On the fifth day of GiDmas my truelove gave to me:
Five steel rings,
Four new toys
Three leather things,
Two boxing gloves,
And blue speedos two sizes too small
OK, long story short; it was the last day before both of us had to return to work and things proceeded normally. I was allowed to be free from all my Christmas presents so far so that I could shower him, although I did have to do it wearing my favourite pair of handcuffs (Only one link between my wrists) and also had to get on my knees afterwards to give him the oral relief up against the wall that he demanded while the shower was still running. I didn’t seem to warrant the same consideration, a situation that nearly, but not quite, came to a climax while he dried me off but not before those handcuffs were firstly removed from one wrist and then replaced to hold my wrists behind me.
After what I was saying to him as I was only too evidently pointing the way forwards, he thought that he didn’t want the neighbours hearing that sort of language and that was the first time I caught sight of that black, silicone monster gag. Christ, I didn’t even get the time to try to provoke him by saying that it put his to shame (It certainly did) before I was gagging and gagged in quick succession. He even locked the buckles this time. That should have sent a signal.
I was starting to wonder what the Fifth Day of Christmas might yield in the way of presents but I didn’t have long to wait.
“On the fifth day of Christmas . . .”
“*Groan*.”
“My true love gave to me - - - five steel rings.” At least the ‘singing’ didn’t take long. Said steel rings dropped onto the bed. They came in three sizes: two smaller ones, two medium ones and one that was considerably larger. They were all shiny and hinged and complete with a substantial staple each and a padlock that kept the rings complete. I could guess what thew were for, a guess that was compounded when he also dropped a lot of shiny chains on the bed.
While he was presenting me with my latest presents, he honoured me with an explanation of how the day was to pan out. Apparently, I’d had several days of, “Doing bugger all,” while he did all the work, and now it was my turn to wait on him hand and foot. There was something stopping me from pointing out that it was his idea in the first place. Oh well, back to normal, or at least the ‘normal’ that comprises our games days.
As he wittered on, he locked one of the smallest rings onto each of my wrists just above the handcuffs. He congratulated himself on getting the size right. They were smoothly rounded in order to save my flesh from suffering too much abrasion; and forcing the special padlocks into place left no space between the ends of the steel arcs, not even the merest crack to pinch me. The padlocked rings left nearly sufficient space between them and my wrists to allow movement. I thought they were going to be too tight and he obviously picked up on that and explained that, once the handcuffs were removed, the rings would slip towards my wrist bones a bit leaving plenty of room. His idea of ‘plenty’ didn’t exactly coincide with mine.
With my smallest pair of rings in place, he padlocked a chain onto one cuff, passed it round the front of me, pulled (I thought) rather too tight and padlocked the other end to the opposite cuff leaving several spare links hanging down. His attempt to tighten the chain round the narrowest part of my waist forced my wrists up my back leaving my elbows splayed bizarrely. With the links digging into my flesh all around my waist, even I didn’t want to spend too long like that but he seemed more than satisfied with my predicament.
Following that palaver, hobbling my ankles was almost straightforward and, once he had added a chain between the centres of the hobble and the chain that was digging into my waist, he removed my favourite handcuffs. That felt better already. He gave everything a good shake and pronounced himself happy with his genius. So was I now that I realised that I could use my hands on my throbbing bowsprit. Even once he had added another length of chain between the wrist chain and the loose collar that he had padlocked round my neck, I would be able to take a very comfortable wank as long as I hunched over somewhat.
Predictably, he had noticed that as well. Or had he planned it in advance? Yup, that’s exactly what he had done. “Ta-dah!” He displayed that pair of black leather shorts, the ones that he had bought me for my last birthday, for me to see. I didn’t reckon that they would fit comfortably for quite some time. He obviously didn’t notice or, more likely, couldn’t give a shit about comfort and started to secure me into what was a skilfully made garment that had been specially designed to fit the wearer snugly and to deny him any access to his fire hose whatsoever. He had put them on me before with one of those clips that stops my dick from straightening but, of course, he had to slip that on quickly before it could even start pumping up. It was obviously too late for that as One-Eyed-Willie reared to his full height.
The shorts have two zips, one down the front of each leg from the waistband to the hems, making it possible to dress a victim even when his ankles or knees are chained. As you know, I am, a very good boy and always do what I’m told so I held the main component into place while he addressed the first zip. I could already feel the supple hide caressing my backside and drawing my glutes into shape. He inserted the stiff end [stop sniggering and look it up!] of the left zip into the slider and lifted the tab just a few centimetres before closing the popper on the hem that would stop it sliding down again until the strap through the hem was fastened. He did the same with the right leg leaving the front flap hanging down, nowhere near vertically.
Now came the interesting bit. There was, of course, a moulded, rigid shield to be inserted. Once the shorts were zipped up completely, it would be clamped tightly against my forward playground area making even poking it pointless. There was one problem, however: it had been carefully sized to leave not too much room for my tool even before I was aroused. I wondered how he would manage or would he just force the matter? My ‘enthusiasm’ was renewed and I could feel throbbing. If he didn’t get on with it, I was going going to make a mess all over his hands and anything else within range.
I was thinking, “Get on with it - - - Pleeeease!” when he used that rubber blindfold on me and there was a short wait. That’s when I heard that unmistakeable sound and I instantly regretted that ice crusher that came with our nice, new, American-style freezer. Yup, he held the extensive moulded shield in place, filled it with ice and clamped it against my lower abdomen. I could feel the result of the overspill on the bedroom carpet. He can be a real slob but it certainly had the desired (By him!) effect so he scraped the remaining ice (mostly) into a bowl and quickly raised both the zips all the way to the waist band. I felt chilly.
At least he removed the blindfold before carrying on. The shorts were in place but, according to him, they needed the finishing touches. I resolved to cross my legs for quite some time; the ice was not helping. He slipped his fingers into the legs of the shorts and just ran them all round the hems before buckling the straps that were in them. There was no way fingers could penetrate to even the tiny extent that he had just found possible and even the ends of the zips were inaccessible. A couple of small padlocks completed his task before he moved on to the large waist belt that, once it was secured, would bar all access to the zips. He used an impressively sized (and totally effective) padlock on the buckle.
Those shorts were certainly teasing and ultimately frustrating but I knew that they looked good. The restored my arse to its former pertness in the rear and made it look as if I had the penis of a stallion in front. I hate that guy – sort of.
“OK, Boy, get my breakfast, I’ve been working hard this morning.”
“*Snort!*”
The rest of the day is probably not worth relating here but I was alternately free from and sucking on that gag depending upon whether I was allowed food and drink. In between, I served his domestic needs: food, drink, footstool, etc. Just the usual but I did manage to hold out until he thought I should be allowed a loo break.
By the time he had declared that it was time for bed and he had stripped me, it had been a long day but there were compensations. My chains were replaced by my favourite handcuffs (hands behind, of course) and that monstrous gag had been swapped for my Christmas blindfold; he obviously had a use in mind for my mouth. As soon we were both in bed, the stroking started and he forced his tongue into my willing mouth where we must have spent nearly a minute gratifying each other. He finally got around to taking me in hand and, predictably, it didn’t take too long before he had to say, “Don’t worry about it, Lover, we’ve got a washing machine.” He kissed me again and we settled back for a few minutes respite before it was my turn to return the favour.
In spite of my best efforts, it took him longer than it had taken me to get satisfaction, but that’s really what you would expect, isn’t it? We both arched our backs and I swallowed. He sneakily forced a pierced ball gag into my mouth as soon as I opened it again.
“Merry Christmas, Love?” he asked.
“Oh, eeeer! Ngewwy Cwifnaa, Nguhh,” I affirmed.
We slept in dirty bedding that night.
Only 360 Days Till Christmas