January 13, 2014

a little story

Sir orders me to get naked and use the metal plug. After I get it in, he tells me to put on the kneepads, and kneel in the living room next to the TV. I hear the clanking of metal - it surely means he'll put me in irons, but which ones? Soon I feel the metal around my neck and wrists. To finish it off, he makes me wear a hood. "You're going to be our little gimp tonight aren't you? Spread your legs and bend over so we can see that plug in your arse. Good. Now stay like that."

As Sir and his boyfriend watch TV, I wonder for how long I have to be in this position, as it's far from comfortable. It would have been even worse if I didn't have the kneepads, but still, it's a lot of stress on my knees and back. I try to keep the same position but it's almost impossible, it's not long before I start sweating and being quite uncomfortable.

"Not easy is it? But you can stay like that a little longer." I try to motivate myself by thinking I'm suffering for Sir's entertainment and that's the way it should be. Pain is submission. I feel my cock getting hard from that line of thinking, but it is only a fleeting distraction.
"Gimp boy! Come over here". Finally. He releases me from the irons and I'm allowed to rest my head in his lap. For a few short minutes at least. "Up." Sir starts playing with my nipples, increasing the intensity until I moan. "Oh we've only just begun, gimp. And shut the fuck up, my boyfriend is trying to watch TV".

He continues tormenting my nipples, and I can't help crying out a second time. "You little bitch, you're going to pay for that. Get up, and bend over the sofa." I obey and it's not long before I feel the sting of the cane on my arse. I try to stay quiet but a hit on that tender spot where my upper leg and arse cheeks meet, makes me cry out. I apologise and he stops. Not saying a word he pulls me up and stuffs his underwear in my mouth. He pushes me back over the sofa for another assault, this time my legs and back aren't spared either.

"What do you think, has he had enough as a punishment for disturbing you?" His boyfriend, ever the one teasing me and getting me into trouble, replies "no, just a bit more...". Again the cane and my skin interact. The cane wins.

After the assault is over, the wrist and neck irons are put on me again, and I'm guided back to the place next to the tv. "Do you like our improved gimp? Those red stripes on his skin are all the fashion now I hear."
At the next commercial break, I'm being told to face them. I see Sir approaching me with heavy clover clamps in his hand. "We're going to decorate our gimp a little more, hmm?" He plays with my nipples a bit before applying the clamps. He closes the zipper on the hood so now I'm blind and oblivious of what will come next.

I feel him fidgeting with the clamps - I'm guessing he is putting a bit of string on them so he can pull on the clamps while he's sitting in the sofa. My guess is right. Every so often there's a pull on the clamps and every time an involuntary noise escapes my underwear-gagged mouth. They both find this highly amusing.

After a while, the random pulling stops, and I hear some rather suspicious but familiar sloppy sounds... they are enjoying themselves and forgot all about me. That is the way it should be, I think, I am just an object, a toy, something that exists only for their entertainment. They use me when they feel like it. They don't use me when they have better things to do. That is my lot in life.

It's not easy being a gimp. But it can be damn horny.

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