Caverns & Captives (M/M) - *08.01.25 part 8 THE TRUE FINALE!*

[Croup]

Yes, let's gag him. Remove his robes. Give him a good spanking, etc etc

[gag1195]

I'm still waiting for the other shoe to drop. A last minute betrayal from the party ambushing Ferdiad? The imp making a reappearance? Nimrod coming to in time to turn the tide in his favor?

Also, I love the way that Chiron and Hardeen were able to gently and subtly control Sebastian. It was a small moment, but I like the little peek into their dynamics.

[lah93]

That's why I like bondage stories in medieval-fantasy setups. As soon as there is magic involved, gags are mandatory

[Straitjacketed]

Thanks to commenters old and new: @blackbound, @gag1195, @Croup, @Guardianbound and @lah93.

Caverns & Captives - part 6

(Co-written with @DeeperThanRed)

“Not a bad idea,” agreed the hay-haired archer, taking the leather helm from Ferdiad and turning it over in his hands, “but mages are notoriously slippery prisoners, especially to transport - and we have a good two days’ trek back to the city. Some would say we should kill Nimrod now and be done with it.”

The paladin looked at him sharply and even Hardeen frowned.

“Buuut,” continued Chiron, “we are better men than he. Besides, I have a mind that we might still collect that bounty - without further inconveniencing our barbarian friend.”

The group seemed to have reached an unspoken decision to trust Ferdiad. Sebastian was using the fabric that had gagged the youth to stem and bind up his shoulder wound (“the saliva will help - I know not magics but ‘tis an old trick of the battleground”) while Hardeen, at the archer’s urging, stripped the unconscious mage of his robe and boots.

“Stopping his mouth is vital, yes, as is relieving him of the spell components he carries in his robes. Nimrod also draws power from his skin markings, however, and I have seen him weave magics from those, with his hands or with a glance alone, without recourse to speech.”

“Aye,” agreed Hardeen, “‘tis akin to binding a master of escape: one must stymie not simply teeth but fingers, toes… even eyes.”

“You didn’t do a great job of escaping the spider-trap,” interjected Chiron, earning a scowl from the rogue, “but yes, you are right. Special measures are required.”

He gestured at Hardeen’s leathers then at the spilled contents of the Bag of Holding.

“Might you, perhaps, donate your own armour as a first step? It is encumbrance enough on you and it would hide the mage’s skin-glyphs from his own self. There is surely something better suited to stealth in Nimrod the Nasty’s cornucopia.”

The rogue nodded and began unstrapping and unlacing his hide jerkin and breeches, simultaneously picking through the looted clothing for better, less cumbersome replacements.

“For a gag? Well, we have all been gagged by the wizard, in fabric, metal and spider-silk…”

“Yeah,” interrupted the rogue, “that webbing was foul; it stuck fast, and even expanded inside to fill all of my jaw.”

“… so, I propose we gift him a taste of all three.”

Everyone liked this idea. Bandage and cobweb were collected, and Hardeen found a short silver tube: evidently part of the smoking paraphernalia of a wealthy gentleman of the East, it was ornately inscribed, designed to be held between the teeth and allow free passage of air.

Together, they fashioned these disparate elements into a comprehensive mouth-stuffing for the near-naked slumberer. When they were done, his gingered cheeks puffed out from the bolus of fabric and webbing packing his mouth and imprisoning his tongue, with the metal tube protruding from the centre. Bandage and spider-glue proved an inspired combination, and more was plastered in tight rounds fully encircling the mage’s head from below his nose to beneath his chin, sealing his lower face, and cementing everything immovably in place.

Ferdiad noted, with quiet satisfaction, that when the glue-soaked fabric was eventually pulled free, Nimrod might well be the beardless one.

The imp, having gathered up the black leather helmet in its tiny claws, went about changing the piece of armour. The men watched as, with the casual insouciance of a creature whose very existence is magical, its touch caused the hide to grow suppler, more encapsulating…

In a matter of moments, the imp was done, handing the transmuted helm to Ferdiad. The young barbarian could see that the leather device was just as heavy as before but now form-fitting, shaped to swallow the whole of a man’s head. Fastening with lacing thongs, there were holes for eyes, nostrils and one where the mouth would be - this latter perfectly sized to fit the breathing tube protruding from the mage’s bandaged lips.

Sebastian and Hardeen were dressing, the former in his own plate armour, the latter in a rich-looking jerkin and breeches of supple deerhide and light ringmail. The suit of stiffer hide lay discarded, ready to package the mage.

With a glint in his eye, Chiron regarded the oblivious wizard, both his tangle of esoteric ink-glyphs and his tight black loincloth fully displayed.

“Nimrod the Noxious left each of us to suffer, mayhap to die. Perhaps, before we clothe him, we might agree a little extra torment in return?”


Having endured his biting scorn, it felt extremely cathartic to watch Nimrod’s manly jaw disappear under a mass of sticky bandages. Ferdiad grinned as the mage was being reduced to the same circumstances in which he had planned to keep the young barbarian. Though, revenge aside, Ferdiad had to admit getting an unobstructed look at the older man’s pale, hair-covered muscle was not bad, either.

Taking the transmuted helmet from the imp, Ferdiad bent over the unconscious mage and pulled it over Nimrod’s head. The hood was snug as if the creature knew his former master’s size perfectly. Mindful of catching hairs, the barbarian laced the thongs tightly, careful to align the mouth-hole with the breathing apparatus. If it were up to him, Nimrod wouldn’t be granted the airway at all - having to make do with his nose to breathe – but he figured they wanted him alive.

Soon, the man’s face was completely obscured aside from his lightning-blue eyes. The barbarian untied the short leather belt Nimrod had used to holster his dagger, buckling it around his neck so it encircled the edge of his hood instead of his thigh. With the addition of a makeshift collar, the head-covering would be even harder to take off.

Then, came Chiron’s tempting offer, accompanied by a sly smirk.

Right when he was considering whether he should kick the sleeper a few times, Ferdiad came up with a better idea. Turning to the imp still staring at them, he spoke. “The mage needs something to suit him.”

With his free hand, he gave the bulge in Nimrod’s loincloth a squeeze. As if reading his mind, the imp put its tiny hands on the mage’s crotch and once more altered it. The material stayed the same but rather than covering the man’s hefty backside, it expanded to a web of leather strips that flowed around and between his buttocks.

The extra fabric wrapped around Nimrod’s manhood, sealing it inside a separate sleeve which then attached itself at the waistband, keeping him constricted and hard.

“Good job!” Ferdiad complimented the imp and slapped the newly bared ass in front of him. He liked the red-bearded man a lot more when he was only a body to be enjoyed.

Before it was time to dress him, the barbarian added one last touch: two pairs of small magnet stones that were lying around uselessly in their treasury. Now, he placed two of them around each of Nimrod’s thick nipples. The stones adhered to each other, trapping and squashing the nubs between them and causing the sleeping mage to moan softly.

“He won’t like this when he wake up,” Ferdiad chuckled.

“Now, what next?”


“In my view,” quoth Sir Sebastian, “Nimrod has erred, erred most grievously, and what he requires is spiritual succour.”

The others regarded him carefully. The paladin had, so far, played little part in their deliberations on how best to incapacitate their fellow. After treating Ferdiad’s wound, Sebastian had engaged himself with locating and assembling the armament and clothing he had lost in the mummy-trap.

Now, the swarthy man stood resplendent in shining plate mail. Atop his armour, he wore his white surcoat emblazoned with the symbol of his nature-based holy order: a stylised evergreen tree.

“I will provide that succour.”

From his belongings, the paladin produced an amulet: silver, a handspan in length, a handsbreadth in width, smoothly curved and shaped like his holy tree; intended as part of a mobile altar, it stood on a flattened base. With reverence, he kissed it.

“You own a smaller version of that symbol, on a neck-chain,” Chiron noted, “is that one a spare?”

Sir Sebastian ignored the archer. Having blessed the symbol and with due reverence, he approached the unclothed form of Nimrod, gesturing for his fellows to turn the red-furred man face-down on the cavern floor.

“God be in you,” he intoned before, with solemnity and not a little effort, parting the fine straps of the imp-altered loincloth and forcibly inserting his arborescent holiness within the very fundament of the prostrate wizard.

Through the silver gag-tube, Nimrod emitted a faint but heartfelt groan.

“That,” noted the archer, “was beautiful. Now, let us clothe the mage.”

The men’s actions had united them and brought about civilities and politenesses hitherto unconsidered. Where he might simply have purloined the deerskin and ringmail, Hardeen sought Ferdiad’s permission to take it; the barbarian acceded. Clothed in new, sleeker armour, the rogue led the way in dressing the mage in his former suit of heavier, quilted and studded hide.

Nimrod was slightly the larger, so had to be squeezed into the rogue’s discarded vestments, thick leather fitting closely and with audible protest, durable but just supple enough that the barbarian’s magnet-stones were visible through the burnished hide covering the wizard’s pectorals. Ginger brows creased beneath the leather of his hood and the sleeper groaned again, as the tight-laced clothing added a further pressure to his punished areolae, but did not wake.

Grommet-holes allowed jerkin and breeches to be pulled tight and linked together into a single garment, stiff and unwieldy. When every lace was knotted, black leather swathed the slumbering mage with the exception of fingers and toes. His own calf-hugging boots were fitted back upon his lower limbs and awkward, muffling leather gauntlets were found to cover the ink-sigils on the backs on his hands.

“Untying knots is far harder when gloved.”

Hardeen, finding an oversized bodkin in the treasure-trove, wove more lacing through leather, linking sleeves to gloves so removal of the latter was no longer an easy possibility. The hide of Nimrod’s boots was tougher, harder to pierce, but the rogue persisted, and, in minutes, they too were fastened in place, sutured to his breeches and impossible to doff.

“It is good,” the archer noted with some approval, “but not enough. Some say that only cold iron is guaranteed proof against enchantment. I know not the truth of this, but I have yet to see a mage sheathed in steel. The presence of metal would, I wager, more fully prevent our wayward friend from weaving his magicks.”

With this in mind, archer, rogue, paladin and barbarian contemplated further precautions.

To be continued...

[Straitjacketed]

That's why I like bondage stories in medieval-fantasy setups. As soon as there is magic involved, gags are mandatory

Heyyy @lah93, welcome! Thanks for your comment!

And yeah, I love this sort of setting for the very same reason. As the latest instalment shows, our protagonists are struggling with this exact challenge: how does one keep a potentially deadly powerful magic-user alive but under lock and key? A simple gag on its own clearly will not suffice...

[gag1195]

The restraints are already so thorough and Nim hasn't even been properly trussed up yet! I cannot wait to see the totality of his confinement!

I'm still hoping for the drama of an eleventh hour betrayal of one of these fantasy hunks though... I know Chiron's plan for Nim and the bounty, but I crave the drama!

[Croup]

Indeed. The adventurers are being very careful, which I'm thinking will make the next turnabout even more delicious when they find themselves helplessly restrained yet again. All it will take is one wrong step to fall into a bondage trap like the first time they made their way through this dungeon.

[blackbound]

My eye is firmly on the imp as the agent of chaos here.

[Straitjacketed]

As we meander towards the not-quite-ending of this little romp, thanks to those who've taken the time to comment: @blackbound, @gag1195, @Croup, @Guardianbound and @lah93.

Caverns & Captives - part 7

(Co-written with @DeeperThanRed)

Ferdiad curiously studied Sebastian as the paladin located what appeared to be a fetish among his items, being a stranger to the creed that this man belonged to.

His curiosity turned into amusement when the thick, silver idol was stuffed deep inside Nimrod’s nether crevice. Was this how the city folk showed their reverence to their deities? That was certainly informative. He wondered if he could convince his tribe’s shaman to perform similar rituals.

Then, permitting Hardeen to take his pick from among the loot, Ferdiad turned his attention to covering up the sorcerer’s body. Although he very much fancied the view, those tattoos should not be allowed to remain unobscured.

Hardeen’s armour was even tighter on Nimrod. Even though he was fully clothed, there was something obscene about the way his manhood and trapped nipples bulged through the shiny, black leather.

It was good having the red-haired man’s movements as restricted as possible but, as Chiron said, they could always do better. Metal, eh? Ferdiad didn’t want to part with all the equipment he and his kin had stolen, painstakingly, but he figured they could always buy new gear if the bounty they would get was generous enough.

This time, he chose a pair of metal gauntlets, once again asking for the imp’s help to turn them into small spheres with screwable cuffs on them. They were not unlike artificial seashells that could open and close on a hinge. Ferdiad then took the mage’s gloved hands and folded the unresponsive fingers into fists, sealing them inside the smooth iron.

“His hands taken care of.” But there was still more they could do. Nimrod was beginning to stir in his sleep and Ferdiad could hear more muffled groans behind that hood. They needed to be quick. “Help me dress him.”

Hardeen, who was sifting through the scattered pieces of armour, nodded. “I think we have everything a big boy like Nimrod could need.”

Together, four men buckled and strapped the heaviest pieces of armour they could find upon the mage - pauldrons on his shoulders, cuisses and greaves over his legs, vambraces over his forearms and an enormous, hinged iron belt around his waist. Ferdiad thought about how the shiny silver armour made the form-fitting leathers even more pronounced.

Then it was time for chains. Thankfully, this chamber of the cavern was already loaded with them along with a large number of padlocks - ready for use on heavy objects or prisoners, with Nimrod now qualifying for both. Using the rings on his new iron “gloves”, Ferdiad added padlocks to the unconscious man’s belt, attaching his wrists securely to his waist and thighs.

Meanwhile, Chiron corded chains all around Nimrod’s upper body, going over and under the thick arms to strap them tightly against the caster’s torso, before connecting everything to a single large lock under his pecs, where the pauldron-straps crossed. Twin loops of chain were passed beneath the mage's crotch and locked behind, framing bulging leather.

Then, Hardeen added some heavy manacles to Nimrod’s ankles, the thick chain between the cuffs just long enough to allow walking. Ferdiad recalled his tribe having looted a travelling circus, liberating the massive restraints – along with the lockable waist-belt – from an unhappy dancing bear. The irony made him smile.

Sebastian, who was mostly watching others from the side, patted their sleeping former comrade’s cheek; the wizard was now showing signs of waking up. “He’s about to join us. I think he is in for quite a shock.”


“Just in time for the finishing touch,” smiled the archer.

In his arms, Chiron held a huge steel battle-helm. Plundered from the personal armoury of some far-distant warlord of the North, the head-encompassing protection was crafted to intimidate: with visor closed, the helmet would lend its wearer the appearance of a snarling bear, complete with ursine ears, fearsome fanged rictus and sculpted “scruff” neck-guards extending downward, front and back. At the lowest point of the front of the helm was a heavy iron ring, presumably once used to secure it to a chestplate.

Clearly intended to be worn open, the fully closed visor would limit vision to pepperpot-holes in the furious eyes of the frozenly roaring bruin.

The war-helm was a snug fit, especially over the covering of leather already laced and strapped over Nimrod’s head, but rogue and archer worked together to manoeuvre it onto the mage, whose closed eyelids - eyes now the only part of him not sheathed in leather and metal - were starting to flicker.

With helm closed, the wizard’s silver breathing tube fitted neatly within the bear’s muzzle (it occurred to Chiron that the hollow snout might be filled with pungent-smelling materials as additional insult; he pushed the thought aside. For now).

He opened the visor and latched it upward, the better to reach inside and connect the helm’s fastenings, engaging them snugly beneath Nimrod’s leathered chin. A padlock clicked, ensuring the headpiece was fixed as securely as the rest of the spell-caster’s unorthodox attire.

Even as the mage emitted a longer moan from deep within his throat, the imp moved around his supine form, making subtle touches with clawed hands. Where they met, steel edges extruded small chain-links, connecting helm to pauldron, pauldron to vambrace, vambrace to clamshell iron “glove”. Greaves linked to cuisses and cuisses locked to the thick, wide hinged steel belt encircling Nimrod’s waist.

It was the most curious of armours, leaving its wearer’s torso chained but unprotected, front and rear, while locking his head, limbs and waist in a fully interlocking shining tegument he had no power to remove.

The wizard moaned again and tried to work his jaw, clearly wishing to expel the grim contents of his leather-sealed mouth. Metal rattled against metal as he attempted to raise a steel-mitted hand to his face and was immediately pulled up short.

In unison, heavily armoured arms tore more strongly at their manacles, leather-sheathed shoulders and biceps doing their best to flex against iron resistance, then, with abrupt suddenness, Nimrod’s eyes flew open.

“The battlemage awakes!” grinned the hay-haired man, “how do you like your new travelling suit?”

For a moment, the mage simply stared, wide-eyed and uncomprehending of his altered circumstance. Even open-visored, the helm curtailed his peripheral eyesight, restricting his view to a narrowed aperture around his face, and the leather-masked mage struggled to view the one who mocked him.

“Hhrrrgghh?” he questioned, then louder, “HHRRRRRGGGHH HHGG HGGHHH!!”

“What’s that you say?” questioned the archer, cupping an ear and adding, “Nimrod the Noiseless?”

Blue eyes darkened and cinnamon brows contorted with rage as the mage attempted, again, to bellow a spell, a threat, an entreaty through the mass of bandage and spider-silk filling every inch of his maw, secured and unreachable beneath leather.

Leather-muffled fingers tried, instinctively, to shape themselves into a ritual of liberation but could not unfold within their separate fist-gaols. Hide-hidden sigils remained inert.

A mix of pain and something harder to read coloured Nimrod’s gaze as the magnet-stones and mischievously altered loincloth made their distracting presence felt.

Screwing his eyes up in concentration, the encased man made another titanic effort to break his bonds, twisting, flexing, and wrenching with all his might at the network of chain and metal entrapping him. His rage did little other than exert sudden pressure on those chains looped and locked through his crotch.

“Hhnggh?!” his tone rose in pitch and his expression registered something akin to panic.

“Ahh,” murmured Sir Sebastian, patting his fellow’s leathered cheek, “my sacred blessing.”

Without use of arms, the mage had to be levered upright in his steely carapace. He stood, attempting to shake his helmeted head, anger giving way to a dazed disbelief as the muscles of his body slowly adjusted to their new burden. His booted, metal-shod feet shifted in their heavy bear-shackles.

“Now, old friend, you have choices to make.”

Chiron produced a final length of chain, locking it to the ring at the base of the war-helm.

“We needs must clear this place, dig graves, and make cairns for the dead. Help us and we will give you water…”

He tapped the metal mouth-tube.

“… but choose wisely because we have two days’ travel ahead and until handed over to the city guard, you will remain nice and secure in your shiny new battle-armour.”

“Hhhgghh hngooo!” blustered the mage. Gods damn them all! He, Nimrod the Numinous, would not be reduced to a mere pack-mule!

He spent the next hour tethered to a stalagmite, fretting at and tussling with the indignity of his confinement, glaring at his former fellows with the air and appearance of a grumpy armoured bear.

The mage tried every enchantment he knew but, lacking all access to voice, fingers or ink-glyphs – arms and torso immobile and barely able to see further than the oval opening directly in front of his face - even the simplest of cantrips was beyond his reach. Whether magical or physical, his captors had rendered him helpless to do aught but simmer like broth in a cookpot.

The men, in turns, inspected his bonds, tightening a chain here, tugging at a padlock there, all finally nodding satisfaction at the efficacy of their collective handiwork. After a single abortive attempt at physically overpowering his captor (an amused Hardeen, who merely laughed, patted his helm then latched the visor shut), Nimrod slumped in near-darkness, protests limited to muffled cursing and the occasional yank at his shackled mitts.

Finally, the spellcaster felt his chain released from the rocky spire. He was helped to his feet and the straps of the Bag of Holding were settled over his steel-clad shoulders (he was to be made a beast of burden after all) before the bear-visor was raised by a smirking Chiron.

“Well, Nimrod the Not-About-To-Escape-Anytime-Soon, a difficult journey lies before you: you will walk ahead of us, fully tethered, chained, encumbered and in view of all. You will remain gagged at all times and, I am afraid, you will go unfed: a tired, hungry, uncomfortable mage is a mage less able to plot mischief. Be assured, however, that should you find a means of doing so, we have ways of making your situation even less pleasant.”

The rogue stepped into view, producing an armspan of tubing, oiled leather given structure by many bamboo rings (the wizard suspected another of the imp’s unholy creations). At one end was a funnel-like apparatus; at the other, a liberal coating of spider-glue.

Hardeen described, with enthusiasm, how the adhesive end might be affixed around the tube through which Nimrod breathed and explained that this, in turn, meant the mage could be slid - chained and bound as he was - into his own Bag of Holding with just the funnel protruding.

“… that way, we can transport you without trouble and you can access sufficient air to survive within. At least, we think survival is possible...”

The spellcaster gulped around his gag. He had no wish to find out.

“Ferdiad will be joining us, at least part-way,” went on the archer, handing the end of Nimrod’s tether to the barbarian, “the imp will not.”

The creature rose to hover before the open helm and the wizard regarded it with distrust and dislike. It raised a claw to touch the small amount of skin below his left eye and the mage felt a glamour shimmer through his body beneath its covering of hide and steel.

Pallorous skin took on a golden hue. Azure eyes turned amber-brown.

A toothy grin, a final gesture of farewell and the imp was gone.

“Right,” said Chiron brightly, “that bounty isn’t going to claim itself. Onward!”

The visor snapped down and latched. Leather creaked, chain jangled and Nimrod the Nullified began to walk.

The end... OR IS IT?

[blackbound]

There's a worrying amount of bondage expertise going around in this group. And I guess my suspicion of the imp was misplaced - unless??? Not entirely sure what it did at the end.

[gag1195]

A satisfying conclusion to this part of the tale! Nimrod definitely got what's coming to him!

I definitely wouldn't say no to more of this story/characters. Lots of fun possibilities: Nimrod in jail, Ferdiad have a rough time getting home, the rest of the party struggling with more bound adventures, that double-cross I'm still hoping for...

Great wrap up of this story! (apologies, I didn't get the chance to comment before the site went down!)

[Straitjacketed]

There's a worrying amount of bondage expertise going around in this group. And I guess my suspicion of the imp was misplaced - unless??? Not entirely sure what it did at the end.

It cast a glamour, causing the imprisoned Nimrod to look like Ferdiad - so he could be used to claim the bounty.

[Straitjacketed]

It's the REAL conclusion, so many thanks to those who've taken the time to comment on our little pastiche: @blackbound, @gag1195, @Croup, @Guardianbound and @lah93.

Caverns & Captives - part 8

(Co-written with @DeeperThanRed)

Lance put down the dice and took a sip from his drink.

“Aaaaand that’s a wrap! Great campaign, everyone!” Having no problem tooting his own horn, he took full pride in his accomplishment as a first-time DM who had handled an important NPC in the course of the story.

It didn’t hurt that Ferdiad was so much fun to roleplay. Lance had to admit he became wholly absorbed in events even as he narrated. He may not have the same way with words as his partner, but everyone still had fun.

Almost everyone.

The large, oak table where they gathered was circular, more reminiscent of a prop for a medieval-themed bar than actual furniture, perfect for the vibe they were going for. It was full of papers, dice, figurines, and mostly empty beer and wine bottles. The rest of the room was somewhat disarrayed from the earlier scuffles but thankfully, nothing had happened to the game equipment.

Kaiden pitched in. “I was sure we were going to have to start the whole thing from scratch when someone went all murder hobo on us and tried to reach the goal entirely by himself. Or we could’ve all ended up like that first time.”

The blond man ignored the muffled answer he got in response.

Nodding, Stu stretched his shoulders, causing his leather jacket to creak loudly.

“We both got captured in the same room. I never thought I’d fail so many escape rolls in a row as a rogue,” he lowered his brows in a scowl then quickly cheered up “but it all went well in the end.”

Lance hummed.

“Yeah, maybe I should’ve been a bit more generous with the traps,” he turned to Julian, the first to be killed not long after they entered the dungeon, “but I think you were fine with our arrangement.”

Julian, the youngest player, grinned.

“Are you kidding? If I knew from the start that I’d get to secretly exchange notes with the DM, I’d have actively tried to die,” he took out, from beneath the table, a stack of Post-Its covered in hastily written scribbles, “getting to play as the imp was more than enough compensation.”

Someone in the living room protested again but without any clear words.

“I didn’t understand what was going on until too late,” admitted Mateo, host of the night’s event and the owner of the house they relaxed in, “I honestly believed Richard would actually try to come help us until… well, way too late.”

Bashfully, he scratched his beard.

Lance smiled. For such a big and outwardly alpha guy, Mateo could be unexpectedly trusting.

“For what it’s worth, I gave him a chance to redeem himself before putting my plan into action.”

More unintelligible complaints.

“So yeah, you brought this upon yourself, old man,” Lance looked up, using the nickname he slipped back to whenever he wanted to taunt Richard.

And taunted Richard was!

While they were all chatting and laughing as if nothing untoward had happened, the ginger bear was suspended above the table, making angry noises. Lance wondered whether he was threatening them or just complaining. Ehh, he could always ask him that. Later.

---

The night had started off simply enough. It wasn’t the first time Lance met up with Richard’s group of buddies. The six men gathered infrequently but they all considered each other friends and took time off their busy schedules for a night of tabletop roleplaying fun.

Having three gay couples, all with an appreciation for bondage in varying degrees meant that everyone was open to “re-enacting” the capture scenarios within the story. With Mateo sufficiently well-off to afford a roomful of professional bondage gear, Lance was always surprised if someone didn’t find himself tied up and gagged at the end of their campaign. That was, after all, Richard’s way.

Richard, with his acting background, always shouldered the role of DM but, on this particular evening, Lance had wanted to try his hand at managing the session, wondering how his boyfriend would react to the dangers thrown his way.

Richard had acceded and the results were… not ideal.

While a great (albeit distinctly extra) guy and an overall talented storyteller, Richard immediately got into the role of the self-centred, tricksy magician Nimrod. Rather than trying to solve the obstacles and puzzles Lance threw in the party’s way, Richard had enthusiastically betrayed the other players in order to rush toward the goal.

Some people, it seemed, made far better DMs than they did players.

After the older man left the table to fetch more alcohol, having caused Julian’s character to be killed in a simple random encounter, Lance looked at the others around the table and they all quietly agreed that Richard the Redbeard could use a lesson or two in teamwork.

Quickly whispering his plan to Julian before Richard’s return, Lance revealed to the younger man that to make up for his early death, Julian would play the role of the very useful and rare familiar that Nimrod now possessed! Even if the ginger man suspected foul play, the thrill of this new advantage outweighed any lasting doubts.

So, the group kept playing, Richard continuing to disregard his party members and cutting their fun short by manipulating them into traps to ensure his character’s own safety. And if Lance had been creating some nasty snares on the fly to poison them against his russet-bearded boyfriend… well, guilty as charged.

In the end, the imp had been integral in freeing Lance’s NPC Ferdiad along with Kaiden, Stu and Mateo’s player characters.

After that, the rest, as they say, was history.

Naturally, Richard (obviously expecting to tie Lance up – and possibly some of the others – after the campaign’s conclusion as part of his usual “reflecting the role”) did not accept defeat gracefully. Initially he tried, laughingly, to argue his way out of real-life payback: “Hahah, we don’t have to be so literal about this, guys. Guys!”

However well-muscled he might be, there was little Richard could do, physically, against five determined opponents bent on revenge.

Briefly, he tried the tap-pause-tap routine that always preceded an attempt to hypnotise those around him. Typically, the ginger man carried a short cane – not a walking aid so much as a prop for mesmerism – but he’d left it by his chair, it was not to hand. Also, the mood in the room was too boisterous and his potential subjects too wise to Richard’s tricks.

Lance jumped on his boyfriend to stop any further attempts at hypnotic distraction while the others worked to wrestle his brawny limbs into submission. Although some would suffer bruises and a small coffee table would perish in the process, Nimrod the Narcissistic was brought down in under five minutes.

As the other four pinioned their resisting captive, Mateo rushed to his playroom, returning with a double armful of bondage goodies and the pièce de résistance: a full, quilted bondage suit made of heavy black cowhide. When Richard saw it, he struggled harder and became more vocal in his protests - giving Lance further reason to actualise Nimrod the Non-Compliant’s in-game attire.

First came the mouth-filling plug gag with a breathing tube attachment, as the burly man’s hollering was veering dangerously into “neighbours calling the cops” territory. After that, they had to cut off his clothing to stuff him, one resisting limb at a time, inside the bondage suit – and at this point, the gag was quite the help.

The thick, warm suit was designed to Mateo’s dimensions, and it required the combined effort of all five of his captors to stuff the fuller-figured (naked and furiously mmmpphing) Richard into its confines. Before forcing the zip closed, Lance took the liberty of jamming a vibrating plug inside his boyfriend, adding steel clamps on his already pierced nipples. After Richard’s red-furred, bearish body disappeared under black leather, their job became substantially easier.

The confining suit included built-in mittens and an attached hood with holes for eyes plus another through which Richard’s breathing tube threaded, neatly. The rear zipper went from the top of the head to the crotch, and Julian sealed it with a sturdy padlock.

Now, with hands useless, all that was needed to make Richard participate with the rest of his bondage was to block his airway for a few seconds or for Mateo to activate the vibrating plug inside him, using a handy remote.

Or both together, that worked particularly well: less than a minute of oxygen-starved scrabbling with leather-mitted fingers at a small piece of tape covering the end of his gag-tube while waves of stimulation rippled through his prostate (making him want to collapse and start humping the floor) was enough to ensure the captive’s compliance – albeit very grudging compliance.

“What a well-behaved gimp!” exclaimed Lance.

Grumbling incoherently but loudly enough to be heard through gag and quilted leather hood, Richard was guided then tightly buckled, by a grinning Kaiden, into an enormous maximum-security straitjacket made of the same thick double-stitched cowhide as his suit but with added rivets at every strap and point of stress.

Kaiden took his time pulling every strap as tight as it would go, to eliminate all slack from the heavy restraint jacket. Whenever the truculent captive showed signs of non-participation, Mateo gave him a short burst of vibration and Julian held up tape and scissors, warningly.

Richard gave in, allowing the blond man to wrap and strap him into the escape-proof device.

Stu, having the biggest feet among them, graciously donated his motorcycle boots (which took some tugging and squeezing to fit over the leather suit) before adding hide cuffs and straps to the prisoner’s tree-trunk legs at thigh, calf, ankle and even under his boot soles, until lower limbs were melded together as one.

When they were done, Richard was reduced to a wiggling, leathery mass on the floor, growling and glaring daggers at his buddies through the eyeholes of his hood.

Lance crouched by him, putting a hand on his cheek.

“Not so tough now, huh, old man?” Laughing, he dodged a jack-knifed double-leg kick aimed at his chest, moving swiftly to sit on Richard’s leathered knees, pinning him to the floor.

“Look, unlike the others, I think you learned your lesson and I think I can convince them to let you go.”

Richard’s eyes narrowed suspiciously.

Lance put a hand on his heart. “I’m telling the truth! Just apologize to everyone and we’ll let you go.”

After a long silence, Richard did his best to enunciate: “Mmmnnn hhhpprrrrr…”

“Hmm, what do you think, guys?” Lance turned to the others.

Julian grinned. “I didn’t catch any of that.” Stu nodded in agreement.

“Well, you heard the gentlemen. I think you’ll hang around like this for a while.”

Kaiden helped him hold down Richard’s violent bucking and wrenching as more equipment was found to further secure the unwilling captive.

---

And so it was that Richard found himself zipped and laced into a reinforced leather sleepsack (“your very own Bag of Holding!”) above the large table, suspended with sturdy rope from a discrete system of hook-and-pulleys. The sack was already a snug fit and not only had the others padlocked not-entirely-necessary chains around his straitjacketed torso before manoeuvring him inside, they further bound the leather sleepsack with ropes around his legs, midsection and shoulders, the better to suspend him evenly.

With his entire body suited, jacketed, strapped, chained, sacked and bound, Richard hung a few feet above the table, face-down and horizontal. His hooded head alone protruded from the sack, the collar of which was fastened tight, a little padlock connecting the zip to the neck-strap of his straitjacket and the sleepsack’s lacing knotted to a D-ring in front.

“Finishing touch?” suggested Kaiden, “Just to be safe?”. He produced Stu’s spare bike helmet, black with darkened visor and, despite his objections, Richard soon found himself squeezed into this too; Kaiden fastened the chinstrap, ensuring the breathing tube of his gag fitted inside before lowering the visor, so the ginger man’s furious eyes were hidden. Adding insult to injury, Kaiden used Julian’s Post-it pad to improvise a smiley bear-face and cute ursine ears, which he stuck to the helm’s exterior.

Strictly confined in multiple layers of creaking cowhide, the miniscule amount Richard could struggle was completely insufficient to cause anything but the slightest oscillation and even this was limited by the addition of a few taut securing ropes (all thoroughly tested by Mateo’s manipulation of the remote).

For the last hour, the suspended man’s grunts of protest – muffled by gag, hood and now helmet – had been gleefully ignored or laughed at by the men sitting under him. A lot of jokes were made at his expense, but Lance suspected that the conversation changing topic and everyone talking as if there wasn’t a bound muscle-bear cosplaying a leathery chandelier suspended from the middle of the ceiling was what pissed his boyfriend off the most.

He was the centrepiece yet also ignored!

That’s why Lance finally interrupted the others by tapping his glass with a pen.

"All right people, we’ve had our fun and drunk more than our fair share.” He winked. “But let’s not forget the man who brought us all together.”

He looked up to Richard.

“Thanks, babe - for arranging this meeting. It was so much fun that we don’t want it to end. We could get back to dungeon-crawling, hell, we could stay up all night… if our host is up for it?”

Lance’s suggestion was met with cheers and a long, muffled groan.

The young man had no doubt that his boyfriend was going to get his own back once released – and Lance wouldn’t want it any other way – but until then, Richard the Roped, Restrained, Raging and Resolutely Rehearsing Relentless Revenge had no option but to enjoy the predicament he brought upon himself.

The End... NOW FOR REAL

[blackbound]

Ah, of course. Good to see Richard hoist by his own petard hoisted by someone else's bondage equipment.

[Straitjacketed]

Ah, of course. Good to see Richard hoist by his own petard hoisted by someone else's bondage equipment.

Hahah, @DeeperThanRed and I honestly thought people would suss what was going on by the halfway point and, if any of you did, you didn't blow the big reveal - so thank y'all for that!

[gag1195]

In hindsight, it was fairly obvious, but I'm big enough to admit that I did not see this twist coming!

Maybe it's because one of the party members was dead, I didn't think that a player would be controlling the imp!

Definitely a great addition to not only this tale, but wonderfully connects to the other stories in this collaborative universe! Richard may not have gotten his comeuppance in the other D&D story, but he certainly did this time! Though I suspect they may need to make the Richard Chandelier a permanent fixture of their sessions lest they face the wrath of Richard's own payback...

Great work!

[DeeperThanRed]

Ah, of course. Good to see Richard hoist by his own petard hoisted by someone else's bondage equipment.

He does make himself an attractive target for bondage, that's for sure.

In hindsight, it was fairly obvious, but I'm big enough to admit that I did not see this twist coming!

Maybe it's because one of the party members was dead, I didn't think that a player would be controlling the imp!

Definitely a great addition to not only this tale, but wonderfully connects to the other stories in this collaborative universe! Richard may not have gotten his comeuppance in the other D&D story, but he certainly did this time! Though I suspect they may need to make the Richard Chandelier a permanent fixture of their sessions lest they face the wrath of Richard's own payback...

Great work!

Glad you enjoyed it! The twist was planned from the start but is not obvious unless you read the previous stories we co-wrote. We figured hiding the connection would make a more fun ending.

It's safe to say Richard will do his best to keep the upper hand the next time, haha!

[Straitjacketed]

Great work!

Cheers! We both really enjoyed writing this short & sweet piece of bondage fun.

Those into D&D may well be familiar with the infamous rules quirk that inspired this tale. In the original version - and, I think, maybe in the 5th edition too - mage characters were barred from wearing anything heavier than very very light armour, on the basis that armour would interfere with their spell casting abilities.

That's obviously a matter of rules-based rather than in-game logic - it's intended to balance the inherent power of mages with a disadvantage - but there have always been really interesting discussions about how it could be exploited in-game when a wizard is captured and has to be kept prisoner. It's been suggested that a form of "prison armour" could exist in worlds familiar with D&D-style magic, which could be locked on and impossible for the captive mage to remove and, in such a way, his magical abilities could be negated.

We took that idea and ran with it.

[Straitjacketed]

Heh, here's the actual exchange I originally found on a DnD DMs' message board, explaining the technical stats of "prison armour".

[gag1195]

You know, in all my years playing D&D, I never considered the armor restrictions for mages as an actual potential prison for characters! That's so ingenious! It goes right along with "always gag the mage" when trying to stop magic users. "Always stuff the mage into non-proficient armor" is a new classic piece of advice to take down those troublesome spellcasters!

[Straitjacketed]

You know, in all my years playing D&D, I never considered the armor restrictions for mages as an actual potential prison for characters! That's so ingenious! It goes right along with "always gag the mage" when trying to stop magic users. "Always stuff the mage into non-proficient armor" is a new classic piece of advice to take down those troublesome spellcasters!

Hahahah, right? It makes sense that if mages are a common enough feature of a fantasy society, then that society will have developed ways of incapacitating them, either humanely or not-so-humanely. "Prison armour" probably falls in the grey area in-between.

It was fun taking that basic principle and thinking through the whats and hows, especially with recourse to magical options (like the imp) and a degree of experience tying and being tied (all the players!).

I'm not sure whether we'll be inspired to write anything more with Nimrod, Ferdiad et al but you're going to see their players again very soon!

PREPARE FOR SATURNALIA...

[Guardianbound]

Excited for more of Lance, Richard and crew!

[Straitjacketed]

Excited for more of Lance, Richard and crew!

You won't have long to wait!

PREPARE FOR SATURNALIA...

[gag1195]

One thing I forgot, but really want to add:

I am over the moon at Lance calling Richard his boyfriend! It makes me so happy! I know the last time we saw both of them they were still figuring out their situation, so to see a definite boyfriend label makes me smile!

[DeeperThanRed]

One thing I forgot, but really want to add:

I am over the moon at Lance calling Richard his boyfriend! It makes me so happy! I know the last time we saw both of them they were still figuring out their situation, so to see a definite boyfriend label makes me smile!

That's so nice to hear! It was something I really enjoy about writing several stories in the same 'verse. Lance is a "no strings attached" type of guy at first but grows to see Richard as a partner proper - even though they're not what most would call a conventional couple.