I guess it has something to do with the cold remedy I took before bed last night, but I certainly had one of the most lucid dreams I’ve ever had. It’s partly inspired by a recent boundgods scene and an unfolding story on Metalbond’s blog.
It all starts with me in a straight jacket and chastity device being left in a padded cell. Not sure what I’ve done, but I probably asked for it :) Every so often my jailer comes in, flips me over and works ever larger plugs into me. As the mood takes him, he fucks me then replaces the plug trapping his cum inside me. I’m not sure how long I’ve agreed to be in this situation, but it’s certainly many hours, if not days. To keep me well, there’s a hydration tube (like the ones you get for walking/running) through the cell door that I can just reach and take drinks from.
Nature takes its course and I need to piss. My jailer leaves a metal bucket for me to piss in but I can’t go as I’m hard and straining against the cock cage. I’m tied against the back wall and the cage removed. A catheter is inserted, but the scratchy pain makes me go soft allowing the cage to back on – I instantly try to get hard again. One relief is seeing my piss fill up the cath bag next to me. I keep drinking and keep pissing. Eventually the bag is full and my jailer seemingly takes it away, but little do I know that the next time I take a drink from the hydration tube it will be piss. I’m recycling!
Some time later, probably at night, my jailer returns and hoods me with a leather bag-type hood. I can’t see anything but the smell is intoxicating. I’m stood up and I’m forced to put on what feels like a tight jockstrap and some boots. I’m lead out of the cell, down a lift and into an underground car park where I’m bundled into the back of a van.
A drive later and I hear the van door slide open and I’m hauled out into the night(?) air. I can feel a breeze round my bare ass and I feel pretty vulnerable. Suddenly I’m inside a stifling warm building in which I can hear music and the faintest whiff of piss and poppers. The hood’s rapidly removed and I recognise myself as being in The Backstreet, but not before I’m roughly bent over the bar and roped in place. For some bizarre reason it’s Ben In Leatherland doing the tying which I’m very happy about :) I’m stretched and vulnerable and the clientele all line up to take turns pounding me.
At the end of the ordeal, untied, but still caged, jocked and straightjacketed, I’m pushed out into the night streets.
Some notes: It’s taken ages to write this all down as every time I finish a paragraph I’m left with a huge boner that has to be dealt with. I’m also definitely not advocating barebacking with a club full of strangers! If you wanna do the rest to me though, drop me a line!
