night to remember
You’ve seen the BondageMaster
website, and looked at Bondagezine, just like me. A lot of the stuff is
pretty extreme, and, when I first went out to California, I wasn’t really
sure that Master Jack would be interested in an ordinary guy like me who’s
interested in just, simple “leave me alone”, long-term bondage. Well, I
was wrong. Not only was Master Jack interested in me, he loves bondage,
and loves giving it to guys who need it. He also taught me that what I
wanted from bondage was punishment.
This is my point –
a lot of the scenes you see in Bondagezine and on the site show guys with
big dicks and shooting and so on, and that’s great. In fact, a young friend
of mine went there and shot his load four or five times over a 72-hour
bondage session, and came back for more! His scene was why I went to Master
Jack for the first time – 24 hours – then a 48 hour session, and finally,
this last time, just a couple of weeks ago.
I’m into hogties.
I don’t apologize for it, and I don’t have to explain it. I love being
hogtied, my head in the floor, my mouth gagged, my body writhing uselessly
in tight bondage, with my wrists and ankles locked together. A hogtie makes
me feel like an animal, trussed up, stacked like a piece of meat, ignored,
and having to wait and wait. So, I wrote Master Jack the first time, and
said I was into hogties, and I went out and he hogtied me in various positions
over a 24 hour period. I heaved and moaned and lusted into the hogties,
then, and also the second time I went out.
By the time the third
trip became inevitable (by that I mean my desire to be tied up controlled
all my rational thoughts), Master Jack knew me like a book; in fact, knew
me better about bondage than I did myself. Hell, I’ve been in bondage all
my life, or tying up guys, and a lot of my stuff was published in Bound
& Gagged magazine, published by my friend Bob Wingate. When I was in
the Marine Corps in ’69-71, I not only tied up Marines, but was tied
up by them, and, in two extraordinary cases (the Marine Corps is pretty
homophobic), forced to engage in bondage sex. Well, maybe “forced” isn’t
My point is that I
am very, very experienced, but Master Jack showed me that I was into a
deep, deep level of punishment (which I didn’t know) – not the “slap the
prisoner” punishment, but a long, slow, ultimately degrading punishment.
When he emailed me before my last trip out there, and told me this fact,
which should have been obvious to me, my cock went instantly rock hard,
because it fitted in with what I had been doing with the young friend I
mentioned before – experimenting with Black Solitude.
I told Master Jack
about Black Solitude, and now, I will tell you guys about it. Also, my
experience was cut short – only about 28-30 hours out of an anticipated
48 – because of airline sickness which got progressively worse the 2nd
day. This sickness is another reason why I admire Master Jack. I have been
in the hands of the people at the old Training Center in Missouri (now
the Academy), and other people who have been less than careful. When I
got sick, Master Jack immediately took charge, because some crap
airline food I had eaten was causing problems. He ended the session
– wisely – and I am grateful to him for that. So….if you have doubts about
the professionalism of Master Jack’s dungeon, here’s a testimonial from
someone who’s been there, and wanted to continue, and Master Jack knew
I was ill, and stopped it. Okay – enough about that.
When Master Jack emailed
me about the punishment, and how I wanted it on a deeper level than some
staged “guard slapping prisoner” crap, I erected, hard. lusting, and stiff.
It was some weeks before I was due out at Master Jack’s place, and the
days crept along with leaden feet. Finally, it was two days, and I was
suddenly seized with total, irrepressible panic. I felt like a fly caught
in a spider’s web. My heart pounded, my palms were sweaty, and I was deeply
scared. On the plane flight, I tried to control my panic, but at the airport,
when I arrived, I was sick with tension. Little did I know what awaited
me. It was close to Paradise.
I changed in the men’s
room from my natty blue blazer to Marine Corps sweats, and Marine Corps
boots. I slung my bag over my shoulder, and walked out to the baggage claim.
A van pulled up very soon, and I was curtly ordered to enter the back.
I did so, and the driver and companion sped off. They went to a remote
place, not far, and stopped. The back and side doors opened, and two men
were there, and in a few minutes I was hog-chained, like a fucking pig,
and my mouth taped with black electrical tape. I was stuffed, legs first,
into a canvas sack, like a mail sack; then the van sped off.
For 40 or 50 minutes
I writhed in the hog-chain (a variation of the rope hog-tie), and lusted
into the tape in my mouth. I kept saying to myself, I am getting it, I
am getting it. The van swayed from side to side, and I slid and rolled,
just like the fucking ignored animal I wanted to be. I erected in the canvas
bag, a stiffening hard-on, which I longed to stroke to ejaculation, but
At Master Jack’s dungeon,
I was “stored”, like a piece of meat, hogtied, in a small, tight, caged
cell on a bunk, gagged and hooded. It was very, very hot, and I sweated,
like the fucking pig I wanted to be. I was ignored. Totally ignored. I
erected again, and writhed my hard-on into the bunk. Nothing I did, nothing
I could say, would change the fact that I was “meat”, an “animal”, a hogtied
piece of ignored meat. It was incredible.
From noon on Wednesday
until about 6:00pm Thursday, I was in continuous bondage. I should have
stayed through Thursday night, and both Master Jack and I wanted me to,
but his wiser counsel prevailed, and I know I’ll complete my “journey”
(that’s a code word!) next time.
I was hogtied in different
positions on Wednesday until (I guess) 6:00pm, Wednesday night. Then, I
was hogchained, and shoved into the cage, a 4x4x3 cage in which it is impossible
to be comfortable. From 6:00pm (again, my guess) until long after dark
(10:00pm, again a guess), I was hogchained with my wrists locked in a leather
belt, so that they were just behind my hips, and there was a short chain
from the belt to my ankles. It took me nearly two hours to lust in this
position, learning Master Jack’s definition of “punishment” – slow, incremental,
inevitable. After 2 hours or so, with a total thrill, running through
my entire body, I realized that the slow agony of the painful position,
the impossibility of escaping, the slow, slow torture of the hog-chaining,
was doing exactly what Master jack had said – I was being punished very
very slowly, and inevitably. There was no escape. I almost laughed out
loud in total joy, with this realization.
Then I had to deal
with it. It’s one thing to know that you want punishment over long, long
hours; it’s another thing to endure it. I spent that night totally alone
(usually Master Jack has another person stay in the dungeon at night with
you), totally helpless. Sure, he had a safety procedure, a voice box for
emergencies – Master Jack’s a pro – but I was in 7th heaven.
I hurt, slowly hurt,
my ass, my shoulders, my arms, my legs. The hurt slowly increased throughout
the night, first just discomfort, the pain, then slow, aching pleasurable
agony. And it was pitch dark. No lights, no sounds, no thing. Total Black
I lusted. I am frank
to admit I lusted, which means that throughout the night I had hard-on
after hard-on, and, of course, not able to do anything with them.
I lusted on several levels. First, the Marine Corps. I imagined being in
a real Marine Corps brig, and being treated like a fucking piece of animal
trash. I was promoted quickly when I was in the Marine Corps, and there
were men on base who hated my guts. I imagined them as my captors. Throughout
the long, black hours, wrestling with the inescapable bondage, I lusted
for the United States Marine Corps. Off and on, off and on, heaving my
chest upwards, feeling the tightening of the leather belt around my waits
holding my wrists tight behind my hips, thinking of the Marine Corps. And
deeper….I thought of someone I know…and lusted for him….we’ll can him “Dan”…it’s
just a name…I lusted for Dan…and writhed in Master Jack’s tight bondage,
in the cage, in the dungeon, writhing in slow, slow agony, in slow, slow
Dawn crept up slowly,
and for long hours I watched a tiny patch of light appear in the dungeon.
I had been alone for about 16 hours, hogchained, and in total Black Solitude.
I lusted in the early hours, and prepped my mind for the next 24 hours…
It was definitely a night to remember.
With Master Jack’s
permission, I will be going out to California in the next 2 months or so.
If anyone wants to email me, my address is email@example.com,
and my name, coincidentally with the one whom I love so much, is also Dan.
If you’re experienced
or inexperienced, go to Master Jack’s. He knows what he is doing, and he
is an outstanding Master. My ass will be on the fucking block when I go
again, and I know it!!
I just returned from
an extremely intense, 48-hour session at Master Jack’s dungeon. I call
it the Punishment Block. I had gone in July – last month – but managed
only about 30 hours, until felled by sickness caused by lousy airline food,
probably. Anyway, I wasn’t sick this trip, and was ready.
First off, I am no
amateur at bondage, but even I, with lots of experience, have learned much
from Master Jack. In fact, I have developed a deep respect for him as a
man and as a Master. If you read my previous article – A
Night to Remember – you will know that his qualities of high professionalism,
experience with bondage, and understanding men all combine to make you
want to push yourself past limits you didn’t know you could reach. If you
are a first-timer, go to his dungeon. If you have always dreamed of being
tied up, go to his dungeon. If you’re an experienced guy, go. If you want
rope bondage, chain bondage, leather bondage, hoods, gags, sleep sacks,
whatever – go. Don’t kick yourself later, because you chickened out. Go.
Years ago, I went
a facility in Missouri for bondage. The morning I was to leave, I was terribly
scared, and almost chickened out. I didn’t, and I had 72 hours of varying
kinds of intensive bondage, and particularly my favorite: the hogtie. Since
then, I have had hundreds of hours of bondage in all forms, from love-making
bondage to torture bondage, and everything in between. Deep down inside,
however, as Master Jack taught me, is an intense love for punishment bondage,
a testing of the body and the spirit over a minimum of 24 hours, locked
in a single position, the hogtie. The punishment is not just the bondage
itself, but the slow, slow, slow but incremental increase in your body’s
torture, and the slow wearing effect on your brain and mind. The release,
if you make it to the end, is incredible. You feel exultant, cleansed,
and purified all at once. And the recollection of your bondage and the
sweet taste of self-confidence knowing you made it, provide many hours
of sexual enjoyment.
I left for San Francisco
last Wednesday morning, in a terrific high, scared, challenged, but extremely
excited. Reality would not set in for a while, because the plane flight
is over 5 hours, and I had lots of time to think. Finally, however, we
landed, and I found the men’s room by baggage claim, slipped into a stall,
and changed. I wore Marine Corps sweat pants, a USMC t-shirt, black combat
boots, and Speedos given to me by a friend dearer to me than life itself.
I then nervously, with my heart pounding, and my palms sweaty, and my stomach
twisted up in knots, walked to the exit at baggage claim, and stood on
the sidewalk. Fifteen minutes, I was tightly chained, and being transported
to Master Jack’s punishment block. In my mind, like banner streaming across
the screen, over and over, again and again, were the words “You just bought
it. You’re finished.” I writhed a little in the chaining, feeling the wrists
locked together, the ankles locked together, the whole body now captured,
chained, and finished.
At the facility, I
was taken from the vehicle, hooded, and pushed into the holding tank. The
outside temperature was 101 degrees (the facility is north of San Francisco
and inland, so it gets all the heat and no sea breezes), but inside the
holding tank, the temperature had to be 110 degrees. I had been sweating
on the trip up, now, with the spandex hood, I sweated like a pig. Or a
hog, as in hog tie. After an hour (I guess), this sweaty, chained Marine
(oh yes, I was in the Marine Corps) was taken to the punishment block itself,
and summarily introduced to the cage, where I would spend the next two
days. I had been standing in the holding tank, but now, as I lay hooded
on the bottom of the cage, my wrists were locked with a chain to my ankles.
If my mind had been saying “You’re finished” before, it was screaming those
words now. I had come all the way from Philadelphia to lie on the bottom
of a small steel cage, hogchained & hooded, with absolutely no hope
of escape before sentence was served. My punishment had begun.
I heard the door of
dungeon close, and the lock turned. I was totally alone, in black solitude.
For the next 48 hours or so I remained inside the cage, chained in various
ways. The dungeon’s lights were all turned off, and during the day, I could
see only one sliver of sunlight under the door. It made the black solitude
blacker in a way, because that sliver, the only thing I could see (I was
not hooded the whole time), underscored my imprisonment. The sliver represented
freedom, which I could no more reach than I could escape from the chains
which bound my arms and legs in perpetual bondage.
The hours passed so
slowly, but eventually I saw the sliver of light vanish. It was night time,
and the dungeon was pitch black. I could see nothing. Master Jack returned
with food, and turned the lights on so I could grovel and eat it. He also
taped to the bars of the cage a print of the young man who owns my heart.
He is 24 years old, and incredibly beautiful. The picture showed him tied
up, hooded, naked except for chaps, which did not cover his cock, and fully,
magnificently erect. I salivated over this picture as I ate, and until
Master Jack came back, retrieved the bowls, turned off the lights, and
left me in total blackness, the picture still taped to the cage, but now
invisible. A double torture, but one which Master Jack knew would produce
discernible results. It did. I heaved on the floor of the cage, in unyielding
chained bondage, towards where I thought the picture was. I moaned like
an animal in heat. My body heaved pleasurably in the tight, constrictive
bondage. I lusted for my beloved.
Then came the change.
I came slowly, like an avalanche just beginning, but I came, picking up
speed, until my conscious mind was ripped and torn asunder. My body slowly
reacted differently to the chaining, to the locks on my wrists and ankles,
to the short chain which connected the wrists to the ankles. Suddenly,
I heaved, in desperate, mind-exploding panic. I HAD TO BE FREE. I don’t
know what time it was, or how long I had been tied, my guess is 10 hours,
but the panic came in screaming waves, total desperate fear, and total
desperate need to be free. My mouth was twisted into a rictus of foaming
panic, and it made sounds, some of them words. My throat became tightly
constricted as if someone had shoved an egg into it, I couldn’t breathe,
and I vomited hot bile in small quantities.
Master Jack entered
the dungeon, turning on the lights. He did not unbind me, or even open
the cage. He talked me down and through the panic, and minute by minute
I calmed down. I don’t remember what he said, but the sum and substance
was that I was getting exactly what I wanted and needed, and the journey
had just begun. In a while, he stood up, turned off the lights, and left.
Once again, I was plunged into total darkness, Black Solitude.
All night I dealt
with the bondage, and with the cage. There are three positions you can
get into, in the cage: lying on your right side, lying on your left side,
or forcing your body into a kind of sitting position. There was a permanent
(so it seemed) crease in my back from a cross bar in the cage’s wall, in
which my back settled every time I tried to sit up. Sitting up caused my
ass to ache after a while, lying down caused my upper arms to ache, all
the time the legs and arms and body were screaming for freedom. Sometimes
I slept, exhausted, and awoke sweaty and unaware where I was. When I felt
the steel on my wrists, reality sank in on me. But, eventually, it was
morning, because the little sliver of sunlight appeared under the door,
but I was still in darkness.
The rest of the day
dragged in a kind of horrible, macabre feeling of total desolation, and
a slow seeping into the brain of my abject position, and the unrelenting
steel of my bondage. Then, the second panic hit, without warning. Its outward
symptoms were the same as described above, with the body heaving and lurching,
the twisted mouth forming animal sounds, and some words, but this time
it was worse, because the cage had shrunk down to the size of my body.
In other words, I was hit not just with panic but with claustrophobia.
The noises I formed in my throat were not loud, because someone had again
jammed an egg in there, and again I vomited hot bile, and sweat burst all
over me, like the sudden upshot of a fountain. It was Ossa upon Pelion:
the treble weight, though, of the locked dungeon, the locked cage, the
locked body. There was too much of it, too much tightness, too much restriction
on my body, I heaved, lunged, and slammed, and I gutturally made sounds.
Once again, Master
Jack brought calm into the dungeon. I was not released, nor did he even
unlock the cage. Once again, he stilled me, calmed me, made me dig down
deeper and deeper into my reserves, my resiliency, my strength of mind.
Then, the lights were off, and I was alone in Black Solitude. I had one
more panic attack later that night, but it was just a brief, claustrophobic
attack, and didn’t last long. What I want to describe now is the feeling
of warm exultancy, triumph, cleansing, and release.
It was now the second
night, and the sliver of light was gone. I had been fed, groveling to eat,
lusting for the photograph of my beloved friend. Then, the lights went
off, and I was in total blackness, Black Solitude. I lay for a while, thinking
(you do a lot of thinking when you’re chained for 48 hours). Then my body
started a slow, rapturous delight in its chained position, in its aching
muscles, in the burning agony of exhausted human muscle against unforgiving
steel. Yes, I lusted in the bondage. I fantasized I was in the Marine Corps
brig, and that the guards had been taunting me, jeering at me, calling
me a faggot. My body slowly writhed on the floor of the cage, sensuously
enjoying the aching and the relentless steel, sensuously loving the pitch
black night into which I had fallen. Because I knew I was winning. I guessed
I had about 16 hours to go, but 16 is a pittance compared to 48 hours.
I could 16 hours on my head. A warm exultant triumphant feeling started
seeping into me. I smelled the stench of my body, the many times I had
sweated into the USMC sweats, the sweat drying, then new sweat reawakening
the old sweat. My face scratched its 2-days’ growth on the bottom of the
cage. For hours I slowly writhed, masturbating my entire body in the bondage,
on the bottom of the cell, until finally I slept.
When I awoke, there
was the sliver of light under the door. My heart leapt up with a kind of
savage joy. I almost called out in fierce manhood happiness, fierce man-stench
joy. Locked like an animal for 48 hours in total darkness, but now, I knew,
there were hours left in my sentence numbered in single digits. Nothing
would stop me now.
Later, finally, I
was released, grubby, stinking, dirty. I knelt, and performed. Then, I
showered, shaved, and rejoined the human race.
I write all of this
because of the experience, but also because if it hadn’t been for Master
Jack, I wouldn’t have made it, wouldn’t have tasted the fierce white-hot
manhood triumph. His professionalism and expertise brought me through panics
of the most horrible kind, and kept me focused on my Journey (capital J
for a secret reason!), and when I won, the exultation was indescribable.