Thursday, 19 April 2012

The Great American Road Trip – Part 17 The Maine Bondage Club


I was back in the US, traveling along the coast of Maine. It’s a beautiful part of the work with rugged coastline and cute little towns filled with white clapboard houses. It was the height of autumn, so the colours of the foliage were magnificent. Coming from a country where the native vegetation is evergreen, seeing the mass of autumn colours was just amazing. It also looked a bit spooky and I see where Stephen King got some of his inspirations.

It was time to stop for the night and I found an old style motel in a small town. I headed into the office and was greeted by a very cute desk clerk, Brad.  He was slim with short black hair and brown eyes.  He was wearing black leather jeans and a blue hooded sweatshirt.  He was wearing tall Dehner patrol boots. A black Langlitz Colomia padded jacket leather jacket was hanging off the back of a chair and black crash helmet was sitting on the counter behind him.  It was not the sort of gear I expected a motel clerk to be wearing but it was a truly awesome sight.

Brad spotted my motorcycle leathers and we chatted for a while about motorcycles and my trip across North America.  He set me up with a ground floor room at the back of the motel so it was both quiet and easy to unload my bike.

I had just finished unloading when there was a knock on the door; it was Brad.  He was now wearing his leather jacket and looked hot, dressed head to toe in black leather.  He was carrying a 6 pack – he had finished for the day and asked if I’d like to join him in a beer.  I had no hesitation inviting this leather clad hunk in and soon we were drinking beer and talking about motorcycles.

As we drank and talked I started to feel drowsy…

I woke up and found myself unable to move – I was in a sitting position locked into a metal device known as a cravat.  It consisted of a triangular frame – my ankles were locked into cuffs which were at either end of the short side of the triangle, an iron collar was locked around my neck at the apex of the triangle.  My wrists were locked into cuffs located along the long sides.  The rigid frame meant that I had very little movement.  A short chain connected the iron collar to the wall behind me.  A leather plug gag filled my mouth preventing me from calling out.  I tried to struggle but the rigid frame limited my movement.

I looked around to find I was in windowless concrete room with several other leather clad bikers all in some form of restraint, all of whom were gagged.  I looked around the room at the different restraints…

Opposite me was a blonde haired, blued eyed guy restrained in a metal chair.  He was wearing a black Dainese T Age one piece – his wrists were locked in cuffs attached to the arms, his ankles in cuffs attached to the legs, his neck in an iron collar attached to the back.  He was gagged with a head harness which held a black ball in his mouth.  Our eyes met – there was a look of helplessness. 

Next to him was a brown eyed guy with a number zero haircut.  He was wearing a white Dainese Laguna Seca one piece suit.  His ankles were locked together in cuffs attached to the end of a long bar. At the top of the bar were manacles restraining his wrists and an iron collar.  Like me, a chain connected the iron collar to the wall.  He was gagged with a large red ball gag.  He too had a look of helplessness.

To one side of me was another dark haired guy wearing a blue one piece Vanucci.  He had an iron collar around his neck which had bars coming out from either side which terminated in manacles – the bars held his wrists a couple of feet either side of his neck.  His ankles were in rigid manacles joined by a bar a few inches long.  He was gagged with a black leather plug gag.

To the other side of me a red head in a one piece black and red Dainese Techno.  He was in another set of rigid manacles; his wrists and ankles were locked into manacles along a bar, his wrists in the middle, the ankles outside, a metal stock.  His neck was locked into an iron collar attached to the wall by a chain.  He was gagged with a head harness muzzle gag.

At the end of the room were two more bikers, the first another blonde guy in blue and black Spidi two piece leathers.  His wrists appeared to be chained behind his back, his ankles were in manacles connected by a short chain and he had an iron collar around his neck connected to the wall by a short chain. Like me he was gagged with a leather plug gag.

The other guy at the end of the room had short brown hair and blue eyes. He was wearing black Alpine Stars two piece leathers. His wrists and ankles were in manacles that left him in a standing spread eagle position. He was gagged with a leather muzzle type gag.

I wondered if all the other captives had similar stories to mine and wondered how long they had been here.  For that matter, how long was I going to be here?  I tested my restraints but there was no way I was escaping.  I tried to call out but my cries were muffled by the gag. The feeling of helplessness was making me as horny as hell!

After some time I heard the door to the room open. Brad and an identically leather clad blonde haired guy walked over to me. Brad said “James, I see you’re awake, welcome to our dungeon, James.  As you can see, I have quite a few bikers pass through the motel; we sometimes refer to it as The Hotel California – you can check out any time you like but you can never leave!  Enjoy your stay.”  With that they walked out.  I tried to call out through my gag and struggled against the cravat but it was all in vain.  The others in the room also started to struggle and call through their gags but it was useless, we were trapped here.

Again some time passed before the door opened again. Brad and his blonde haired friend with two other bikers. One was in white one piece Berik leathers, the other was wearing black two piece Ixon leathers. Both were wearing black crash helmets with iridium (mirrored) visors). Brad spoke, “So gentlemen, which of these slaves meets your requirements?”

The two helmeted bikers walked through the room carefully checking us out. They felt each of our crotches and my already hard cock went event harder. They circled the room a few times before stopping in front of me. “We’ll take him.” One of them said. “Please pack him for transport.”

I tried struggling against the cravat, which of course didn’t get me anywhere. I tried to scream for help but the plug gag reduced my screams to “mmmppphhh.”

Brad produced a leather hood which he pulled over my head and laced up tight. It had no openings, except for a couple of nose holes. I was plunged into darkness and it also muffled my hearing. Next I heard the clanking of chains. I was unlocked from the cravat but was pinned down by Brad, his friend and the two bikers. My hands were forced behind my back and locked in place by manacles. An iron collar was locked around my neck and a chain connected the collar to my wrists. I felt more manacles being locked around my ankles.

I was pulled to my feet and led away. Walking was hard due to the manacles around my ankles and not being able to see due to the hood. I wasn’t led very far, I assumed I had been led to the room next door to the one I had been chained up in. A chain was locked to my collar which was locked to the wall behind me. There was less than a metre of chain, which forced me to remain standing. I heard Brad’s voice “don’t go away, the buyers will be back shortly.” I heard a heavy door slam.

While I knew I was helplessly restrained, I still struggled against the chains that now held me against the wall. I wondered what was next for me. I’d had a number of bondage adventures on this trip so far all had turned out well. Was this another of them or had my luck finally run out?

My thoughts were interrupted by the door opening. The chain securing me to the wall was removed and I was led out of the room. I was led down a corridor then up a set of stairs. I felt a cool breeze and then the smell of barbecued meat. My hood was removed and I saw all of the bikers who’d been chained up with me gathered around a barbecue.

Brad introduced me to his boyfriend Arron and the two of them removed my gag and chains.

I was welcomed to the Maine Coast Bondage Club. Their “clubhouse” was an old World War 2 bunker. Brad had spotted me when I arrived at the motel and had got his bondage and biking friends together. They did get a few travelers coming past.

I spent a few more days in the town. The guys showed me many of the wonderful motorcycle roads around Maine and neighbouring states. We would invariably end up back at the bunker where I would get to try another of the irons on.

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