I faced up the stairs, he shoved me over the landing, and down I went. There are ten steps on my stairway, and my balls, packed into the Speedos, caught every step. My big bull nuts, and my big cock, the pride of this arrogant Marine, were bruised and pounded in the few seconds it took for me to reach the floor below. There I writhed in agony, my balls screaming in pain. Scott told me later, that, as he walked down the stairs, he got a huge sexual rush from seeing me, hogtied, and writhing in obvious pain. He said he liked the fact that, because I was so arrogant, the pain derived from my balls being smashed by the stair steps.

Scott had parked his SUV down the street, and I lay there waiting, knowing he had done that, because I would have heard his car if he had driven it into my driveway. The night was that kind of night, where you could hear a snail clearing its throat a mile away.

When he came back, I knew he had long term plans. I was hooded, but I was also chained – a simple but effective method, over the shoulder, through the armpits, and padlocks at the wrists and the ankles. It supplemented the rope he had used to hogtie my ankles to the handcuffs. I was dragged across the floor, and outside to the driveway. I could feel the linoleum of the kitchen, the cool brick of the patio, the rough gravelly texture of the asphalt. He grunted as he lifted me, and loaded me, into the SUV. Then we were moving.

I explored my situation, and found nothing to help. The rope which had hogtied me was loose, but so what? Scott had chained me now, and I wasn’t breaking chain. My balls, earlier screaming in pain, had subsided, and I felt a growing erection in my bruised cock, as I tested my muscles, of which I was so arrogant, against the handcuffs and the steel chain. They were unforgiving, cold, and relentless.

We drove for quite a while, and I guess (correctly, as it turned out) we were on the Pennsylvania Turnpike, because we slowed in an area which was well lit – lights streaming into the SUV, which were visible in a  blur even through the latex of the hood. I had guessed they were toll booths. Finally, we arrived somewhere, and Scott stopped his vehicle. He was gone quite a while, but came back. I lay in the van inert, scared, half drunk, but sexually excited. It turned out later that we were at the motor lodge in Lansdale, just off the Northeast extension of the Turnpike.

When he came back, he opened the doors of the van, and quickly dumped me onto a blanket to drag me into the room. I lay on the blanket as he closed the motel room door, and removed my hood. Rolling me on my side, he chugged vodka into my gag, watching me swallow and choke it, then poured more. I lay there, a hogtied animal, with fresh vodka in my belly, and my face in a disgusting carpet. I looked around, bleary, and saw a tartan pattern in the carpet and the beds, a cheap TV, some truly hideous wall paper, and a general look of dingy, transient, quick-sex motel room. The carpet was dusty and dirty, and Scott ground my face into it, pushing my head down with his foot on my neck. It became clear very quickly, though, that he had other plans.

Foolishly, a few months before, I had sent Scott a web address for a wrestling story, called “Greg’s Defeat.”

This story is sexually very arousing, having to do with two young guys wrestling, and one of them gets tied up, and has his muscles destroyed by the other until he totally submits. The hero, Greg, is proud of his muscles, even arrogant, but gets whipped by his buddy. Scott must have enjoyed the story, because he began doing the same thing to me.

Copyright 2006-2017 Marine Punk and BBH Ltd. All rights Reserved.

This story was sent by Master Jack of the Bondagezine site, and it is used here with permission.

Two leather slaves — Scott Spears and “Dick Marine”— are forced to have bound sex in a new video at Bondagezine.

More information and a free video preview here.

To see all content from Bondagezine, click here

Master Jack has a new video up, called BONDAGE aDICKed

Video preview here

See more from Master Jack at BONDAGEMASTER and BONDAGEZINE

Master Jack’s holiday video is here

Also check out his websites, bondagemaster and bondagezine

As you guys know, there are literally hundreds of male bondage stories right here on the Metalbond site, in the Prison Library section. Which one is your favorite?

Meanwhile, after you have read all the stories here you might want to check out some of the many other websites featuring male bondage stories, including the ones listed below — and if you know of another site that I don’t have listed, please let me know!

Eckie aka Bondagefan

One of my own personal favorite resources, Eckie’s excellent website has been going strong since 2003. You have to register, but it is free and well worth it! Look for the Stories Archive section. Many of the best stories there are written by Eckie himself. His site is highly recommended.

RubberZone

This is another of my favorite sites! You have to register, and it is definitely worth it! Some of the site’s features are pay-to-view, but much of the other content — including many of the stories — are available for free. I have spent countless hours on this site with a hard dick in my hand.

LockedMEN

If you are interested in learning more about chastity devices — and meeting/chatting with other guys into chastity — this site is a must! It requires you to register, but it is free. The stories are in the Forum section, under Chastity Fantasies.

Bondagezine and Bondagemaster

These are Master Jack’s extensive websites, which serve up lots of original content including downloadable videos and lots of stories. Master Jack has been gracious enough to allow some of his stories to be re-posted here over the years, but there is so much more on his own sites.

Bondage Predicaments

There are tons of original videos on this guy’s extensive website — and he’s also got a stories section. Registration is not required, but if you do register you can see way more.

Nifty Archive – Authoritarian

The Nifty Archive contains thousands of stories in many different categories. The gay authoritarian section is where you can find stories involving bondage, chastity and male-on-male domination. Be aware that site can be hit or miss, though. Some of the stories are hotter than others.

Bob Wingate’s Blog

This is the website of the longtime editor of Bound And Gagged magazine. He’s got a table of contents listing several dozen titles — plus there are many more stories included as individual blog postings. (Note: Bob has not updated or maintained his site in several years, and while you can still read the stories from his vast collection, be careful not to click on the spambot links in his site’s comments.)

Gay Spiral Stories

Formerly known as the Narcissus Cursed Men Collection, this site, which is updated frequently, focuses on hypnosis, mind control and transformation fantasies. Some of the stories include bondage. Many are written from the top’s point of view. You can search by keyword or by tag.

Prison Process

Lots of stories here about incarceration, especially jail intake and indoctrination.

POW’s Fiction

Many of the stories here are “read at your own risk” — meaning they are too extreme to be re-posted here on the Metalbond site! But if you get off on torture fantasies that border on the deadly, I’m not going to stop you from clicking through.

MaleBots

This is another site that requires you to register, but it is worth it if you are turned on by robot transformation, cyborgs, etc. There is plenty of fantasy content and illustrations — think the hot male Borg from Star Trek.

Growl Boys

This is a pay site about male furry transformation. It’s a combination of porn videos, along with illustrated fantasy stories. Some of the content includes bondage.

Altarboy’s Chastity Belt and Device Fiction

This is a site for people of all genders and sexual orientations. If you are like me, you will want to scroll down to the “Male Chastity with Male Keyholder” section. Meanwhile, if there is anyone out there who is willing read some of the male chastity with female keyholder stories, and RE-WRITE them as MALE keyholder stories, please let me know!

Mortice Deadlock

Mortice’s page has several dozen bondage and chastity stories that are searchable by category. Many are male-on-male.

How to Kill a Superhero

This is a series of books by Pablo Greene, available for purchase. If you like superhero and cosplay, check him out — he’s also a total muscle stud!

Asicswrestone

This is the personal website of a versatile bondage guy who is into sneakers, jeans, gear and boots! Lots of original pictures and plenty of true-to-life stories here!

Check this out! Master Jack of the popular Bondagezine and Bondagemaster sites has written an account of is first bondage experience. Click below to be directed to his telling:

Thanks, Master Jack, for sharing this!

Master Jack aka Bondage Master has tons of pictures and stories of real men held captive in his dungeon and prison cell. He recently posted an update that he is doing scenes again, as well.

You can subscribe to Bondagezine, purchase DVDs or download movies.

Click for Bondage Master and Bondagezine

Master Jack, who runs the popular and long-running Bondagezine and BondageMaster sites, knows that many of you fuckers need to be locked up. Now, with a brand new venture he has just launched, he is not messing around.

It’s called Men Need Captivity, and you can make arrangements with him to be locked up — for real. There are five different “accommodations” to choose from, including “The Refuge,” “Business Class” and “The Max.” Which bondage adventure suits you best?

Click directly below for more information:

By PFC Pflege

(This story originally appeared at Bondagezine.com)

I was twenty-four when I was outposted from the Marine Corps, and returned to Philadelphia. I was lean, I was hard, I had a military haircut, and the Marine Corps “look”. After I got set up in an apartment, and was back at my old job, I soon was hitting the local gay bar scene. Philadelphia’s gay community wasn’t very big back then – not  very big now – and there were only4 or 5 gay bars. I discovered that a whole lot of gays had a thing about Marines, and I didn’t lack for dates, and in 18 months or so, I must have had a couple of hundred guys, sometimes two a night. I liked lean, hard guys like myself, and I liked to fuck. I also discovered that there was no end of guys who wanted to suck off a Marine.

It was late one Friday on a hot June night, when I left one of the bars, alone, to go home. There wasn’t much action going, and the crowd was pretty familiar, so I made up my mind to watch a movie and go to bed. Outside the bar, standing under a tree, was this geeky little guy, maybe 5’4”, maybe 130 lbs soaking wet. Not my type. I liked them my size: six foot, 185lbs, strong, and hard. This geeky one had wire-rimmed glasses, which was something that did get my attention. I have this thing for guys in glasses.

“Hi,” he said, as I walked past. I slowed down.

“Hi,” I answered.

“You were in the Marines, weren’t you?”

“Yes.”

“Going home?”

“Yep.”

“Let me come along. I want to talk to you.”

Now there was something amazing about this guy’s voice. It had a mesmerizing quality to it, and I discovered, much to my astonishment, that my cock was hard. In a voice I barely recognized, I said:

“Okay.”

“My name’s Aron,” he said. “Aron with one A.”

“I’m Dan.”

“Oh, I know who you are. I know a lot about you.”

Again, his voice had a hypnotic quality, a sure,confident voice, yet pitched so low that only I could hear him. In my jeans, my cock was rockhard. I knew something was going to happen, but I also knew something else: Aron was in control, not me. I was accustomed to fucking guys, tying guys up, making them kneel and suck me, and here was this wispy geek hypnotizing me, and giving me a massive erection.

Again, my voice sounded strange and harsh.

“Why do you know so much about me?”

“Because I want to.”

I fell silent. It seemed as if I were a puppet, and Aron was controlling the strings. I had never felt like that, but my stomach was full of butterflies, my mouth was dry, and my palms sweaty. Each time Aron spoke, his soft voice mesmerized me more. My cock was hugely hard when I turned the key in the door, and we walked up three flights to my apartment. He looked around.

“Nice place. What I thought you would have.”

He inspected the books on the shelves, and I tried speaking. Finally, I croaked,

“ Do you want something to drink?”

“White wine only. Then I want you to go into your bedroom.”

With my hands shaking violently, I poured two glasses of wine, and walked into my bedroom. I am fastidious, and hate a mess, so everything was neat and ship-shape. It was late at night. The clock at my bedside read 1:15. Aron sipped the wine. He was totally at his ease, but I was shivering with sexual excitement.

“Okay, “ he said, “Let’s get started. Get out your ropes – I know you have them – and then strip naked. Take everything off, clothes, watch, that chain around your neck, everything.”

I opened a closet drawer, and pulled out a bunch of lengths of rope, all neatly folded. I put them on the bed, and then started stripping. I was shaking violently, and when I finally managed to get naked, my 8 inches jutted forth in obscene excitement.

Aron looked at me, his eyes sweeping up and down my Marine body.

“I said everything. Take that ring off.”

I did as he said, and watched him sort through the ropes. I tied guys up, they didn’t tie me up, and yet here I was, standing stark naked with a massive erection, while a geeky guy sorted through my ropes.

“Okay, good. These will do,” he said. “Lie down face up on the bed.”

“What are you going to do?”

He didn’t answer me. I stood, irresolute for a minute, then went over to the bed, and lay down on it. Quickly and yet with a strange gentleness, Aron spreadeagled me. He knew exactly what he was doing, and though he did not pull the ropes hard or jerk them, when he was done, I was locked in an extremely tight spreadeagle, with my legs spread wide. Aron looked down at me, and my heart was pounding like a steam engine. No fear yet, but a roaring in my conscious mind that something was happening over which I had no control.

Aron went over to the drawer where I kept the ropes. He rummaged about, and found two lengths of leather. With these, he quickly bound my balls and cock, separating my balls, and tightening them with the leather thongs, into the base of my erect cock. He’s just going to suck me off, I thought.

But he didn’t. He started caressing me, and his caress was as mesmerizing as his voice. All over my body his hands flew delicately, gently, yet firmly. My tits he made prick-hard in seconds, but his hands reached into my crotch, my thighs, my armpits, over my shoulders, back down to my feet. Everywhere but my cock. I bucked and heaved in the ropes, lusting in an incredible heat. He continued until he drove me wild – thrashing and thrusting upwards in the ropes, pleading for him to jerk me off. He said nothing, but did everything. Just as his voice controlled me, now his fingers did. My cock was ready to explode with cum, but though his fingers came very close to my rockhard erection, he didn’t touch it.

Suddenly, he got up, and I lay back in the bed, awash in desire and sexual pleasure. Aron stripped. He wore only shorts, sandals, and a t-shirt, and in a few seconds he was naked. I looked at him. His cock was rigid, and it was proof of something I had learned, through experience: that the scrawny, geeky guys are often hung huge. Aron’s cock was easily as big as my 8 inches, and probably bigger. He stood beside the bed, and ran his fingers lightly across my balls and up the length of my cock. Then he left the room.

I heard him in the kitchen, but I couldn’t figure out what he was doing in there. I heard drawers and close, and then, Aron reappeared in the bedroom. I was holding wooden spoon, the kind of spoon you stir sauces with.

He sat down on the edge of the bed. He was naked, and his cock looked huge from the angle I saw it. Suddenly, he flicked the head of the spoon across my tied-up balls, not hard, but not gentle either. He flicked the spoon again, this time harder, and I violently reacted.

“What the fuck are you doing??” I shouted at him.

He ignored me. My cock had gone flaccid, and fear constipated my mind. I was spreadeagled, stark naked, with this crazy fucker starting to work on my nuts.

“Untie me now, asshole,” I screamed at him.

He fitted the concave bowl of the spoon over one of my testicles, and then the other.

“I was 19 years old, in San Francisco, when a Japanese kid, maybe 18 years old, taught me this technique. I had to go back to him several times, before I was able to practice it on him, correctly. For months I have been planning to use this technique on you. I would get rock hard at home, thinking about you tied up, with your legs spread. I watched you a lot in the bars, but you never saw me. Who sees a geek computer programmer from Penn? But I knew I would get you eventually.”

I was totally silent, hardly even breathing. This guy was a maniac, and I was tied up, bare-assed naked, and he was some kind of sadist or serial killer. My mind just blocked out.

He looked at the clock by the bed.

“It’s after two a.m.,” he said, conversationally. “I will need several hours to torture you, probably until just before dawn. The torture will seem bad at first, but then you will get into it, and, at the end, you will have the biggest erection of your life. After you cum, I will have one further use for you, and then I will release you.”

The voice again. despite myself, and despite the eerie atmosphere in the room, the sexual miasma, the sickly, sticky intensity, my cock began to grow. I was reacting to his total control, but also to what he said: why tell me all this if he was planning to add me to his list of victims? But then he placed the concavity of the spoon over one ball, and smacked, hard. He moved to the second ball, and smacked it. I thrashed in the ropes, pulling them so hard on my wrists and ankles that I cut deep marks into them. I begged him to stop.

“Don’t make noise,” he said. “I do not want to gag you. I am enjoying your torture and your pleading. Many times I have seen you, arrogant and proud, the big Marine stud in the bars, taking any guy you wanted. Now, it’s close to 2:30 in the morning, and you are being tortured. If you make too much noise, I will gag you, and continue to torture you. If you make no noise, I will continue to torture you. It is so easy to torture a man.”

It went on and on. He did not smash my balls, but insistently, lightly, struck them. He had tied my balls with leather thongs, so they remained tightly separated and hard. They were an easy target. My cock was shriveled, and, while my rational mind knew it was useless, my mouth spewed words of begging like marbles on a pavement. I promised anything, would do anything, but since all Aron wanted was me spreadeagled and tortured, I had nothing to sell. He varied his technique, sometimes doing nothing for a while, sometimes executing a quick tattoo of 4 or 5 smacks on my testicles. There are no words to describe what it feels like, to have your sensitive nuts smacked gently, lightly, and yet firmly, over a period of two-plus hours.

During the first hour, when I was jerking and thrashing and cutting deep line sinto my wrists and ankles with the rope which held me. Aron spoke of my arrogance, my not caring for people like him, and my self-centeredness. As time passed, he began to recite a kind of mantra of my upcoming erection, and, to my amazement, in the exhausted, sweating hours of the morning, just before day break, my cock began to react. A kind of absolute submission to the agony of my crotch warmed my body and mind. I wanted to be tortured, slowly, excruciatingly slowly. Aron was right: I erected. Slowly my cock hardened, and slowly my body stopped thrashing, and began a slow, luxurious writhing in the spread eagle. As I my cock hardened more, I thrust upward with my hips, embracing the concave bowl of the spoon on my nuts.

It went on and on. The room lightened, but nothing lightened the sexual intensity of the scene. Aron was 100% into it – I could sense that – and he knew I was, from the rigid cock I thrust out. My mouth formed new sounds of groveling desire and sexual lust for the torture; my balls ached, and the ache fueled my erection. Never had I erected as hard and long as that. I begged Aron for release, lying in a pool of sweat on the bed, my face scratchy with a morning’s scruffiness, my body wracked and exhausted.

He stopped. He came and knelt on my chest, his rock hard cock in my face.

“Suck it, Marine.”

I sucked and in a few moments, tasted his spurting cum down my throat. His crotch smelled of manhood, sweat, and sex. I drank it in. Then he turned around, and sat on my face, his ass right on me.

“Eat it, Marine.”

The big stud Marine licked Aron’s ass while he smacked me a few more times with the spoon. I lusted upwards, with my face in the cleft of his ass, and with my hips, thrusting my massive erection towards him. He stroked my cock, smacking my balls much harder now, as I erected. Then I spurted, in the most massive erection of my life, spurting cum all over myself and Aron. I lay back, totally spent. I just wanted to be untied and fall asleep. The exhaustion of my body was consuming, and I was close to falling asleep, still spreadeagled.

Aron stood by the bed. He was stroking his cock, and once again, he was hard. His insistent, controlling voice spoke.

“I’ve fucked your mouth, Marine boy, now I am going to fuck your ass.”

I had been fucked only once before, and it had been a bad experience.

I begged. “Please, Aron, please don’t fuck me. The pain is really horrible.”

“No,” he answered, “you have to be fucked by me. For months, I have dreamed of torturing you, making you suck my cock, and then fucking you. Forget your bullshit.”

And, in a way, I did. His voice calmed me, and I guess I figured that whatever else he did to me, it couldn’t be as  bad as the last few hours, even with the massive erection. He didn’t untie my hands, only my legs, one by one. He pulled each leg up to where my wrists were tied,  and tied them there, thus pulling my legs over my head, bringing my ass up, exposed, like a whore. He greased me, and I resigned myself to a new horror of pain. But he was surprisingly gentle. His eight inches were big and thick, but he inserted his cock very slowly, stopping and staring again, until finally he broke my resistance, and his cock penetrated the chute of my ass.

Then he fucked me. As he could tell that I was able to take t, he started fuck-pounding, taking almost all of his cock out of my ass, then slamming it back in. He talked while he fucked, and his voice had a different tone to it. It was all “Fuck you, you fucking Marine asshole, you arrogant prick, take it up the ass from the computer geek” and so on. But the fucking seemed endless. It was a new form of torture, this time up my ass-chute. It seemed as if I were being fucked by a telephone pole, and Aron was relentless. Once again, I was weeping, begging, pleading for him to stop. He didn’t, and I slowly stopped begging, and slipped into a hopeless state of living pain. Tied up as I was, with my legs over my head, and my ass in the air, I was exhausted, sweaty, and total beaten.

Aron continued to fuck me, and the only sounds in the room were the sucking sound of his cock coming out of my ass, and the sound his hips made as they slammed in my butt. Slowly Aron fucked me into submission. Every room in what was left of my mind  had Aron’s rock hard cock in it. He fucked me in every dirty corner of my mind, and then fucked some more. Then, he jerked his cock out of ass, stroked it rapidly, and shot a huge load through my legs into my face and on my chest. I remember that all the time he fucked me, he kept his wire-rim glasses on – I bet he knew they were a turn-on for me.

Then I was finally untied. I sat on the edge of the bed, sweaty, dirty, exhausted, but most of all, defeated. Aron had whipped me, and never again would this cocky Marine strut through the bars as he had done for the last two years.

“Get a towel, and bring it into the living room.”

I got up, and grabbed a towel from the bathroom. I followed Aron’s cute ass into the living room. He selected an arm chair, and sat down.

“Fold the towel length-wise in half. Place it so that you can kneel on it, facing me.”

I obeyed without question.

“Spread your legs.”

I spread my legs, while I knelt, stark naked, cum all over my face and chest.

“Remove the cum with your fingers and eat it.”

With my fingers covered in cum which I took from my face, chest, and abdomen, and some which had dripped into the hairs at the base of my cock, I licked my fingers and hand, tasting for the second time Aron’s cum. To my amazement, my own cock had grown hard.

“Masturbate.”

I jerked off at Aron’s feet. It didn’t take long. My cock had obviously enjoyed my night-long torture and humiliations, and in a few minutes, I spurted several long ropes of cum at Aron’s feet.

“Lick it up.”

I had to force myself to do this humiliating act, because, after I had cum, the taste of it was not enjoyable. But I ate it. My submission to Aron was total. Suddenly, he was gone.

I never saw him again, though I have masturbated, on my knees, to him, many times since.

THE END

Metal would like to thank PFC Pflege (of blessed memory) for this story.

COPYRIGHT 2008 PFC PFLEGE & BBH LTD. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

This story is courtesy of Master Jack at Bondagezine.com, used with permission.

I learned yesterday with great sadness that Master Jack passed away a few months ago, in November 2021, of a heart attack. Over more than two decades, Master Jack hosted countless men from all over the world for heavy, multi-day bondage scenes at his home dungeons in California and then in Arizona.

Master Jack was also a trailblazer on the Internet with his very own subscription-based website — Bondagezine — which dated all the way back to the 1990s and had tons of hot stories, photographs and lots of original videos.

Although it was a bit clunky, the Bondagezine site was a vast resource. Sadly, it is no longer available. This is a shame because the site had so much irreplaceable content. Master Jack also had a second site called Bondagemaster, which is still online although I suspect it too might be coming down soon.

Master Jack didn’t share many pictures of himself, but here are a few pictures of some of the many prisoners he hosted over the years, taken from his website:

Master Jack also encouraged and inspired countless other men over the years, including Mark Bind, PFC Pflege — and myself! If anyone would like to share any memories of Master Jack, I invite you to post a comment in the comments section below, or you can send me an email.