Notice to readers: Most men can't take it this rough...rough not so much from the physical standpoint (albeit demanding), but rough from the psychological point. exMarine Dan can, if forced to. I am not suggesting that you try such a scene as this one unless you KNOW you can handle it. And in order to do one such as this, you'll have to convince me first.

 
A 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 right word.
 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 couldn’t.
 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 Solitude.
 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 punishment.
 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 fosterchow@aol.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!!


PART 2
Black Solitude

 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.