It was just another blind date, even if this time, I at least wasn’t literally blind. Still, I felt pretty vulnerable in the small room with its raw concrete walls, no windows but 2 doors, lit by a cold fluorescent lamp on the wall over one of the doors. The door I had entered through was unlocked, so anyone could step into it any moment, while the other door was locked, at least from my side.
The fact that I was totally nude, save for the pair of high heel sandals strapped on my feet and the rubber gasmask strapped over my head, didn’t make me feel any less vulnerable. I didn’t count the large sponge stuffed into my mouth and secured with several tight turns of duct tape, mostly hidden under the gasmask, the metal police handcuffs holding my wrists in a snug grip behind my back, and the leg irons on my ankles as any kind of clothing. In the bag on the floor were my “real” clothes, the roll of duct tape, a pair of scissors and the few more things I had been instructed to bring: 2 more pairs of leg irons, 2 padlocks, a large magic wand vibrator and a 4 m length of flag rope. The keys to the locks hung on a hook in the wall, about 2 m up, so I had no chance of reaching them in case I would have a change of heart.
I spent the time waiting slowly pacing back and forth along the approximately 3 m diagonal of the floor. The cuffs of the leg irons were connected by a 40 cm twist steel chain, so the hobble was no major problem at the pace I kept. The high heels kept my ankles stretched so the cuffs didn’t bite into the Achilles tendons the way ankle cuffs can do pretty uncomfortable otherwise. Physically, I was actually pretty comfortable, save for the rather cold air in the room and the sweat building under the tight rubber gasmask.
Suddenly, I heard voices, and considering the massive walls and heavy doors, I figured the persons must be close. Just a few seconds later, the unlocked door opened and two figures appeared, dressed in baggy camouflage clothing and black 3-hole balaclavas. Judging from their sizes and voices, they were no doubt male. Another dynamic duo. Yummy!
They closed and locked the door before stepping up close and personal to me, inspecting my body with both eyes and hands, groping, squeezing, rubbing, slapping and playing all over but focusing on my breasts, ass and pussy, making quite a few rather lewd comments while at it. One of them picked the keys from the wall, dropped them in my bag, pulled out the flag rope, adeptly fashioned a hangman’s noose from it, which he put around my neck and tightened, tight enough to keep me very aware of it, but not tight enough to really restrict my breathing. Then he grabbed the free end of the rope and used it as a leash, tugging me after him as he locked the door we had entered through, then unlocked and opened the other door, exiting through it, while the other gut picked up my bag and followed, closing the door after him.
I was led through what seemed like an endless maze of rock-faced tunnels sloping downwards and then corridors, first with raw, then white-painted concrete walls, separated by sturdy metal doors and sparsely lit by more cold fluorescent lamps, until we entered a rather large room, seemingly an empty storage rooms, judging from the metal shelves along its wall and in the middle. In one corner was another door, and I was led to an open space next to it, where my handler threw my leash over a sturdy metal structure in the ceiling, pulled me up by the neck until I stood teetering on the balls of my feet, before he tied the rope off. The guy with my bag caught up with us after closing the door to the room, dropped my bag on the floor, looked at me while he obviously addressed my handler: “So, some fun before we go to work?” I could actually see the grin of my handler as he cheerfully replied “This is all about fun, no work, at least not for us!” The way he said it didn’t make me feel all at ease though.
Actually, it didn’t start out all that bad. They kind of resumed their groping, squeezing, rubbing, slapping and playing from before, still focusing on my breasts, ass and pussy, but much more intent this time, soon having me moaning from pleasure and arousal behind my gag and the gasmask. The guy in front of me did a real number on my breasts and nipples, cupping and playing with them, while the guy behind cupped my pussy, teasing my folds, clit and vagina with his cunning fingers. I couldn’t help but trying to reward the guy behind me by letting my fingers explore the bulge in his pants, softly cupping and massaging his balls with one hand, while my other hand gripped and slowly winked his hard shaft. He replied with a lustful groan while continuing to play with my pussy and ass.
The guy in front of me grinned and commented, “Someone seems eager to play. Let’s give her a better chance. His fingers left my pussy and dived down into my bag, coming up with a pair of leg irons. He hung them around my neck with the cuffs draped down my chest, fitting them around the bases of my breasts, hoisting them some and forcing them to swell and bulge from the tight constriction as the metal bit into my soft flesh, then tightening each a few more notches, quickly adding discomfort verging on pain to the arousing feeling of the naughty tying.
“Give her some slack?” asked the guy in front of me, and my handler sighed as he loosened the rope keeping me up. “You and your boob fetish! She does have holes for that, you know.” I didn’t quite follow until the guy in front pushed me down on my knees, not very comfortable on the cold, hard, raw concrete floor, opened his fly and pulled out a decent-sized tool, pushing it between my bulging breasts, squeezing my breasts together and wanking himself with them. “Yeah, but these work great too. If you weren’t so single-minded, you might enjoy it too if you tried it.” The fact was, even I enjoyed it, as I felt his shaft rub between my swollen and aching breasts while he groped and massaged them, letting the tips of his little fingers very deliberately and expertly tease my hard nipples.
Eventually, the guy behind me seemed to grow impatient and muttered, “You’re blocking a two lane street, you know. She doesn’t have 2 pairs of boobs but she does have two holes, so let’s do this the old-fashioned way, Mr. Boobman.” The guy in front of me sighed a bit but let go of my breasts and took a step back, while the guy behind again hoisted me up on my feet by the neck noose before tying the rope off. The guy front pulled a rubber from a pocket and put it on his still pretty proud cock, and from the sounds behind me, I suspected his colleague did the same, confirmed when I felt the rubbery feel of another hard cock between my ass cheeks, pretty wet and slick, I suspected from lubrication by spittle.
I don’t know if they had thought about it already in the instructions for my “dressing” but it turned out with my high heels I was a pretty comfortable target for the two cocks soon pushing into my lower orifices and starting to ram me hard and fast. Mr. Boobman resumed his playing with my bulging and sensitive breasts and hard nipples, while Mr. Handler, as I dubbed the other guy in my mind, groped and spanked my ass with stinging but arousing swats. Even if this wasn’t my first ever sandwich fuck, it was my first one properly tied up, and it was real hot for me. Together with the adept breast play and the spanking balancing almost perfectly between arousing and painful, it didn’t take very long before it made me cum, repeatedly.
In my very aroused state, I even really enjoyed the perilous feeling of the noose tightening around my neck when I slumped and the cocks working me didn’t push me up, and desired the hands on my breasts and buttocks to become harder and more painful. I really wanted Mr. Boobman and Mr. Handler to cum inside me, and while a small sane portion of my mind still appreciated their considerate use of rubbers, another part said “Fuck STDs!” and wished they would really pump me full and leave me to feel their jism seeping out of my holes and down the insides of my thighs, feeling really used and fulfilled.
I don’t know how long my two Misters kept fucking my brains out, but by the time they were done, I was totally wasted and exhausted, after a number of hard orgasms I lost count of after 5 or so. I was barely able to straighten enough not to choke myself with the noose around my neck and stood trembling on legs that felt like jelly. I felt a bit disappointed when I noticed they both were still semi-erect and obviously hadn’t enjoyed my hungry holes fully, but then again, I suspected that meant they were up to more of no good, which sent a shiver of anticipation through my body.
The next no-good was pretty intense, as they pulled on heavy working gloves and started snipping lengths of barbed wire from a roll on the floor I hadn’t noticed. First, they wrapped my bulging breasts, by bending the lengths into tight, single-turn coils and then easing them enough to thread over each breast before letting it tighten around the base and bulge by its own spring force. Soon, I had dozens of sharp barbs poking deep into the bulging flesh and taut skin of each orb. It wasn’t really painful, but more a very intense and sharp itch, about equally uncomfortable and arousing.
Next was my crotch, first with a few lengths of the wire snugly around my waist, then some more between my thighs, connecting the front and rear of the waist lengths, and then the large head of the magic wand from my bag was shoved deep into my very wet pussy, before the crotch strands were tightened up so the sharp barbs dug into my groins, outer labia from both outside and inside, and folds, also keeping the magic wand securely inside me.
My elbows were loosely locked with the remaining leg irons, their connecting chain passing behind my back, restricting movements of my arms a little. Then my hands were freed, and my lower arms fastened to my hips with a few lengths of barbed wire around each wrist and upper thigh.
The itching discomfort in my pussy lips and folds turned to sharp pain when my legs were forced together by shortening the chain between the leg iron cuffs with a padlock, and then securing my legs together by wrapping several lengths of barbed wire around the thighs and calves. My two Misters seemed done as they stepped back and admired their work. I couldn’t help but trying to struggle a little but quickly discovered that the sharp barbs made a great incentive not to try and move too much, or rather to do my best not to move at all.
I started to get a sinking feeling as Mr. Handler reached up and released the free end of the noose rope from the ceiling while Mr. Boobman turned me around by a firm grope on my breasts, forcing barbs painfully into them and forcing me to torture my lower body, including my pussy, when I tried to follow with tiny, mincing step. He pretty redundantly held on to my breasts while Mr. Handler unlocked and opened the “secret” door. Behind it was a small, unlit space, just maybe a meter deep and wide, and at the inner wall was a wooden frame, maybe two meters high, half a meter wide and a quarter meter deep, with what it took me a few seconds to recognize as barbed wire crisscrossing the front, rear and sides of the frame. Mr. Handler reached in and opened the front, proving to be a hinged door, of the wicked cage, and Mr. Boobman grabbed me with strong hands and half pushed, half lifted me into the small space and cage. As he put me down, it took me a few seconds to find my balance, in my heels and with my legs pressed together, and the painful poking from the sharp barbs of the cage “walls” into my back and sides convinced me this was not a dancing cage.
While Mr. Handler again strung me up by my neck inside the cage, Mr. Boobman was busy arranging something with the cable to the magic wand in my pussy. When they were done, Mr. Handler shut and locked the front of the cage with two padlocks, one at about my eye level and the other at about my knees, proving to me that my bulging breasts and buttocks were too big for the cage, making more barbs dig deep into the flesh of my breasts, shoulders, belly and buttocks even when I tried to pose myself as much in the middle of the cage as possible. Trying to stay as still as possible inside the cage proved very difficult when the magic wand in my pussy exploded into highest intensity, making me gasp and squirm, or at least try to squirm, involuntarily. With the tight barbed wires squeezing me hard and painful inside the frame, I could barely move at all though, just torture myself by trying, and making the barbs dig deeper into my flesh or tear at it.
Mr. Boobman made one final adjustment by pushing and shifting my breasts maybe one or a few centimeters each, making a sharp barb poke painfully into the center of each nipple, feeling like it was actually piercing the flesh in its full length, and my desperate attempt to shift my nipples away from the barbs made it feel even more like they were deeply skewered by them. Looking back up at my two Misters, they were both standing waving theatrically, their grins visible through their black balaclavas, as they closed and locked the door. It became absolutely pitch black in my confinement, not even a thin frame of light along the edges of the door, and all I could hear was the buzzing from the magic wand buried in my pussy. I thought I heard the other door to the room slam shut as well, but it might have been just my imagination.
My absolute helplessness, the painful tie and abandonment, together with the strong buzz in my stuffed pussy, made it take only minutes before I was rocked by an intense sexual blast. The pain from the barbs when my body convulsed from the orgasm was so strong that I somehow managed to still myself until it faded. When my muscles relaxed, I couldn’t even slump enough to tighten the taut noose around my neck, because any attempt just increased the pain so much I was forced to try and resume my initial position. The barbed wires squeezing me in the cage held me so firmly I doubted I would even be able to slump enough to choke if I lost consciousness entirely and became oblivious of the pain.
It continued, and I was well on my way to a third, dreaded orgasm when the magic wand suddenly went silent. The only thing I could hear was my own heart pounding like crazy and a weak creaking from the cage, but with the distracting stimulation gone, I started to feel more and more of the pain from the barbs, especially in my nipples and pussy, that felt on fire with the intense pain of barbs deep in the delicate flesh. After a while, the pain became unbearable, but there was absolutely nothing I could do about it, and tears started to mix with the sweat rolling and seeping down my face inside the gasmask. I was pretty sure some kind of rescue would eventually show up, but I started to doubt I would survive until then, at least with some kind of sanity remaining.
Suddenly, the magic wand bursted back to life as abruptly as it had died, and my body tensed hard from the intense sensation, the wave of pain my mindless spasm caused quickly swept away by the rapid re-build to another orgasm. I realized the wand must be on some kind of timer and think it switched on and off somewhere between 3 and 10 times more while I was standing there, throwing me between unbearable bliss with violent, unbearable orgasms, and equally unbearable real torture, seriously considering if it would be worth ripping my flesh to shreds to be able to choke myself to death with the noose and be done with it.
Of course, my savers did arrive, but I barely registered when the door opened at first, letting in blinding light with a pair of halo creatures backlit by it, as I had just started to come down from my twentieth, or two-hundredth, or two-thousandth, unbearably intense orgasm. I didn’t know if I should bless them or curse them for leaving the magic wand on during the entire eternity it took them to free me from the cage, barbed wire, cuffs, gas mask and gag. I think they at least realized it was not the moment for any catty extras, but they simply wrapped me up in my coat, led me through interminably long corridors and tunnels, out to their car, drove me home and led me inside.
By then, I had somewhat recovered, and they left me after making sure I could manage on my own. I started inspecting myself, but even if I had a lot of small, sore, bruised indents all over my body from the barbs, there were only a few places with actual blood on the skin, namely one nipple, one labia and folds, and a few on my shins. It was really amazing how so much pain could produce so little evidence of the torture and suffering I had been through. When I checked my coat, there was one very small stain matching the pierced nipple, but nothing more, so I decided it would not warrant another dry-clean. I carefully dabbed and wiped the few actual wounds with ALSOL solution, then washed the magic wand, put the toys back where they belonged and went for a shower, afraid a warm bath would mean me waking up in the ice cold water the next day, and then writing this report.
Thinking back, I think what hit me the most was the approach of Mr. Boobman and Mr. Handler. They seemed so natural and at ease with what they were doing to me, with no false pretenses of being overly brutal or dominant to fit an expected role, unlike quite a few other dominants I’ve bumped into. That made me feel quite comfortable with the play as well. To them, playing with a helpless girl seemed about as natural as watching soccer or ice hockey a Saturday afternoon. They really seemed to be enjoying themselves, doing what they felt like, but I also noticed they were pretty attentive and adjusted some to my responses, still not letting it distract them from their own fun though. I felt a bit sorry I couldn’t give them what I thought they really deserved, but then again, most guys seem to lose their sexual interest once cummed, so I guess my caging wouldn’t have been as much fun for them then, or might not have happened at all, if they had let go in me before. I guess you just can’t both have your cookie and eat it.