TftR: Home Invasion (when Mateo met Julian) (M/M) - *08.12.24 COMPLETE (FOR NOW)*

[Straitjacketed]

Have you ever looked at a couple - especially a kink couple - and wondered how they met?

If you’re familiar with the collaborative stories I’ve co-written with @DeeperThanRed , you’ll be aware that they take place in the same shared universe – which we’ve decided to call the Richardverse because a) the ginger bear has appeared in all of them, and b) he's probably narcissistic enough to find that nomenclature fitting!

We saw Richard hook up with his spicy boyfriend Lance in Nine Circles and again in Lust in France and, more recently, he was the titular Svengali of The Dungeon Master. What perhaps wasn’t apparent was that the other two couples taking part in that ill-fated D&D game – Stuart & Kaiden and Mateo & Julian – also had fleshed-out backstories.

Here, then, ARE those backstories! This one features outwardly "Alpha" businessman Mateo’s first encounter with the more diffident (but highly resourceful) Julian. As with its companion tale, this account started off as a back-and-forth role-play between two writers of kink, with plot development less important to us than exploring the characters' reactions to specific bondage situations – maybe a little more introspective than usual but we hope at least some of you enjoy reading this stuff as much as we enjoyed writing it.

As ever, my parts of the narrative are in default font, @DeeperThanRed's are in red.


Tales from the Richardverse: Home Invasion (when Mateo met Julian)

(Co-written with @DeeperThanRed)

Mateo:
Part-Italian, swarthy, dark-eyed, dark-haired, consciously gym-fit. Has a short, well-trimmed beard and a reasonable covering of body hair. Enthusiastic about bondage equipment but still self-conscious about trying it, especially with others present. Outwardly successful (if stressed) businessman.

Julian:
Pale complexion, dark brown hair worn in medium-length waves. Short, with a medium build, has a fair bit of stubble/leg hair. Can come across as shy but inventive, sometimes to the point of recklessness. Socially isolated graphic designer.

---

Mateo
A doctor friend once told me there are seasons to testosterone – a sort of yearly tide – and when that tide is high, we get an erotic itch we just have to scratch.

That might explain the week I’m having.

On the face of it, I have it all: in my thirties, I’m in a position of authority, I refer to myself as “modestly wealthy”, I’m gym-muscled, fit my clothes well, hell, I even have a good singing voice! It’s fair to say I have a decent sense of my own value on that most merciless of stock markets, the gay male social scene. I attract plenty of admiring glances and the occasional tentative approach, but I'm generally not interested.

When it comes to indulging my hobbies, I'm money-rich and time-poor – but this week, an unexpected five days of leave finds me at something of a loose end. I’ve browsed a load of my favourite websites, flexed the plastic online (making unwise purchases that have yet to arrive) and I’m still horny.

That's how I come to be here in this artfully-lit studio/playroom – an expansion of the home gym set-up in my garage – considering an occasion pastime of mine: putting myself into bondage. On such occasions, I film myself with a top-grade camera and post some of the better results online (carefully editing my face out), where they garner a reasonable following.

My gear collection fills several cupboards, trunks and boxes and doesn’t get an airing nearly enough. I tell myself I just don’t have the time to go out and meet guys into the same kinks as myself. It means a lot of my clothing and equipment goes unused, my closets smelling of new leather, rubber, practical and fetish gear… all manner of paraphernalia that rarely sees the light of day.

The most recent piece of leather is a hood I impulse-bought the last time I had a horny week and have tried on only a couple of times. Classic case of something being sexy as hell in the imagination, not so much in the cold light of day. Padded all over, nose holes only, fastens with laces and a five-strap “security harness” that can be locked in place to prevent removal. Too severe for me, I decided. The leather smells great but is stiff from lack of use.

I step out of the shower and enjoy the novelty of being naked this late in the morning. I’ve been thinking a spot of self-gagging is in order and consider my various boxes and drawers of “ingredients”. What, I ponder, should I wear?

(In my eagerness to play, I fail to realise the back door is ajar…)

I set up a couple of ring-lights and adjust the camera to an angle I know will capture my lower face but make it easier to remain anonymous.

I then consider the box marked TOYS, taking a pair of handcuffs from the top and placing them to one side. It’s not a cuffs kind of day.

Am I in the mood for chastity or lockable shorts? Nah, not today. I select a basic leather jock. Not too restrictive.

Next-up: the box marked GAGS. Something a little DIY today, I think. From the box, I take a sponge – the regular washing-the-car variety. This one’s unused, just out of the packet.

Sponge mouth-stuffing works well for me but this new one’s a little larger than I’m used to. No biggie, I can trim it down with scissors. I try it for size first, pushing it back (but not too far back) and out to the sides so it pads out my cheeks. It compresses down and I decide it would be a shame to cut it up. I reckon I can handle it as it is, at least for the duration of a quick wank.

The sponge packs my jaw so completely that I can’t quite close it. I take two packs of medical gauze from the box, wad them up and use that to fill out the front of my mouth and cover my lips.

I use the narrow black electrical tape first. I have a system: two strips to make a big X over my mouth and then I add some shorter ones vertically from just under my nose to beneath my chin. Then a few turns around, front to back, front to back.

The second roll is wider, 2 inches, good old silver-grey duct tape. It goes half a dozen wraps around, covering the lower part of my face.

The 3-inch surgical tape is white and spongy. It isn’t strictly necessary but then none of this is necessary. The surgical stuff’s hard to source, so only a couple of rounds before I cut and smooth it down. It’s super-sticky and feels really tight. The tape pushes the gauze and sponge further back. It extends over my ears a little, muffling my hearing.

I take a moment to check I can still swallow around it. I can.

As is always the case when I start, I’m tempted to go even further. I peruse a possible next “ingredient”: an open face rubber hood, the sort seen on old-school diving drysuits. It’s unworn and I have little experience in it, but a layer of rubber appeals: it would likely make it harder for me to dislodge the tape. It occurs to me that I could put both hands in to widen the neck so the whole thing could be stretched over my head without dragging at the layers of tape already there. I could then secure the hood with more of that black electrical tape.

Alternatively, I could skip the hood and just add more of the electrical tape or go back to the duct tape, maybe make a gauze-and-tape blindfold for myself.

The thoughts alone are making me horny and, although I know I’m going to want out as soon as I make myself come, it’s increasingly difficult to resist. Already, the three layers of tape make up one of the most effective self-gags I’ve ever made and that adds to my horniness.

Moaning a little, I close my eyes. Inevitably, my fingers inch down toward my jock.

Julian
In retrospect, this whole experience was a self-fulfilling prophecy. In some poetic coincidence, none of it would have happened if I weren’t a fan of that channel.

During college, I was sure getting my own house and job would secure my place in the world and I could stop worrying, using my free time to have all the fun I want. Turns out, life’s not so glamorous. Two years later and one graphic design major under my belt only got me online gig jobs that force me to stay at home all day.

Speaking of home, stubbornly refusing to return to my hometown where being out is not an option, I stay far from anyone I know. Without sufficient friends or money to join the scenes, I entertain my unique sense of intimacy through the internet.

This is to say, I spend a lot of time looking at gay bondage sites and channels. Sure, gagged hunks are a plus but what I really enjoy is the bizarre sense of control I feel when looking at the videos of men who are helpless in their bonds when I’m not. It makes a shabby twunk like me feel some semblance of confidence.

While waiting for feedback on my latest design, I’m busy watching the latest video of my favorite uploader: a mysterious man who never streams and seemingly has no need for money, judging by his lack of paid subscription plans. Despite never seeing his face, I have a ton of embarrassing fantasies about Mr Tall, Dark, and Handsome.

As I admire the way his self-bondage roping has improved from the first video I watched, the bell rings. I sigh and pause the video right as the uploader briefly walks off-camera, giving me a good view of his set, another thing I’ll never have.

Turns out it’s a delivery receipt for my next-door neighbor, not even my problem. And it’s for… a “hood”? Come on Julian, get your mind out of the gutter, I chastise myself. It might be a cover for his car or something as, oddly, that never seems to be inside his garage.

I take the receipt, put on some pants, and walked up to my neighbor’s house with a smile on my face. I don’t expect an award but maybe I can chat a little with him a little. If nothing, he’s quite easy on the eyes and I can use having someone on the block I speak with.

Also, my neighbor’s residence is easily the biggest and most fancy on our block; my own place is sort of squeezed in at the back of his.

I knock a few times, but nobody comes to the front door – or the back. That’s weird, he can’t be away, his car is right here. Did something bad happen? Gathering my courage, I call out his name and sheepishly move around the lavish house to the rear.

Not a soul in sight. Right when I began to worry, thinking I’ll have to call the cops, I saw the garage door open slightly. What a relief. He’s just in his mancave, probably working out with earbuds or something. Holding the receipt like a white flag, I push the door open and step inside.

“Hey, sorry for intruding, I think I got this mail by accident and-”

To be continued...

[gag1195]

Y'all are non-stop! Not that I'm complaining! I love your collaborative works and getting so many all at once is like Christmas!

[blackbound]

Love a good stumbling in on a compromising situation!

[Guardianbound]

Yay! Keep those printing presses running. Love more collab stories from the two of you.

[Straitjacketed]

Thanks to those of you who've voted in the poll and/or commented: @gag1195, @blackbound and @Guardianbound. I'm also going to tag people who previously commented on Richardverse stories and who I think might like this one (if you want to be untagged in these updates, just let me know): @KidBlink, @KidnappedCowboy, @Windrunner, @Wedgieboy69, @_zin_, @CaptiveDan, @Bradstick and @Croup.

Conversely, if you do want to be tagged when I update these stories, drop a comment!


Tales from the Richardverse: Home Invasion (when Mateo met Julian) - part 2

(Co-written with @DeeperThanRed)

Mateo
Was that a noise? This place is pretty well soundproofed in both directions - and my ears are a little muffled by the final layer of tape - so I pause only momentarily.

Nah, it's nothing.

It's enough time for me to remember the handcuffs I put aside earlier. I'm not really a fan of cuffs, they don't allow the same amount of struggle as rope, tape or leather, but they're probably the safest form of self-bondage - especially when gagged this severely.

Okay, I decide, maybe I can stretch this scene out a little longer by keeping my hands away from my crotch. I check the key works, place it on the tabletop in front of me and fit the first cuff in place.

Actually, let's make it a little harder on myself. From TOYS, I pull a simple little blindfold of leather, just the one elastic strap. I slip it easily over my eyes.

Now: shall I cuff hands in front or hands behind?

Julian
“Holy shit!”

My first thought is, “hey, this is a sex dungeon,” which is followed immediately by “wait, this is a sex dungeon I recognize!”

The interior light, the equipment boxes, the soundproofed walls… I was just watched a video filmed in this place! And right in front of me, there’s the star of the show:

You’re standing nearly naked, your jock-clad body exactly as I remember from mere minutes ago. I can’t see your face clearly due to a blindfold and a gag that covers most of your face, but there’s no mistaking those pecs!

And what a gag that is! My neighbor – who’s apparently a secret bondage streamer – knows his job because even from several feet away, I can clearly see how well-packed everything is by the smooth, strained look of the tape around your cheeks and lips.

Judging by the bulging front of your jock and the moan that escapes from your mouth right as you cuff one of your hands - which I interrupted - I notice that you’re enjoying this. My hot, hunky neighbor is not an alpha top but a bondage bunny!

I also notice something else: you haven’t registered me coming in here. The sight of your godly (at least compared to mine) body in all its glory and the shock of the bondage made my voice die in my throat. You move your head around as if you can see and you almost give me have a heart attack by reaching toward your blindfold… but then you just go on with what you’re doing.

My mind is racing. What should I do? Just put the mail somewhere and leave? Get out and knock harder to warn you? Stay here and watch like a coward? That’s when I realize:

You’re already halfway bound. I know you live alone. You can’t call for help. You can’t even see me. The man of my dreams, who I’d never dreamt of even meeting, has presented himself to me on a silver platter.

I have no intention of forcing myself onto you but if nothing else, I want this moment to last a bit longer. So maybe my actions can be pardoned as I sneak behind you as quietly as possible, gently take the free cuff away from your indecisive fingers and snap it around your free wrist!

You’re bigger than me and even when you’re handcuffed, I don’t want to take my chances in a fight with you, so I move quickly. I see some duct tape knocked onto the floor and make a dive for it. As you struggle to understand what’s going on, I wrap my arms and legs around your ankles and begin to wind tape around them.

I know this won’t hold but it’s my best bet to prevent you from escaping as I check around for stronger restraints and then – then I can work out what to do next.

Mateo
Hands behind, I decide.

A little riskier but the risk is a calculated one. With my uncuffed hand, I do a quick check of the table surface in front of me – rubber dive hood, rolls of tape, safety scissors, handcuff key – then move it behind me, fingers fumbling for the dangling cuff.

Where is that cuff?

SNAP

A ratcheting around my free – suddenly no-longer-free – wrist.

My body reacts before my mind, a spike of adrenaline shooting through my system, kicking fight-or-flight into gear. I jolt forward out of my chair, rising and half-turning knocking a role of duct tape onto the floor.

“Nnmmghh!” I half-gasp and half-mewl, the sponge and gauze seeming to soak up my reaction. Instinctively, I want to reach up and claw the tape off and down, spit everything out… but most of all, I want this blindfold off.

Get a grip, Mateo. When your air intake is restricted to your nose, blind panic can be dangerous.

I have the presence of mind to reach behind me to the table, groping for the key, but I tangle with the chair legs and lose my balance.

Suddenly, the wind is literally knocked out of me by a body on top of mine, pinning my legs.

“Nnnnmmmgghh!” I remonstrate, inwardly cursing the effectiveness of the layers around my mouth, stopping me explaining, bargaining, pleading with my unseen attacker.

When your weight is off me, I turn over so I’m facing upwards, hopefully in your direction. I realise my legs are being bound with… tape? I can feel the adhesive pulling slightly at my leg hairs as I struggle to be rid of it.

I shake my head vigorously. If I can get the blindfold off, I can see and confront my assailant and, more importantly, establish the whereabouts of that handcuff key.

Julian
After I make sure you won’t get up, I quickly grab another roll of tape from the table behind me. My first priority should be to avoid giving you a chance to fight back. If you hadn’t fallen, I doubt I could even have taped your legs without you kicking me into next week.

I hold your head under one arm and wind four rounds of surgical tape over your blindfold, securing it in place. With your hands trapped beneath you, you can still put up one hell of a struggle but it’s not enough to fend me off.

After I’m done, I roll you face down and jump back, trying to catch my breath. I look around, using any visual cues to plan what I can do next. What can I do? What can you do?

The door! I rush to it and turn the lock. Now, it’s time to pounce when you least expect it.

I circle around you, taking advantage of your struggle to get up and remove your blindfold. This is the real thing! Not just you physically shaking your head and moaning to the camera, but your sweaty, semi-naked body is convulsing against the cuffs and tape, desperately looking for an escape from the prison you put yourself in.

Then I see the drysuit hood. Perfect! Circling your thrashing body, I take the hood and force it over your head, with the small oval opening surrounding your face and leaving your nose as the only visible part. Now there’s less risk of you removing your blindfold or gag and it’s harder for you to hear me.

I jump back and grab the roll of duct tape before you can get up and retaliate. What’s next?, I think in panic. You can’t get the handcuffs off without the keys, which I spot on the table and pocket. I should get the rest of your legs so you can’t kick me or rip through the tape with your powerful thighs.

I lift your ankles by the tape around them and drag you a few feet back (which is, in itself, a formidable task – you’re heavy!). With duct tape, I secure them to the leg of the fallen, heavy chair.

With your legs lifted and your back to the floor, you can’t squirm that much and I use this chance to wrap tape all around your moderately hairy legs. I know I need a lot to hold you down so I don’t skim on the roll while mummifying the muscular shins and thighs.

What the hell am I doing? I’m invading and kidnapping someone in his own house! Well, but he enjoys it, right? Is it really a crime when he initiated it? …yeah, but I can think about that later.

After I’m done with your legs, I leave you to wriggle and take a quick look at one of the open boxes around. I need something I can use to restrain your upper body without uncuffing you.

What do I find...?

To be continued...

[blackbound]

So Mateo has no idea who it is yet... hot for us, less so for him!

[Guardianbound]

Hot scenario. Mateo sure has a big heart to get together with Julian after this interaction

[Straitjacketed]

Hot scenario. Mateo sure has a big heart to get together with Julian after this interaction

Or big Stockholm Syndrome.

[KidBlink]

Very nice.

[KidnappedCowboy]

Sorry it has taken me sometime to comment.

I love the collaboration between authors...wonderful perspectives.

The story is hot...and, of course, Julian will come out on top over Mateo...brains always trump brawn!

[gag1195]

Gotta respect Julian simply going for it. Thankfully, we know it works out for the couple, which makes this scenario hotter as one of the strangest meet-cute stories!

[Straitjacketed]

Thanks to those of you who've taken the time to voted in the poll and/or comment: @gag1195, @blackbound and @Guardianbound. I'm also tagging people who previously commented on Richardverse stories and who I think might like this one (if you want to be untagged in these updates, just let me know): @KidBlink, @KidnappedCowboy, @Windrunner, @Wedgieboy69, @_zin_, @CaptiveDan, @Bradstick and @Croup.

Conversely, if you do want to be tagged when I update these stories, drop a comment and let me know!


Tales from the Richardverse: Home Invasion (when Mateo met Julian) - part 3

(Co-written with @DeeperThanRed)

Mateo
At first, I think I’m being choked so I throw myself into a frenzied struggle, grunting and writhing.

It takes effort for you to wrap even one round of surgical tape around my eyes, let alone four, but you persist and, when you finally release my head, my nose and a horizontal strip of skin are all that punctuate the mass of spongy white adhesive.

The straining and squirming – with limited airflow – has left me panting and not a little dizzy and I lie still for a moment or two face down, recovering. I don’t immediately realise the source of the tightness on the top half of my face and continue to moan and shake my head frantically. I need to get this off me.

What the holy fuck?! A further clinging tightness and a familiar smell as (what I immediately recognise as) the drysuit hood descends over me, heavy rubber snapping into position around my neck.

You positioned the hood so the opening is where it would be if I was simply going cold-water diving so there’s an oval of white with my nose in the centre, surrounding by smooth shiny black, the most abstract of androids. You’re tempted for a moment to grab the electrical tape and run it around and around, blotting out the white, but you hold back, watching me get to grips with the fact that a) I now can’t remove the blindfold or gag, and b) whoever my attacker is, he actually thought to stop me doing that.

Even more disorientated, I have no idea where you are in the room or even if you’re still here – until I realise you’re taping my legs up to something heavy. The chair? I thrash and kick but too late, they’re being immobilised yet further. In desperation, I twist around, trying to grasp and rip the tape with my cuffed hands.

You glance at the boxes marked TOYS and GAGS, seeing a mix of the utilitarian (rolls of every kind of tape under the sun, sponges, bandannas and soft-looking ropes) and the exotic (strappy-looking muzzles, mouthpieces and less recognisable items made of leather, rubber and metal, some with their own keys, some apparently with electrical components).

You see another box, over by a set of cupboards. It’s marked RESTRAINTS and inside you find the same mix of the prosaic (hanks of varying thicknesses of rope, lengths of chain and padlocks of all sizes) and the more novel (wristlets, anklets, collars and belts of thick hide, some looking like medical-issue, some a more sinister shiny black, bristling with lockable buckles, D-rings and attachment points). Everything looks brand new, with little if any wear.

On a whim, you open the closet itself, wall storage with a double row of what at first looks like the wardrobe of a dedicated motorcyclist (leather trousers, chaps, jackets, coats, one-piece suits, gloves and a row of tall boots) then a diver (heavy rubber suits and waders but also thinner, finer-gauge catsuits and leotards in a range of colours) then a deep sea trawlerman (suits, boots, raincoats and capes of heavy oilskin in shades of dayglo yellow and orange) and finally shades into the distinctly fantastical. You spot an asylum-type straitjacket in new-looking leather, a suit that appears to lace the wearer tightly inside and a number of bags. One or two seem to be standard (albeit Arctic grade) sleeping bags, others look like they’ve been designed to hold a less willing occupant...

Essentially, you have stumbled across an Aladdin's cave of barely used bondage, a veritable cornucopia of fetish.

And that's just one cupboard...

Julian
I’d say I feel like a kid on a Christmas evening, but I never had such a fancy one.

Your garage is practically overflowing with bondage equipment that I don’t think I ever saw you use in your streams all that much. You can package an entire brigade with those!

Unfortunately, my options are limited. If you were willing, I could take my time strapping restraints at only the essential places, using them as decorations that accentuate your well-built body. Currently, though, I have to work with what I have, avoiding untying you as much as possible as I’m not sure I can stuff you back into your restraints.

However, this also has its own charm. Sure, it’s a little terrifying to practically capture a man against his will but the more I restrain you, the more I feel confident about the power I have over you. Plus, it’s not like this is permanent. I’m just going to keep you from moving around too much before we clear things up. Yep.

Anyway, the first box I check is not something I can immediately use, given that you already gagged yourself pretty good but I take some rope to use it later, along with a locked muzzle. Just in case. I also pocket a chastity cage and some nipple suckers.

Before getting sidetracked, I check the restraints box, the one I need the most. I pick some belts, some chains, a harness, and a padlocked collar. I longingly look at an armbinder. You’d look great in that but it’s not necessary right now.

In the closet, I find a variety of clothes that I want to play dress-up with you but most importantly, I come across a weird sort of sleeping bag made of neoprene, with laces and buckles all the way through its front. That’s what I need to render a hunk like you immobile.

One part of me wants to check every nook and cranny and fantasize about my findings but I show a Herculean restraint and go back to tying you up. To my panic, you're busy trying to pick the tape around your legs with your fingers and I can’t have that.

I flip you laying face-down once again, pinching your nipples when you protest. Taking the duct tape, I begin to wrap it around your hands. It’s unrewarding when there’s nothing to prevent you from moving your fingers but with your hands cuffed, I can just keep using more tape and turn them into useless mittens. It won’t hold for long but it’s better than nothing.

Then, with the leather harness, I haphazardly pull and tie the buckles around your bouncy chest. Once it’s done, it’s a lot easier to attach leather wrist cuffs to your elbows and use the rope to keep them close to your upper back. Then, it’s a matter of reinforcing the tape around your legs with rope and wrapping tape around your arms to press them to your torso. I can’t say that my hands never gratuitously grope your pecs or jock-strap-supported ass in the meantime.

When I’m done, I sit with a relaxed sigh, thanking the knot training I took as a boy scout. Finally, I’m not in immediate danger of getting tables turned against my scrawny ass. Now I can take your gag off and just talk with you.

I look at your well-crafted gag and think it’d be a shame to remove that immediately. Instead, I try to calm things down. I lean towards you, far enough that you can’t headbutt me and say “I’m not here to hurt you.”

Mateo
My mind is reeling. What kind of burglar puts not only tape but a diving hood on the occupant of the house he’s burgling?

Even in the midst of it, a part of me answers: what kind of house occupant gags and blindfolds himself ready for the burglar?

The sudden focus on my nipples is a shock and I stop trying to reach for the tape on my feet, attaching me to the chair-leg. Feeling more tape going around my cuffed hands shocks me further, so much so that I resist only belatedly and not as much as I ought to.

When I hear buckles rattle and feel a progressive tightness around and below my pectorals, my mind goes into overdrive. The assailant is focusing not on the house – not on stealing my possessions – but on me. What the fuck?!

I put up more resistance to the leather straps going around my biceps but with tape all over my hands and hard metal cuffs still cutting into my wrists, it’s a matter of time. To be honest, I’m still distracted by trying to work out what’s going on. When you add tape and rope, I’m almost resigned; at some point, you’ll leave and I’ll have to free myself.

I’m lying on my side, trying to hear enough through the surgical tape and rubber to determine if you’re still here (and whether I can start working on my bonds in earnest) when you say, “I’m not here to hurt you”.

What?

I strain to hear more.

Julian
I try to gather my thoughts. I never intended to hurt or scare you. I just want to… well, time to admit it.

“I just want to tie you up. Like you do to yourself.” God, I’m sure I sound like a creepy stalker but in my defense, I didn’t even know that I lived right next to my online crush.

With you unable to see my face or recognize my voice (it's a quiet neighborhood and we never really talked), I feel weirdly at ease about speaking the truth.

“I never had a chance to use the kind of stuff you have and you seem like you can’t apply most of these on yourself.” I wet my lips. “How about we make a deal? I’ll tie you up with your stuff and if you manage to get out, I’ll just leave and never come back.”

I wait for your to make response. Meanwhile or if your answer is positive, I’ll apply leather ankle cuffs to your ankles and replace your metal wrist cuffs with leather ones. Rather than using chains, I clasp their locks together so that they have no slack between them but the material protects you from friction. Similarly, I wound surgical tape around your individual knees to make them cozier.

Now that your bonds are comfortable for the long term, I look around to see for… aha! Your ID.

“Mateo, huh?” I smile. “That’s a cool name.” And you’re older than I thought. You must be taking good care of yourself.

Back to bondage, I decide to use leather for important bits and then package you with tape to restrain your muscles. For this, I first tape a long belt and put it around your torso (this time, it’s a lot easier when I can use your harness to pull you) and arms, cinching it tightly and using rope to attach it to your harness. Now, there’s no way your arms don’t stay glued to your body.

Next, something not so useful but makes my heart race at the sight of it. A posture collar with a large D-ring in front of it. “This should protect your neck. I’m doing it for you,” I say, more for my sake than yours, and start to put it on you.

To be continued...

[blackbound]

"If your answer is positive" As if Mateo has a real choice! What's Julian going to do, just let him go?

Love the hand taping as always, it's such a great way to frustrate someone.

[_zin_]

What a shock for Mateo when suddenly his free hand was cuffed. It was great that Julian tries to calm him by saying he just wants to tie him up. Something Mateo really desires.

One day someone will ask, "So how did you guys meet?" Hahaha...

[gag1195]

The slow and methodical exchanging of restraints to the more comfortable and more secure long term restraints, even before getting Mateo's answer, is such a great effect. it really is a "damned if you do, damned if you don't" situation for Mateo!

[Straitjacketed]

"If your answer is positive" As if Mateo has a real choice! What's Julian going to do, just let him go?

IKR?

Love the hand taping as always, it's such a great way to frustrate someone.

I think that, by coincidence, simultaneous hand-taping is going on both in this story and the Stu/Kaiden narrative!

[DeeperThanRed]

What a shock for Mateo when suddenly his free hand was cuffed. It was great that Julian tries to calm him by saying he just wants to tie him up. Something Mateo really desires.

One day someone will ask, "So how did you guys meet?" Hahaha...

I feel like their meeting is almost orthodox among their friend group.

Otherwise, they could just say that Julian was passing a parsel to Mateo and gave him a hand as he was a bit tied up at the moment!

The slow and methodical exchanging of restraints to the more comfortable and more secure long term restraints, even before getting Mateo's answer, is such a great effect. it really is a "damned if you do, damned if you don't" situation for Mateo!

Haha, yeah, Julian loves giving Mateo non-options.

[Guardianbound]

Julian is really following his heart with this one. Love at first sight? Time to keep him bound until he likes you back

[Straitjacketed]

Thanks to everyone who's voted in the poll and/or commented: @gag1195, @blackbound and @Guardianbound. I'm also tagging people who previously commented on Richardverse stories and who I think might like this one (if you want to be untagged in these updates, just let me know): @KidBlink, @KidnappedCowboy, @Windrunner, @Wedgieboy69, @_zin_, @CaptiveDan, @Bradstick and @Croup.

Conversely, if you do want to be tagged when I update these stories, drop a comment and let me know!


Tales from the Richardverse: Home Invasion (when Mateo met Julian) - part 4

(Co-written with @DeeperThanRed)

Mateo
“I just want to tie you up. Like you do to yourself.”

It’s hard to make sense of that. Are you, a house burglar, acknowledging you stumbled upon me out of dumb luck right at the moment I got myself tied up, and couldn’t resist opportunistically joining in the fun?

(It hasn’t even unconsciously clicked with me that you might be referring to my uploaded self-bondage videos.)

“I never had a chance to use the kind of stuff you have, and you seem like you can’t apply most of these on yourself. How about we make a deal? I’ll tie you up with your stuff and if you manage to get out, I’ll just leave and never come back.”

Inside the tape-and-rubber-scented blackness, my adrenaline still spiking, this seems even more fantastical, and I struggle to parse it. The “stuff” you’re talking about it… all the gear stored in my playroom? Holy shit, how much of it have you seen? Do you actually know how to apply it?

And a “deal”?! You’ve already got me tied up and I know I can get free in time, once you leave me alone. Maybe that’s what you’re talking about? Yeah, I decide, you’re saying you’re going to leave me tied up like this in my own gear while you burgle the place and when I get out, you’ll be long gone.

All things considered that seems like a good option. My insurance will cover whatever you steal, and it seems like you don’t intend to harm me, just make sure I don’t interrupt you while you make your getaway.

Tentatively, I nod.

Having made a deal I (thought I) understood, I’m confused when you start changing or adding to my restraints. My legs are (presumably) untaped from the chair and I can feel straps being buckled around them. I try not to panic that you’ve been exploring my RESTRAINTS box and attempt, instead, to identity exactly which leather restraints you’re using – that you’ve used so far – whether they’re the calfskin-lined padded ones, the lockable ones, the heavy-duty prison set where two thicknesses of leather sandwich a core of hardened steel that can’t be cut without power tools…

When the handcuffs are unlocked, my immediate instinct is to rip the tape off my hands – and I start trying to do that – but I appreciate that you’re trying to make me more comfortable. My understanding of our deal is that you’ll leave me restrained but not uncomfortable while you ransack the house. I assume that if I cooperate, you’ll reward me by leaving me in peace to endure the bondage until you’re gone, at which point I can start getting myself out of everything.

I know there are plenty of pairs of mitts in that RESTRAINTS box and if I start trying to unpick the tape you’ve wrapped around my hands, you could well escalate matters by replacing them with something from which it's much harder to free myself. Same with the current gag/blindfold and drysuit hood: sweat may be prickling my scalp under a layer of impermeable rubber but I know that if I try to remove any of the stuff around my head, if you really do know what you're doing, then a quick rake through the HOODS box is all it'd take to put me in a much nastier position.

I understand the close padlocking of wrists (behind me?) and ankles and tolerate it without any kind of protest or comment. I don’t wholly understand the taping of my knees.

“Mateo, huh? That’s a nice name.”

I fidget in my bonds. Perversely, I want you to get on with your burgling. The sooner you’re gone, the sooner I can start attempting to worm my way out of all this gear.

I sigh inwardly as you fasten a belt of some kind around my arms and upper body. Have you discovered that the harness is lockable and includes D-rings through which you can thread this kind of pinioning strap? I make a mental note of where the buckle is; I’m going to have to undo it later.

(For that matter, I try to work out which of the various lockable D-ring harnesses you've buckled me into. Some have waist belts - to which wrists can be strapped - and under-crotch securing.)

“This should protect your neck. I’m doing it for you.”

A collar?! Fuck it, this isn’t necessary as part of the temporary restraint of a burglary victim who’s being cooperative. Have I misunderstood the nature of your deal?

Julian
Your hesitant approval, non-verbal as it is, is like a windfall to me.

I can’t believe you’re giving me a pass to do what I want with you, using your own gear! Sure, if I think clearly for a second, I might notice some weird red flags indicating that we’re not 100% on the same page but who cares! My dream is about to come true!

I probably won’t be getting more than one chance with this so I decide to put you into bondage comprised of everything I can scrape together, then leave once you’re about to escape.

Your padded wrist restraints should hold you for now. Still, it’s better I quickly get on with strapping you down before moving on to something more sturdy.

I check the boxes for stuff I’ve yet to use on you. After all, it’d be a shame to put you inside something I can’t get you out of, only to notice there’s something more useful I could have applied. Following some rummaging, I find a pair of leather mittens and decide they’d look perfect on you.

It’s not that hard to put them on you, especially since they have drawstrings that can be tightened and knotted as comprehensively as possible (through the D-rings) after I stuff your already-taped fingers into the soft, black pouches. Wrist cuffs hold them in place and help me pin your arms down by your sides.

Your legs are fine, I decide, but not before I add two more belts around your thighs and shins. I then take a length of light but strong chain and begin to wrap it around you, pulling it through the belts around your legs, chest, and your ankle and wrist cuffs, cinching everything tightly between your shoulder blades, before securing it with a padlock. It’s the second chain I lock after your harness. I’m thinking I can use may be a few more. Just for security’s sake.

I then take out the hood I found. There’s still a part of me that wants to see your face, your lips covered with or wrapped around all kinds of gags, but I feel oddly safer with your head fully wrapped. Also, this heavy, leather hood (from the looks of it, you’ve been preparing to put on before I came) has two little D-rings to take a padlock – which will make it much harder for you to remove.

Sitting on your bare ass, I pull the thick hood over your head, making sure the nose holes align correctly with your nostrils. There’s then a bit of adjustment needed with the posture collar: I undo it temporarily to settle the padded leather of your hood into place. Lacing up the neck is easy, but the hood fastenings are a bit harder. Once everything’s snug, I rebuckle the posture collar over the top.

“Wow, you must really enjoy going overboard with your hoods?” I reach down and snap the waistband of your jock. “Don’t worry it all looks good on you,” I say as I use a single padlock to secure leather hood and refastened posture collar.

There’s now a handful of keys I used on your restraints, and I have the perfect place to hide them. Flipping you on your back, I pull down the waist of your jock again and drop the keys inside… along with a vibrating device that wraps and pads everything out very nicely. If my plan goes right, the vibrations should keep you nice and hard, trapping the keys against the confines of the jock pouch.

“Now, I have a few more things I want to do before I tuck you in.”

Mateo
I’m confused. Very confused.

We’ve just agreed that I won’t resist – I’ll stay down, stay captive, stay out of your way – while you go off and take whatever you’re going to take from the house and, in return, you’ll leave me unharmed to escape in my own time.

Why, then, are you very much not leaving me unharmed to escape in my own time?

You unbuckle the wrist restraints, and I decide that’s probably a good thing – you’re rewarding my compliance – but then I feel an additional pressure over my tape-mittened hands and realise, to my horror, that you’re pulling a leather mitt over each one, lacing the drawstrings shut. Don’t you realise this is going to make it extra-difficult for me to free myself when you’re gone?

I’m torn as to whether to resist or not resist. If I weren’t gagged, I could point out the problem but I’m very very much gagged.

I recognise the mitts. They’re not lockable but the padded leather laces shut extra-tight around the wrist and there’s a thickened, reinforced cuff that’s meant to stop them being pulled out from under handcuffs. You’re not handcuffing me but you’re refastening the wrist restraints over the mitts, pulling the buckles tight.

I’ve never tried self-bondage in the leather mitts, always afraid I’d accidentally tie a knot I couldn’t undo and be stuck in them. Now I am stuck in them. Fuck.

You padlock the wrist restraints together again. I wonder if you’ve also worked the padlock through the little tongues on the buckles that stop them being unstrapped. I hope not. It’s going to be hard enough to get all this leather off my hands without the wrist restraints themselves being locked… and now what are you doing? It feels like you’re tying the drawstrings of the mitts through the D-rings on the wrist restraints.

FUCK!

Single straps around thighs and shins – okay, I think, I can probably work those loose – but then you’re doing something with clinking chain and it feels like you’re using it to cinch the straps tigher, making them into figure-of-eight loops that are going to be much tougher to shake off.

The chain seems to be everywhere, you’re weaving it around everything else then what? Padlocking it up between my shoulder blades? What? I don’t understand.

WHY AREN’T YOU OFF BURGLING THE HOUSE?!

Another padlock snaps at the front of me and I think you must’ve locked the chest harness. Well, that’s annoying but the least of my worries. So long as I can get everything else off, I can find the key and unlock it or, failing that, bolt cutters or saw through the leather or...

You use the posture collar to reposition me and then you’re unfastening it and I’m bewildered… but soon realise you’re doing the same thing with my head as you’ve done with my hands: covering everything with an outer layer of smooth but tough padded leather.

“Wow, you must really enjoy going overboard with your hoods?”

“nngggooooo!” I attempt to protest but my own super-efficient, multi-layered gag turns it into a sort of reedy whistle through my nose. I try shaking my head – indicating NO – but I’m already face-down in the hood and I feel you holding me steady between your knees while you do it up.

With the first tug of the laces, I feel the new padded leather tighten and enclose my head. Your hand is under the front of the hood, feeling for my nose, checking nostrils and breathing holes are aligned.

I thought the mass of sponge and gauze in my mouth and the tape and rubber around my head couldn’t be more severe, but I was wrong. As the hood tightens, everything compacts and presses harder.

And then you replace the posture collar over the top so it’s covering the laces. Then you add the five-buckle “security strap” that serves to lock me even more comprehensively into this leather head-prison. I hear the jangle of metal as one strap is pulled tight, then two, then three. In my fevered mind, you seem to go slower as if you’re deliberately taking his time, relishing fastening each of the five buckles, giving each strap a little jerk.

“Don’t worry, it looks good on you.” I hear the click of another padlock.

Inside my prison of tape, rubber and now leather, I’m utterly mindfucked, struggling to make sense of what’s going on. I concentrate on breathing, partly to fight the panic, partly because the mouth-strap has pulled the sponge even further back in my mouth and I have to draw air in through the nose holes. I try not to think about all the layers imprisoning my head, making removing the gag even more impossible.

I’m flipped on my back and I’m thankful my arms are held down my sides rather than pressed, painfully, underneath me.

You do something with my jockstrap and I flinch.

JUST LEAVE! GO STEAL MY FUCKING BELONGINGS!!

“Now, I have a few more things I want to do before I tuck you in.”

Tuck me in?!!

Julian
As usual, I double-check everything I do. Living alone paycheck to paycheck taught me to not leave anything to chance, even if it’s some sort of weird, impromptu “playdate” with my neighbor.

Just because I can, I begin with tying your big toes together with some electrical tape. Then I check the leather restraints around your wrists, making sure everything is strapped up and padlocked.

The chains all around your body seem unfazed by your (undoubtedly fake) struggle attempts, the cinches holding you even more tightly in harness of strapping and steel.

As I put you in your hood, I notice a little head-wiggling but your breathing seems fine and it’s not like you can move your neck much with that collar on so I don’t pay it too much attention.

Well, it’s not like I can hear anything you say with your already effective gag, reinforced twofold so…

“Are you enjoying this as much as I am?” I ask, having to readjust myself in my tightening boxers. You twitch slightly, achieving little beyond a thrust of the hips. “Well, I take this as a yes.”

From your TOYS crate, I pick up something I’ve been dying to try: nipple clamps. I don’t want them to be too big, so I pick two small, metal clamps that look safe for long-term use. I attach each one to the closest harness ring with their attached chains. Yep, I was right, they look amazing on you. And since they’re not attached, you have to keep each individual pectoral in mind when moving around or just flexing your muscles separately will pull them.

Now, everything is ready for the next step in my plan: having ransacked your raingear cupboard, I spread two tackily bright yellow sheets of oilskin (capes, tarpaulins, groundsheets… it’s hard to tell) on the floor beside you. Then I use some heavy-duty duct tape to stick one end of each to you: at ankle, knee, thigh, waist, and chest level.

“I’m sorry,” I murmur, noticing some adhesive on skin, “removing this might hurt a little.”

I roll your bound body into the oilskin with care, tucking the excess material in and maintaining the tension with each roll to prevent slack from forming, then taping it to itself. When that’s done, I wrap a whole roll of gorilla tape around you to strengthen the waterproof burrito I trapped you in. I even fold the feet-end, enclosing your pinioned toes before taping it shut, making your hood-covered head the only part of you peeking from the roll of tape and plastic. There are some holes in the edge of the head end, which is perfect, as I can use some cord as a drawstring: I thread it through, draw the oilskin tight around your neck and tie everything to your collar.

“Alright, you’re ready to go in.”

Now that you can do pretty much nothing, I excitedly take out the neoprene bondage sack I’ve had my eyes on since the start. It looks and feels a little like a sleeping bag but it’s obviously not for the user to escape on his own, with all the fastenings positioned outside and there being a special strap around the neck to prevent him from crawling out. I think there may be internal sleeves but with you all burrito’d up in plastic, they’re not necessary.

Stuffing you inside is a bit harder than I predicted. Obviously, you bought this without trying it out and never used it because it seems maybe one size too small for you – and that’s without all the restraining layers surrounding your burly body. I’m lucky that the lining is smooth and kinda slippery, easy to slide you inside.

Then, it’s a simple matter of lacing it tightly, buckling the extra security straps, locking the one under your chin.

And then I notice a second bag, this one a standard cold-weather mummy-style sleeping bag. Shiny black nylon, it’s heavily stuffed with a big puffy hood but, otherwise, not designed for serious imprisonment. It’s so odd how your cupboards mix restraints with… I dunno, standard camping, fishing and motorcycle-riding gear.

But here it is. It would be a shame not to try it out.

It's the work of seconds to manoeuvre your neoprene-sacked body into this second, overstuffed bag but I take time to readjust your multi-layered head inside the lofty material that makes up the integral hood. I pull that hood tight as I can and, in the end, almost nothing is visible of you other than your nostril grommets.

I pat your chest, wondering if you can even feel through all the down padding. More than down: you’re now variously wrapped in tape, medical bandage, rubber, leather, chain, oilskin, neoprene and that bouncy, down-padded nylon.

“I’ll start the buzzer in your jock in a bit but don’t worry, its battery should run out in four hours or so.” How can you be so handsome when I can hardly see you, I wonder. Maybe it’s not our looks that make me this excited looking at you. Maybe it’s the fact that I know you can’t escape without me helping you.

Checking my watch, I notice that we’ve been going on with this for more than an hour! Time flies when you’re having fun.

“You can start testing your bed,” I say, hoping you’ll hear the smile in my voice, “I had a lot of fun, I can’t thank you enough for letting me enjoy myself. I’ll get some stuff, then I’ll return to spend the night. I don’t want you to leave you alone here.”

I peck you on the nose and leave to get my stuff. Then, I’m ready for a sleepover!

To be continued...

[blackbound]

What an "unfortunate" misunderstanding! That's going to be a sweaty night.

[gag1195]

It's almost like Julian is staking the deal in his favor!

But... he has to release Mateo eventually, and we see that things do work out, so I am wondering how they go from unintentional captor/captive, to a fully consenting relationship...

[Straitjacketed]

@blackbound: What an "unfortunate" misunderstanding! That's going to be a sweaty night.

It is, is't it? Poor Mateo...

@gag1195: I am wondering how they go from unintentional captor/captive, to a fully consenting relationship...

There's actually a LOT of written narrative on these two (there is with Stu/Kai too) but I was thinking I'd post this first encounter and then gauge the demand for further stories. I'm aware that the "first encounter" stuff wasn't written with an audience in mind, just me and @DeeperThanRed so it could all seem a bit indulgent...

[gag1195]

There's actually a LOT of written narrative on these two (there is with Stu/Kai too) but I was thinking I'd post this first encounter and then gauge the demand for further stories. I'm aware that the "first encounter" stuff wasn't written with an audience in mind, just me and @DeeperThanRed so it could all seem a bit indulgent...

I hate to use the word demand, but put me down as extremely interested in more of these wonderful couples and your collaborative stories!

[KidBlink]

Delightful, as always. I'm super excited to read about his POV of being put into the massive amounts of overkill bondage.

[Straitjacketed]

Thanks to everyone who's voted in the poll and/or left a comment (that's what keeps us writers going!): @gag1195, @blackbound and @Guardianbound. I'm also tagging people who previously commented on Richardverse stories and who I think might like this one (if you want to be untagged in these updates, just let me know): @KidBlink, @KidnappedCowboy, @Windrunner, @Wedgieboy69, @_zin_, @CaptiveDan, @Bradstick and @Croup.

Conversely, if you do want to be tagged when I update these stories, drop a comment and let me know!


Tales from the Richardverse: Home Invasion (when Mateo met Julian) - part 5

(Co-written with @DeeperThanRed)

Mateo
I’m not understanding at all.

Instead of getting me roped up and leaving me to kick my heels while you rob the house, you seem to be concentrating all your time and energy on putting me into more and more bizarre… stuff. Padlocking wrist straps?! Tape around the toes?!

And this fucking hood - with an extra-wide posture collar on top?!!

I’m trying my hardest to endure everything – after all, I remind myself, I’m basically at your mercy, you hold all the cards in this situation, you could have a gun and just shoot me dead – but I’m getting increasingly impatient with your odd behaviour, and increasingly unable to hide my impatience.

“Are you enjoying this as much as I do?”

Did you really just say that? I strain to hear through leather and padding. Yes, you actually asked if I was enjoying myself.

I jerk angrily at my imprisoned hands and try to buck against the leather jock so whatever the hell you’ve put in there is at least a little more comfortable.

“Well, I take this as a yes.”

OW! Nipple clamps! What the actual fuck?!

I can’t even adjust to that before I’m have something taped, rolled and tucked around my chained, leather-harnessed body (and pressing those clamps in). Roll, OW, tug, tape. Roll, OW, tug, tape. Even my feet are covered. It isn’t until you’re gathering the fabric around my neck that the distinctive odour penetrates the nostril-holes of the hood and I realise you’ve wrapped me in crinkling oilskin – and are taping it in place around me.

“Alright, you’re ready to go in.”

I’m almost too dazed to comprehend that this is reality, actually happening.

Through the hood, I can dimly hear you talking – something about buzzers and batteries and “testing the bed” – but my senses are mostly overwhelmed by being packed, laced and strapped inside what feels like my neoprene sleep sack (it has internal sleeves but it isn’t possible for you to use them with my arms bagged and strapped down to me the way they are).

And then the familiar rustle of an arctic-weight hooded down bag in shiny nylon. This would keep me toasty in sub-zero temperatures but I’ve never slept in it – not outside, anyway. It’s all you can do to zip it up over all the other layers.

I make a strangled protest through the sponge and tape and leather but am aware of my senses being cut off further by what must be the loft-filled hood of the sleeping bag, arranged around my head, muffling sound as completely as a fall of snow.

WHAT THE FUCK KIND OF BURGLAR ARE YOU?!!

Julian
I practically skip to my house, changing my clothes and getting a few necessities like my phone. I can’t wait to spend a whole night at your place! Well, you won’t be doing much but it’s still exciting, I feel like a high school kid with a crush.

When I return, I predictably find you in the exact same place I left you. Or maybe not? Thinking carefully now, you’re not being strapped anywhere makes you free to crawl around, albeit very slowly. Plus, even with two sleeping bags, the floor may not be the most comfortable. I check around to see if there’s anything I can do… aha!

I drag a camping cot to the center of the room, right where you stand. Lifting you on top of it will not be easy so I have to lower it to the ground and roll you on top of it. Again. “I’m sorry. I promise I won’t do it again!” I wince as muffled voices rise from you. They don’t sound very pleased but then again, I can hardly hear anything. Your gag does its job perfectly.

By using a few cinder blocks near your garage door, I weigh the legs of the cot down and strap you securely. The straps and buckles attached to the cot are actually for holding baggage underneath but with some tinkering, they turn into security holding that protects you against small falls.

By then, the buzzers in your jock must have turned on. I pat you on the chest. “I’ll have something to drink and then join you. We’ll get you out tomorrow.” Probably the first thing in the morning, I think sadly.

After returning, I place a sleeping bag by your side and check to see if you’re doing okay. You’re still a little restless in there but I don’t think too much of it. It’s probably just the vibrated stimulation. Or you’re excited to be finally tied up in a manner you can’t escape on your own. It must be one hell of an experience.

On the other hand, I’m not too different. I also can’t sleep and find myself drifting to your computer. Thankfully, it’s unlocked so I start checking your bondage-related uploads and media. This wouldn’t be an invasion of your privacy, right?

I open the speakers and pick videos I never saw before to play with full volume, taking advantage of your playroom’s soundproofing. I can’t talk with you but I still can learn a lot about how you like your bondage.

Looking at you back on the cot, I smile. “Mateo, I think this will be the beginning of a beautiful friendship.”

Mateo
I can hear almost nothing through all these layers of stuff around my head but I think I can discern your footsteps receding.

Never have I felt more relieved that my house is being burgled.

The deal, then, is that I stay put until you’ve robbed the place… and then what? I’d assumed you’d leave me to struggle out and – after a decent amount of time – call the police. I’m realising, though, as the silence grows and I’m left with only my thoughts and the sound of my own laboured breathing, that I have no idea how I’m going to escape.

Are you going to call the cops? Tip anyone off that I’m here, helpless? If not, then what? My cleaner Joe visits twice a week but was here just yesterday and isn’t due for… I do the calculations… at least 72 hours.

Fuck! If nobody releases me and I can’t get myself out of this nightmarish concoction of straps, chains, leather, tape, oilskin, neoprene and padded nylon, I could be a prisoner for three fucking days!

I grunt in alarm and despair, the sponge and gauze soaking up most of the sound before it can even make it through my taped lips, the rubber drysuit hood and the layers of padded leather, tightly laced and knotted to my rigid collar.

A wave of panic ripples through me and I buck and wrench as best I can inside my layers. The few areas of my skin not harnesses or mitted or hooded touch only smooth oilskin, slick with my own perspiration and pressed against me by the neoprene sleepsack I’ve never been put in.

And over everything else, the bulky arctic sleeping bag pads me out with a thick layer of loft, insulating me in every direction and stopping me from doing anything other than, with a lot of sweat and effort, rolling from side to side.

I try to imagine how bizarre I must look all trussed and bagged up like this, how strange this is going to seem to anyone coming to my rescue. Even Joe doesn’t know the purpose of this space (and he’s discreet enough, on the few occasions he cleans in here, not to ask). I feel a sudden pang of humiliation, imagining someone finding me like this, zipped up in padded glossy black down from head to toes, even the hood of the arctic bag drawn tight around my leather-covered face, drawstrings tight beneath my chin so I can’t even shake that layer off my head.

If I didn’t have a sponge holding them apart, I’d grind my teeth in frustration.

Okay, I think, if you’ve transformed me into some kind of bondage caterpillar, maybe I can move like one, inch my way… somewhere? Maybe you left a door open? It’s going to be difficult as fuck and humiliating as fuck but if I can get out of the house or, or… somehow trigger an alarm, could I alert someone?

Wrapped as I am, bending at knees or waist is difficult and I don’t know which direction I’m inching or rolling in but I do my best. Briefly, it feels like I might have some agency then… you’re back! Back and saying something as you manhandle me onto my back.

I protest – whyyyyy?! – but can barely even shake my head at you. I feel a distant sort of pressure around my padded bulk at chest, waist, thigh, knee, ankle-level. I’m being strapped or bound to something.

“nnnngggnnoooo!” I moan, desperation now starting to shade into anger at the way you’ve bound me up, the amount of overkill, the fact that you’re allowing me not even the slightest chink of hope. And now something buzzing, distractingly, in my groin!

People just don’t treat me like this! I buck angrily against the vibration. Is any of my indignation apparent from the outside of my… my packaging?

Is there any way I can exert authority and intimidate you into setting me free? I summon my sternest, most this-is-QUITE-enough tone and try to project it through the gag. If I were a Karen, I would use this voice to SUMMON THE MANAGER.

To be continued...