Vegas Twelve to One, Daunting Odds

“You have been charged with debauchery. You willingly engaged in excessive indulgence of sensual pleasures by having relations with no less than twelve men, who you enticed with your nakedness and your desired to be bound and used by them. After witnessing your glee in this self-pleasure-seeking promiscuity, we have come to find it disgusting, immoral and sinful in our eyes. As such, you have been placed in chains for the past two hours to contemplate your acts and during that time you have shown no remorse for your wickedness as you hung there, just wallowing in your own indignant self-righteousness. We all grudgingly had to partake in your requirement for you to be bound in order for you to serve us, acts that should have been done for us voluntarily as a guest in this home. You gave us a list of filthy sex acts that you desired and then insisted we force you to do them, thus making us look like the villains and putting the masters into a subservient role to you, a role you did not earn nor one that we can let be known occurred and therefore you must disappear. As such, there is no need for a trial to determine culpability as the Masters without need for debate all find you guilty as accused. Your mandatory sentence for your sins will be carried out immediately. There is no appeal,” states Master sternly, almost angrily, to me.

Willingly? It is understood that I don’t like or want sex with men. I was bound and then forced by them. Well, I did volunteer to be bound so that they could force me, but it was just to make my fantasy real… Ok, so I had a part, maybe you could say I started it, but am I really the catalyst for their deviant behavior, they are blaming me. I was invited here. I didn’t mean to make them subservient to me, I thought they wanted to do this, I was the entertainment. And hey, wallowing on the wall? My balls were on fire… that was a reasonable response, I thought I had handled it well. So, some of what he just said may have some truth, but it’s still a trumped-up story, an excuse to punish me, what’s this one going to be? They really don’t require a reason per the Contract to punish me, why create a story? It was a powerful one, could they be setting a basis for a torture more savage than the horse? Oh, stop your silent bitching, you wanted to do this, I guess I’m just fatigued from the intensity of the abuse and lack of sleep.

My neck, wrist, waist, and ankle shackles are removed in that order. While still in the cell my wrists are secured together behind my back this time with rope, a novelty for this weekend. I am then told to open my mouth which is then filled with a large piece of sponge that expands in my mouth completely filling it. It is then held in place with multiple wraps around my face and head with clear shipping tape pulling my cheeks inward, trapping my tongue to the bottom of my mouth and sealing my lips so I can only breath from my nose. This is the most severe and effective gag I have had. I was then gripped firmly on each side by Master and Sir Michael and walked to the doors and taken outside to near the gazebo where the swing was located. The swing is gone. In its place is a white painted, well-made sturdy platform that matches the style of the gazebo. It is about four feet high, five feet wide and eight feet long and has three steps on one end so the platform can be accessed. It has a railing running up the stairs and along the back and far side, while it is open in the front. It is built to set precisely within the two vertical square five by five columns that rise about twelve feet from the ground where a matching crossbeam runs between them. These columns and beam had previously served to hold the suspended garden swing. What has my greater attention though is the single thick rope with a noose that hangs from the beam’s midpoint, dangling over the center of the platform. I am held firmly in front of the obvious ‘gallows’ as Master says, “Test it.” I watch as one of the subs puts a sandbag on the center of the platform and a person wearing a full leather executioner’s hood pulls a lever on the platform. The bag disappears from view as two doors in the floor swing down. That shook me. This looks very authentic and functional, and they are making sure I understand that.

The trap door is reset. “Put the condemned on the scaffold,” orders Master and I am forcefully taken up the stairs and turned outwards on the platform. I look out and see that most of the guests are gathered around. Sir Michael is there. He has a serious, intense, determined look on his face. No one in the crowd seemed to be smiling, there almost appears to be an air of apprehension amongst them, especially with the submissives. They are the last thing I am to see. A loose fitted, thin leather bag style hood with no openings is put over my head and neck, draping down to my shoulders. With the hood on I can notice that my breathing has gotten somewhat rapid. My treatment is not like the preparations for my previous sexual uses or punishments. It is more aggressive and performed with deliberate purpose. I feel ropes being tied around my ankles and then around my legs just above the knees. My hands remain tied behind my back, the awful sponge gag still sealing my mouth. It is then that the noose is dropped over my head and tightened around my neck pulling the leather hood tight to me. “Take the slack out of the rope.” and I feel noose press against my head as the standing end is drawn upward. My mind rationalizes at first that they are just playing with me, but then doubts come flooding in.

All the bondage equipment and furniture they have here is designed for a unique specific malicious purpose. The masters have exploited the full intended capabilities of each piece they put me on. Nothing was for show. My crotch was made to ride on an electrified point of the genitalia abusing horse, I was secured to a St. Andrew’s cross and striped head to toe, I was strapped to a bench and fucked, then the soiled pricks put in my mouth, I was tied to a chair, my privates, front and back, violently assaulted while slowly made to consume the urine of many, drip by drip, I was hung by cable from the ceiling for hours on end. Real BDSM practitioners who tortured me knowing I couldn’t resist, and they took delight in my suffering.

Here I am again bound and can’t resist. Could this, just like all the others, also be happening for real, are they really going to hang me? Is this their fantasy that they are getting to act out for real because they can? I don’t know these guys, I only know Michael, they could be real sadists. But murderers? No, that’s ridiculous.  Although, why else would they have built these gallows? They had hidden the platform from me, it wasn’t here on the tour, there was no noose, this all was disguised as a simple swing. They obviously didn’t want me to know what was going to happen to me. This is an expensive prop, they went to a lot of effort to set this up, they wouldn’t have gone to all this trouble if they didn’t really want to hang someone, would they? They didn’t have any other play toys here just for show, they use them, used them on me. From the get-go I was just to be the entertainment, some straight guy they don’t know who was given to them to abuse, I’m a prop, a toy, a non-entity. They can just dispose of me, no one knows I’m here, wherever ‘here’ is, but Michael. He’s my best friend, he wouldn’t do this, I know he wouldn’t, would he? He did ask me if I wanted to be tied up and drowned on the beach in San Diego, is this a kink of his I didn’t know about?

Just as I am trying to justify that he’d be my protector and not a predator, Sir Michael, now standing behind me says to me quietly, “Don’t worry, Bobbie, one of the other submissives who sometimes plays here is a county coroner, he will put on your death certificate that you died of a heart attack while swimming. Amy will never know about this and all the warped things you had us do to you. I will keep your perverted sick fantasies a secret from her.” He then adds in a more sinister tone, “Just so you know, don’t expect to rest in peace after your gone as we are going to screw your corpse. It’s my turn now to do something I have fantasized about for a long time and without you I would never have got a chance. Don’t worry, I’ll have them keep your body tied as we do you, cause that’s the way you’d like it, you twisted fuck toy. And, by the way, the best thing to me is I get to leave all my cum in your ass one last time so I’ll be forever part of your ashes.” And then I hear him walk away and down the steps.

He is part of this, why is he doing this to me, is it true what he just said? I’m his friend, why, why me? Because he’s the sick fuck, I never knew! I am in such shock, so confused, so tired, so anxious, my mind is playing tricks, I can’t tell if I am dreaming this or if this is real. I can’t risk it; I scream out RED, but I can tell that my sounds are not able to exit my gag throttled throat. Nobody comes to my rescue. I stand there, how long I’m not sure, could have been seconds maybe a minute or two. My brain tells my body to try and escape but I am frozen in fear. I am shaking violently, and I feel tears rolling down from my eyes. My swirling mind rushes from what was just said to me to flashes of my wife and kids, and then I hear, “Do it.” 

It is staggering to sense the floor dropping out from under your feet knowing you are held by a rope around your neck. I immediately begin to fall and sense the pressure of the noose pulling up on my chin and pushing back on my head and tightening around my neck…. Then in the next instant my feet hit a soft floor followed by me falling backward where I am caught by waiting arms. I hear cheering and applause as I am lifted back up on the platform and stabilized, the rope no longer taught.

About five seconds later with me still shaking uncontrollably I am asked, “You want to do it again?” I rigorously shake my head ‘no!’ as I still can’t utter a sound. Those fuckers, they scared me to death, literally that is. I am still pulsing, trembling, my heart racing. It may have been just a millisecond in time but for that instant all the sounds and sensations were so vividly real to me and are now indelibly printed in my mind forever. I was being hung; I was going to die. I can still hear the collection of sounds; that of the lever being pulled, the doors banging open, the creek of the noose, the cry out of “Nooooo’ in my muted throat. I can clearly feel the loss of footing and dropping, the pull back, clinching, and awkward bending of my neck, the banging of the rope against my head. My immediate attempt to push out my legs and arms against their bonds to catch myself, only to be held fast by the ropes. And the traumatic emotional panic and horror in my brain. All these sensations and feelings colliding in a single moment in time.

My noose is removed, along with the hood. Mercifully, so is the tape and sponge gag, however, it doesn’t really matter, I am so shocked I am unable to speak. Master takes a large sharp knife he had there for safety and easily slices the rope about a foot above the noose. He says, “This is yours to take home with you to remember the experience. Welcome to the brotherhood of true servitude. Every one of the subs here with you this weekend has previously been subjected to the same initiation ritual you just did when they first came to play. You have proven yourself to be a genuine submissive by serving us all this weekend, never breaking, or copping out with safe words to avoid or stop your involuntary use and punishments and I grant you permission, while in this home, to serve and be used by the Dominants who play here in the manner you desire, forced while bound. I’ll add that you are the first straight man granted such a consent to serve us, to be part of us, to be a member of our private club. I beg of you to please ignore my sentencing speech, none of what I accused you of is true, it was just a script to set up the scene for you, to suck you in, I apologize, but it did appear to work.” It had.

For the curious, they had an assisted-braking device like rappelers use, a governor of sort, on the hanging rope so that it would descend with me as I dropped keeping a slight tension on it to give the illusion that it was tightening and unyielding. It only needed to do that for the millisecond it took me to fall about three feet to the cushioned landing. It worked perfectly, giving the sensation of an unyielding rope, yet moving with me as I fell, never putting me at risk. It was even equipped with a backup excess tension release for additional safety. It lasted for less than a second, but in that very short time, it felt so real, and that sensation of the actual hanging is burned forever into my memory. They did a terrific job of playing with my mind in the lead up to and delivery of my execution and I am sure someday I’ll forgive my best friend for his convincing theatrical role in this that pushed me over the edge. In my altered exhausted mental state, he was so believable.

I never had these thoughts before, but now I find myself pondering about the horror it would be if there was no governor, no soft landing. The hangman’s knot used was not the more conventional cervical fracturing type with a bunch of rope rings that snaps the neck when dropped, but the smaller loop tightening type that squeezes the throat to cause strangulation. That would mean if it were a true hanging, death would not be rapid, but a slow, horrifying way to go. What if my new play friends were extreme sadists, who would delight in watching me swing from the rope, masturbating while viewing my eventual strangulation, death? These thoughts now occasionally haunt me as I had foolishly allowed a group of unknow BDSM kinksters to bind me so I could not resist them. I was completely at their mercy and defenseless to their whims, whatever they may be. Let me make it clear, the ultimate suffering and death from hanging or other mode is no fantasy of mine, it scares the pants off me. Also, be assured every one of these twelve men proved to be good guys who were sincerely trying to help me live my bondage and use fantasy, of course, while still entertaining themselves at their play date weekend. No dangerous sadists were amongst them. I was lucky, one might suggest.

My time on the platform was not over. The theatrics were done, now it was back to my bondage servitude. I remained tied as I was, but I was turned around, so I was looking out over the pool. A leather collar with rings was put on my neck and a long rope that was threaded through one of the eyehooks that would have held the swing and attached to one of the side rings of the hood. Master, Sir Michael, Mistress and some of the other masters made themselves comfortable on Adirondack chairs near the platform. Master held onto the other end of my collar rope, which he pulled on till I was lifted onto my toes. He then gave it just a little slack letting my feet come back flat on the platform deck, yet still taught enough to cause my neck to be stretched up and slightly pulled to one side. He then tied it off to the arm of his chair. They began to chat as I remained tied, held upright by my neck, not necessarily uncomfortable, with my heart rate and respiration still somewhat elevated. So much to internalize.

I gazed out over the pool. In the darkness of the late night, the low accent lighting around the pool and hardscape was beautiful, the setting so serene. Looking way off in the distance you can see a bright colorful sky from the lights of Vegas. Incredible. I was actually enjoying this recuperation, although what had just happened still wasn’t settled completely. I do like bondage, and at this moment my situation was not severe, nor was I being used or abused. I watched a couple of the boys playing in the pool. One Dom was laying on a chase lounge with his cock being sucked by who I assume is his mate, but it could have been another sub. And there was one sub in a similar predicament as I, with him being bound to the arbor. For the moment he wasn’t being tormented either. I had enough movement that I was able to somewhat turn back to look at the group with me. They were just chatting, sipping beers, and munching on healthy vegetables and dips. When Master noticed me watching, he pulled on the rope bringing me back forward and up on my toes. He refastened his knot to hold me that way for a while. A little more strenuous by not unbearable. It does invoke a bit of a strangling feeling though. About ten minutes later I was let back down again, only to be rehoisted up, then back down about every five to ten minutes. I was still serving as entertainment.

At one point Sir Michael climbed the stairs and said, “I feel like I am neglecting you.” And showed his regret by placing a clothespin on each of my nipples, then adding one on each side of the first two pins. The six pins stayed on for about ten minutes when Mistress boarded the platform, turning me sideways so that she would have access to the front of me and proceeded to use her riding crop to painfully dislodge the clips from my body. Just my luck, one of the center nipple pins was only partially dislodged with one of the hits, causing it to dangle from the tip of the nipple, excruciatingly painful, until three hits later when it is whipped free of me. When in servitude pain can be better internalized if you sense that the dominant is getting true pleasure from the abuse they are delivering. Mistress had a big smile on her face and was nearly dancing as she took her strokes. At least this time she was not causing me to get excited, I had learned that lesson. When she finished, she exclaimed to Master, I am so glad you convinced me to come, this has been one of my favorite parties here.

You can tell it is late at night as the activities, while still occurring, are more subdued. I do see that the sub was whipped while tied to the arbor and when released gave his master an oral servicing that brough him close to the brink before the master extracted himself and took the sub by the hand and walked him into the pool for a late-night skinny dip. The crowd also seems to thin out with some couples heading back inside via the primary entrance to the pool and not the dungeon. I assume they were heading to their bedrooms. Mistress also headed inside. I still can’t believe how good looking she is as I watch her walk down the walkway to the house.

Daybreak this Sunday Las Vegas morning came about 5:30 am. They have kept me hanging from my neck tether so that I can watch the sun come up over the horizon along with the few others who remained outside. This is a superb place to have a home, the sunrises are breathtaking. I’m glad they kept me outside for this. My legs and ankles are then untied, and my collar unbuckled by my morning attendant, and he takes me back inside to start my morning workout, wash routine, and breakfast, my wrists, of course remaining tied together for the trip in. When I am done about two hours later, I am presented to Master, to continue my contracted servitude despite being ruthlessly weary.