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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