A Risky Return to Sin City

The chain holding my leg cuffs was released and I was taken outside. We walked by the pool to a patio area near the rear gate. Sitting on the ground is a steel frame in the shape of a cross. The upright shaft consists of two parallel square one-inch metal tubes, spaced about twelve inches apart and connected together by numerous cross bars of like material, welded in place. About six feet from the foot of the cross are the arms also made of two parallel one-inch square tubes, but these are only about two inches apart.  The arms have four short two-inch-wide padded leather straps with roller buckles on each side attached to the bars. Welded to the frame at about crotch height is a three-inch round, twelve-inch-long pipe, sticking out perpendicular to the cross frame. Rising upward from the pipe, not quite in the center of its length is a mounted black rubber butt plug of moderate size. There is also a three-inch-wide leather strap with double roller buckles attached to the upright frame just below the cross arms. Taking it all in, I shudder.

“Let’s get to it,” exclaims DR. D My wrist cuffs are removed, and the cross is raised up and placed behind me. I feel the protruding pipe hitting me about mid back. Two stepping blocks are put next to my feet, and I am directed to step up onto them. That provides the height needed for them to slide the pipe between my legs. With a little maneuvering and bending of the upright plug they center it, so it is aligned with and then pushed into my hole. They pull the blocks from under my feet, and I slip down onto the bar with my hole painfully swelling to swallow the plug and then closing around its narrower throat. My arms are now pulled upright against the cross’s arms. The cross seems tailor made for my height as my arms are at 90 degrees from my body as they are strapped to the bars, the buckles pulled tight and secured. The three-inch leather belt is then threaded under my armpits from behind and then buckled taught across my upper chest. I am now one with the cross, supported and secured by my arms, chest and mostly my crotch. As a result, my shoulders and chest muscles don’t feel overly stressed, thank goodness, otherwise I would be facing a possible crucifixion if I was suspended by them.  My dangling ankles are then cuffed together and loosely tethered to the bottom of the cross so if I bend my knees and swivel my hips I have a little bit of upward movement with my legs. Otherwise, my legs a free to hang, they are not part of my restraint.

The sun is low in the sky getting ready to set. “It’s dusk and time to retire the flag for the evening and replace it with an all-night surrogate,” states DR. D in a matter-of-fact manner. In the back corner of the rear pool patio area is one of those commercial mammoth 60 feet tall flagpoles, like many car dealerships own with one of those beautiful oversized American flags. They rotate the cross so that I can watch them lower and fold the flag. As stunning as it all is, I am fretting as I begin to absorb what is about to happen to me and my cross.

With the retired flag now properly stowed, the three boys who have been holding the loaded cross upright, move it over to the flagpole and prop it and me against the pole. I feel a hand pulling on my ball sack and dick. The rope master is at work, and I am getting some kind of genital tie. It takes a few minutes but after he announces that he is finished, I feel some more fenagling along with a slight tugging of the cords. Trying to look down, it appears that they have attached to a double loop on my new cock and ball tie via a swivel hook some kind of longer cord connected to a cloth strip that lays on the ground in front of me. I will come to find out that the strip is an eight-foot-long, four-inch-wide red, white and blue cloth streamer that will be dangled from my privates.

It is explained to me that the pole was installed with two purposes in mind, I just saw the traditional use and will now experience the second. I’m told that the hoist rope is an oversized stranded aircraft cable rated to handle both the stresses of the large flag blowing in the wind and that of the weight of alternative objects to be hoisted to the top. Also, the hoisting is accomplished by means of a mechanical winch installed at the base as both kinds of loads anticipated would be challenging hoisting by hand.

They shift the cross completely upright and fasten it at the top and near the bottom to the pole cable. It was obviously designed and constructed for this specific purpose. “We will bring you back down at daybreak. Maybe. Enjoy the view, sleep well my Bitch. Send him up.” And with a whirl, I feel the cross leave the ground with a little sway, my arms and pits settle against the leather straps and my body pushes down further against the bar between my legs. I rise slowly and smoothly upwards. I’m not afraid of heights but this is nerve-racking as there is the real feeling of nothing around me. I can’t see the flagpole behind me, although the cross does occasionally bump against it as I rise. About ten feet up I begin to feel the pull of the streamer hanging from my cock and balls. It is not that heavy, but it does have some weight. I immediately become cognizant that if there is any breeze this lark of DR. D may become a significant dilemma. Up and up, I go. God this is high and I’m still going up. I’m not sure how long it took, I think over a minute, maybe less to get to what I assume is the top of the pole. It stops effortlessly. And here I am. I can’t really see directly down to the bottom of the pole and the boys. I can barely see my dick pulled to the side of the pipe when I push my chin against my chest. They have set up my tail so that I am dressed to the right. The boys moved away from the pole and looked up at me. They are chatting but I can’t tell what they are saying. They don’t appear to be talking up to me.

I am anxious. I am up in the sky with no connection to the ground. It is unnerving. A slight breeze takes hold of the streamer, and I can feel light tugging. It’s a helpful diversion for the moment. I don’t know if it is by design or planned or just luck, but I am facing out the back of the property and toward the sunset. It is breathtaking, but so is the anxiousness of my situation taking away some of the effects of the beauty I am seeing.  Another thought rushes in. I am naked and the sun has not fully set. Can I be seen by the neighbors? I can see houses, luckily, they are not close by. These are all large estates, but people could certainly be outside. Will I be seen? Would they be able to recognize what they are seeing? If caught, what would be the ramifications? My host surely must have thought this through and is not concerned, otherwise he would not have done this. He has a reputation to consider.

It takes some time, but as calmness comes to me and darkness consumes my perch, the discomfort from the pull on my arm binds, the pressure of the crotch rest, and the grip of the unforgiving plug in my ass all take over my attention. None are providing excessive forces on my body. It has been well designed with the intent of securing its victim for a long period while giving the physical and mental feel of being impaled, saddled and crucified all at the same time without inducing too much harm. With nightfall comes some gentle breezes. It is Las Vegas so they are warm and pleasant, but they do catch the streamer and there is both pulling and twisting my balls more than my cock. If the breezes pick up this could be very painful if not outright harmful to me. This has rattled me more than anything. Are they monitoring this… can they? I then concentrate on the fact that my whole body was suspended by a similar tie on my genitals while I was fucked without harm, I’ll be okay.