I couldn’t determine if my captor was kidding about calling some friends, and he didn’t remove the gag so I could ask him. He went into a closet and pulled out a pillow, which was placed strategically underneath my back. Then the captor began to untie the ends of the rope that were secured to the pole, and slowly lowered me onto the pillow. I was flooded with relief when he loosened the overhead ropes from my limbs, and then he untied the cloth around my face and removed the gag from my mouth.
I said, “Whew, that was intense,” and I was waiting for him to begin untying each of my bound ankle/wrists. Instead, he stood up and chuckled, and asked “are you more comfortable?”
I said, “that’s better, now please untie these too.”
He chuckled again and said, “I wasn’t kidding about inviting over some of my friends. They will be really impressed by such a handsome man as yourself – although one of them really has a thing for what he calls “punishing beauty.” Why don’t you just relax down here for a while, and regain your strength for later on, because you’re likely to need it.”
I protested but he walked up the stairs, turned out the light and closed the door, leaving me bound in complete darkness. I kept yelling at him but the basement seemed well insulated, because I could hear nothing from above or from the outside. It was very creepy to be lying there in the blackness, tied up and helpless in such an exposed manner, and I could practically feel the air caressing my groin. Once again, I found it arousing: it seemed like I was there for ages, and I couldn’t help but feel excited by the danger. I felt incredibly vulnerable, and when I strained my muscles trying to break free of the bindings, the circumstances and the effort seemed to cause my dick to grow and throb, and before I knew it I was cumming again.
Once I had caught my breath after this surprising second release, I lost any sense of arousal and simply wanted to escape. I kept straining at the bindings, but they were bound too securely. All I could do was bounce back and forth, so I thought that maybe if I could upright myself it might help the situation. I was like a tortoise that has been turned over onto his shell, so righting myself seemed nearly impossible. However, I tried rocking back and forth sideways, and I was finally able to roll myself to the right and flip over into what was an even more uncomfortable position than before.
Just as I achieved my goal I heard voices, the door opened and the light was turned on. My captor came down the stairs and I heard others speaking as well. Several men began laughing when they saw me, because although I was still tied up like a pretzel, my face was now basically smashed against the floor, turned to one side. But the worst thing was that the position caused my butt and my underside, once again, to be supremely exposed. My butt was pointing straight up in the air, and the strip of nylon between my legs was the closest part of my body to my tormentors. My balls were now underneath, but because my legs were still spread by my shoulders, my sensitive underside was again inescapably vulnerable to any kind of an assault.
As far as I could tell there were quite a few others who now accompanied my captor, and I heard several comment on how they couldn’t wait to get their turn at the captive. I heard a swooshing sound, and suddenly there was a stinging pop administered to me in the very spot that felt so vulnerable and that I feared they would aim for. I shouted “ouch” and tried to move myself, but I had an equally difficult time turning the other way, since gravity was working against me again. After he took a turn tickling me in the same spot he had previously aimed his weapon, the assailant again swung his whip, and I started struggling to escape both his grasping fingers and the stinging blows. Someone else said “let me have a chance” and then I heard what sounded like him pulling off his belt. It wasn’t long before he swung what I knew was his belt. This one whacked me on my legs and on my butt, which was stinging all over, even underneath the Speedo (As if the Speedo offered any kind of protection!).
Finally, the captor spoke up and said, “Okay, that’s enough, let’s let our friend see what he’s gotten himself into,” and with that they lifted me up and turned me onto my back, in the position I had already been tormented and suspended. Now I could see that there were six other men, all of them wearing leather pants, leather vests or harnesses, and several of them were wearing leather police-caps as well. Almost every one of them appeared to be holding a whip or a belt, although one in the back had something else in his grip. They looked exactly like a gang of sadistic bikers.
My captor said, “Now you are going to learn what it’s like to be the center of attention for an entire group of guys who are extremely excited by the sight of a bound and helpless man. How does it feel to be so thoroughly bound in such a unique position, wearing nothing but that little bikini, and surrounded by a group of men who love to terrorize their victim?”
I was certainly afraid, and when the man in the back came into view and lifted his hand I saw he was holding what appeared to be a rod. Then I realized the instrument he was holding had a flat insignia on the end, and suddenly I knew that this fiend, unlike my captor, had indeed brought a branding iron. This was apparently going to be the scene of torture. I was outnumbered 7-to-1 by a group of fully dressed men, I was wearing nothing but a tight little swimsuit that was so insignificant that even the few square inches of covered skin was in reality exposed, and I was basically immobilized in a position that heightened the vulnerability of my most sensitive body parts.
Of course, this group of fiends was not going to simply leave me on the floor. They once again tied the ropes that were hanging from the hooks to my limbs, and once again pulled me towards the ceiling and secured me so I was hanging in mid-air. And once again, they gagged me when I began pleading for them to stop, so my last chance of summoning assistance was gone. I was doomed.
The first man who stepped into the middle of the group held a whip that contained a single strip of leather at its end, which he wielded with great expertise. When he began swinging it at me he never missing that thin strip between my legs, and he administered numerous stinging blows to the underside of my balls, directly through that flimsy material. I couldn’t help but flinch when the stinging blows came, but I ceased moving otherwise because escape was utterly impossible, and even in between the blows, when he was tickling me, I hardly moved at all.
Each of the men took their turns with their various weapons and with their tickling, and then finally, the man with the branding iron made his way to the center of the room, grinning. He addressed me and asked me if I had ever been branded, and once again I became animated and shook my head left and right, pleadingly, emitting muffled no’s. He also tickled me between the legs and then he drew an X with his fingernails that was centered, again, on the underside of my balls. Then he took the water that had been applied to me previously and poured a few drops onto the branding iron, which immediately sizzled and steamed, thus proving that it was a red-hot instrument. At this point I began to cry, and his face took on a look of mocked pity and he asked one of the others to “have mercy on our poor victim here and tie a blindfold so he doesn’t have to watch himself get branded.”
Someone from behind wrapped some kind of scarf around my eyes, so now I was blindfolded as well as bound and silenced. Needless to say I was inconsolably terrified, and could hardly maintain a sane thought inside my head. I heard some shuffling, and suddenly there was a shocking heat – which immediately turned icy cold – applied to my underside. The assailant had pressed an ice cube to the Speedo! At that moment the entire group started to laugh, and fairly quickly I began feeling multiple hands caressing my body, I felt hot breath in between my legs and hot tongues licking my armpits and tits and toes. As the face between my legs pressed itself into my Speedo, the assailant began sniffing my balls while shoving his tongue into my crack, though the Speedo.
Once I realized that they weren’t going to brand me I was overcome by the fondling – I embraced being helpless against their caresses, and once again I was elevated to a third climactic release. And afterwards they set me free.