The Telemachus Story Archive

The Boy in the Bag
By Hooder

The Boy in the Bag

It was a very hi-tech playroom. Terry’s gaze swept over the chrome shelves full of leather and steel items, the black rubber floor, the concealed lighting, and the industrial-looking restraint frames standing about. His eyes came down to the long, narrow stainless-steel table with its black padded top. On it was a body bag, lying open with its straps hanging down. It was made of thick black leather, and his eyes widened when he saw that the inside was lined with more leather, shiny side in. It had two rows of strong eyelets for lacing, and he could see the internal leather arm sleeves. A thick leather hood rested on the table top beyond it, and some two-inch-wide straps were coiled up on a table by its side.

Terry had spent the last hour in a small cell in the next room, naked except for his combat boots and socks, with his wrists handcuffed behind his back. The whole place was pleasantly warm.

André had come for him a short while ago, and the boy had started to get hard at the high leather boots polished to within an inch of their lives, the heavy black leather jeans, and the leather bike jacket with its studded belt. The leather mask the guy was wearing sent shivers down Terry’s spine: it was long, coming down to his shoulders, featureless apart from the eye holes, and came to a sinister point a few inches above his head. It looked like something from the Inquisition, he thought; the thing exuded sadism. And now that he was in the playroom the sight of the leather bag, the straps and the hood waiting for him made his cock even harder. He’d had very horny sessions with this guy several times in the past, but never here in his own playroom – and he’d never been allowed to see the guy’s face; he’d always worn a mask of some kind whenever Terry wasn’t blindfolded or hooded.

André removed the boy’s handcuffs. “Get on.”

Terry lay down on top of the body bag, gasping for a moment as the cold leather made contact with his skin. As André worked the booted feet down inside the lower part of it, the boy was surprised to see that it was open at the bottom end – the thick leather came to an end with a line of stitching a above his ankles, level with the bottom end of the table; his boots were hanging over the end of it. As his arms were inserted into the internal sleeves, Terry gasped again as the cold, shiny leather slid up his arms. When they were fully in, they were covered right up to his armpits, and his hands came to rest in the closed ends. Experimentally he flexed his fingers, but found that their movement was very limited.

André set about closing the bag. First the sides were brought up and laid over the boy. That pulled his arms tight against his body. The two rows of eyelets came to within a few inches of each other, and the guy began threading a long, and very strong white cord through them. He pulled them together very tightly down to slightly above the boy’s cock, which was already as hard as a rock. Then he took something from a shelf and fitted it carefully over Terry’s cock head. It was a small black bullet vibrator. He positioned it precisely over the boy’s frenulum. There was no cable running from it, so Terry assumed it was wireless. His cock was lubed, then it was pushed gently into its own shiny leather enclosure that was a part of the body bag.

That done, André resumed threading and tightening the lace all the way down to the end of the bag, then pulled the attached straps tight.

Already Terry could feel the pressure of the leather squeezing him. It had almost warmed up to his body temperature now. A strap went around his boots to hold them immobile.

Next, André fitted the separate wide straps over the leather-covered body and through rings under the table, buckling each one tightly. There were seven of these, and he spaced them equidistantly from across Terry’s shoulders to just above the tops of his boots. The last one went over the bag right at the end; it was tight and made it very difficult for him to move his feet at all.

André picked up the hood. He released a catch and lowered the top section of the table, then pulled the thick black leather down over the boy’s head, positioning it carefully with the breathing holes under his nose, laced it tightly at the back, pulled the zip closed, and then tightened the straps that went over his eyes and his mouth. Satisfied that everything was in order, André raised the table section back to its flat position. He ran his gaze over the boy and nodded to himself.

“Are you comfortable? Nod if so. Shake your head if anything is wrong.”

Terry jumped at the voice – it had come from inside his head! Then he realised there must be earphones built into the hood. He was very comfortable indeed - the leather all over him felt wonderful. This hood was tighter and much more controlling than ones he’d been used to, especially over his eyes and his mouth, but it felt great. He nodded.


He felt something being attached to the table either side of his head, and realised that now he could no longer turn or move it. He could still nod, slightly, but not very far.

He lay there, wondering what was going to happen. After a while he was suddenly aware of a sound: a kind of constant rushing noise, a bit like rain on leaves. Before it had started he’d just been able to hear André walking around the room, but now it masked any other sound. This seemed to cut him off from his surroundings more than anything else had done so far. He found himself concentrating on it although he tried not to.

As he lay there his eyes were open – he wanted to be as aware as possible of that sexy hood covering his face. He tried to flex his jaw, but the leather would not let it move at all. He tried to wiggle his fingers, but now that they were tight against his hips he couldn’t even do that any more.

Time passed. As he lay there, it became a flexible thing; he had no idea how long he’d on the table – it could have been a couple of minutes, it could have been an hour. He was warm, comfortable, and gripped by black leather all over his body. He was happy.

He lay there for a long time, his mind wandering.

And then something changed. Where before he had been floating, his mind drifting, thinking about leather and boys and restraints, suddenly his consciousness seemed to come to a sharp focus. He almost went cross-eyed looking at the leather over them, he struggled to move his arms, his head. He couldn’t breathe. He began to panic. What if the guy had gone away and left him? He would probably return at some point, but by then Terry could have gone insane. Or what if he didn’t return at all?

He recognised the panic attack, and forced himself to take deep, slow breaths. He’d been tied up by André before, and the guy had always seemed experienced and responsible. Gradually he relaxed, and before long he had returned to that state of floating. He smiled. Sensory deprivation. He knew about it, but he’d never experienced it before. It was turning out to be intense.

More time passed. How much, Terry had no idea. He’d had a couple more panics, but he’d got them under control, and the last one hadn’t been for ages. He was no longer aware of the rushing sound unless he consciously thought about it, and the only way he could feel the leather around him was if he tried to move bits of his body. When he did, he sighed contentedly at the feeling and at the vibrations of the creaking.

His mind provided images for him. They were not all porn – sometimes he thought about his childhood, or his house, or his cat, or people he knew – but much of the time visions of boys, strapped down, being edged or fucked paraded across his mental screen. And these were unusually vivid: he could hear their moans, smell the leather, taste their cocks as he sucked them. His own cock had gone repeatedly from softness to full erection and back again many times while he’d been lying there. Each time it did, he had felt it sliding slowly against the slippery leather enclosing it.

Right now, in his mind, he was in a club he knew well. A good-looking guy was feeling him up through his leather jeans and kissing him. The guy’s fingers squeezed his bulge and -

Terry screamed. The vibrator on his cock had been switched on. The shock, after the long period of nothing happening, was intense. As soon as he recognised what it was, he realised that it felt amazing; it was exactly on the most sensitive spot. His cock began to harden again and he felt it slipping in the lube against the shiny black leather around it. Within a few seconds he knew he was going to cum. But the vibrator stopped buzzing. His cock jerked in frustration and he grunted into the leather hood.

Time passed.

He’d been floating again, and more mental images had come to him. He’d fucked boys, he’d sucked them. Now he was edging a punk whose desperately hard cock was sticking out of a pair of tight PVC jeans. He could actually feel the shiny jeans under his fingertips as he teased the boy’s balls through them. As he lay on the table in the playroom his own fingers were moving very slightly inside the leather sleeves of the bag and he was trying unsuccessfully to pump his hips against the restraints, while in his head he approached the punk’s cock head slowly with a well-lubed, rubber-gloved hand...

FUCK! The mental image disappeared abruptly and with a shock his consciousness instantly snapped back to the here and now. Hands were touching his booted feet. The strap around them was being removed.

Nothing more happened for a while.

Then André began to undo the lace of his left combat boot. Very, very slowly indeed, he undid it all the way down.

The period of sensory deprivation had, amongst other things, made the boy more sensitive than he could have imagined to the slightest touch or vibration. As the guy pulled the sides of his boot apart he was conscious of cooler air – even through his sock.

There was a long pause, and then André undid the other boot.

Terry waited for something to happen, but nothing did for a long time. Then he jumped again as he felt hands gently pulling his left boot off his foot. Until now he hadn’t been aware of where the bag ended and his boots began – it had all seemed to be one continuous enclosure – and the shock was intense as it was exposed to the cooler air of the room.

The vibrator came to life again; its setting was low, but it stiffened his cock and reminded him that he was being controlled totally. It buzzed on his frenulum. He licked the inside of the hood, moved his fingers as much as he could to feel the leather, gyrated his hips up and down against the straps holding him so that he could really feel the restraints, and slowly he got closer and closer to cumming. He was near to the edge now – if only that fucking vibrator was a little bit stronger… He tried and tried, but it wasn’t enough, and he couldn’t make himself cum.

The man waited for what seemed to Terry to be ages, and then removed the other boot. Again the boy was acutely conscious of the difference: it felt as if a part of his warm cocoon had been taken away from him. He could feel his socks now, where before he hadn’t been conscious of them at all.

Fingers at the top of his left sock. With agonising slowness they peeled it down, exposing his bare foot. Suddenly it felt intensely vulnerable. In panic, he tried to shake his feet violently, to prevent the other sock from being taken off – but he couldn’t move them far enough and he was incapable of stopping it. It was removed slowly and inexorably, and both feet were naked.

Terry was trembling. He had never felt so vulnerable or helpless in his life – and he’d been in many kinds of very restrictive bondage over the years. He waited, wondering what the guy was going to do to his feet, but again nothing happened for a long time.

He had relaxed again. His feet still felt more naked than naked, but nothing was happening to them. The vibrator was buzzing on his hard cock and he could feel precum coating the shiny leather and running over the shaft. He concentrated on trying to make himself cum, but it was no good.

Something was being placed around his left big toe. It didn’t feel like a thong, or a rope – it was cold. Metal? There was the vibration of a ratchet and then it was snug around the toe. Fingers took his other big toe and fastened the device around it too. Now his feet were held together and he could move them even less than before.

The hands went away and he waited, his muscles tense.

Nothing more happened. After a while the boy relaxed and began to drift into his dreams again. The skin of his naked feet had warmed or cooled to the ambient air temperature and he was comfortable again. His mind floated in hooded blackness and the vibrator was working on his cock, keeping it hard and horny. He felt it move inside the leather on one of its excursions, and yet again he tried to cum.

For the second time, Terry screamed. This time his body went rigid and he thought he was going to have a heart attack. Something sharp had been dragged down his right sole. The object, whatever it was, only stroked once and was then removed, but the effect on the boy lasted a lot longer. It was a mixture of sudden, intense non-pain, and excruciating ticklishness. It was pure stimulation, he realised, which his sensation-starved mind was amplifying to a ridiculous level. But knowing this did nothing to alleviate it. Long after the object had been removed the feeling was still there. He fought to move his feet, but the restraint of the body bag and the straps, along with whatever that thing was that was holding his big toes together made it absolutely impossible for him to do so.

And then another stroke, this time down the other sole. Again Terry screamed into the gagging hood. He fought to escape, to struggle, to get away from that unbearable sensation – but the leather held him helpless.

After a while the echo of the strokes over his soles faded. He could still feel them, but now it was just a slight tingle.

Later he felt warmth on his feet. Hot air. A hairdryer perhaps? It blew over them, constantly changing direction. The hot air continued for a few minutes, by which time his feet were very warm indeed. Then it went away.

Feathers. He knew they were feathers the moment they made contact. Soft points ran over his feet. They stroked over the soles, the arches, the heels, the sides, and across his toes. Terry arched his back and yelled into the hood. This was absolutely fucking unbearable. He had never considered himself especially ticklish, but what the hours of sensory deprivation and the warm air had done to his feet was unbelievable. He couldn’t stand it. Oh fuck oh fuck it had to stop. He struggled like crazy, tried to move his feet, to get his arms free. But the more he struggled, the tighter the leather seemed to grip him. He fought to get that fucking hood off – if only he could see, he thought, he might be able to deal with it. But no amount of struggling shifted it one millimetre. Nothing he could do made the slightest difference; the feathers continued to stroke and tickle over his feet and there was nothing he could do about it.

Mercifully the feathers stopped eventually, but by that time Terry thought he was surely half-insane. He was panting with the efforts of struggling, the air sighing through the breathing holes in the hood. Bit by bit his body relaxed. He thanked all gods that at least the bastard couldn’t get to any other parts of his body. The vibrator switched off.

Later still, he was back in his private visions, although he could still feel the soles of his feet tingling.

He jumped as the vibrator started up again on a very low setting, and something touched his soles. His cock began to stiffen again even further. Whatever was touching his feet was thin, and hard. It rested there for a while, not moving. Then it was taken away – and returned fast. A cane. Even though the blow wasn’t hard, Terry yelled into the hood. Bastinado. Normally he could take a fair amount of pain if it was applied properly, but he’d heard about this, and he knew it was a kind of pain that time did not make it easier to deal with. He was suddenly very afraid indeed, but the vibrator was still buzzing and his cock was responding to it.

André wielded the cane expertly. He knew exactly what it felt like, and his goal was not simply to torture the boy with pain. Periods of rapid blows that were not too hard, across the centre of the bare soles, were interspersed with the occasional single much harder one. Each of these caused Terry to arch his back and scream, but the guy knew that he would deal with it. The sequence continued, getting gradually more and more severe, for a few minutes - and then stopped for a while to allow the boy to recover before it began, softly again. And he was not only controlling the cane: he also followed the severity of the beating with the vibrator, turning it up as the blows of the cane got harder, and down if they were softer.

At the height of each, the pressure of the bag, the straps, and the hood tightly enclosing Terry’s head made him very aware that he was being held helpless and vulnerable by black leather: he couldn’t avoid the torture, he couldn’t escape, he couldn’t see anything, he couldn’t communicate, and he was tightly enclosed by his biggest fetish. He could do nothing but lie there and take whatever the guy decided to do to him. That was a feeling that was both intensely horny, and very very scary. And that vibrator on his frenulum was keeping him fucking horny through it all.

The cane continued to strike his soles for a long time.

Although the beating was getting progressively harder, there came a point when Terry was aware that he was perceiving the pain differently - it was still there, and just as bad - but it seemed to be hurting less somehow. Instead, a nebulous glow was gradually enveloping him. This glow was not protecting him from the pain, but it was modulating it in some way. It made him feel like he wanted to go with it – it was a bit like when he on poppers, or when he was fucking someone and got close to cumming, and his animal brain took over and made him ram his cock in harder and harder. Determination whatever the cost. He continued to scream into the hood, but for some reason he was getting close to not wanting it to stop.

When it did stop, eventually, Terry was bathed in sweat inside the leather body bag. His feet were in agony, he was breathing hard through tightly-clenched teeth and he felt like he was swimming in testosterone.

André had used that vibrator on this boy a couple of times before – he didn’t know if Terry would remember that – and so he had some idea of how high to set it so that it would, eventually, make him cum – but not easily. He set it to what he thought was that level now. A moan of pleasure came from the boy at its increased intensity.

Hands returned to Terry’s feet. He yelled again – his soles felt as if they were on fire, and they were so sensitive now that the slightest touch was pure torture. But the fingers were extremely gentle, and they seemed to be spreading oil of some kind over his skin.

Fingertips began to tickle his bare soles lightly. He had thought that the earlier tickling had been bad, but after the bastinado, this was worse by an order of magnitude. The fingers were only just touching, but as they stroked and glided smoothly over his beaten and oiled soles he screamed and writhed in ticklish agony in the leather. The more strongly buzzing vibrator was working on his cock and in other circumstances, he realised, it would probably have made him cum, but right now the tickling was too intense. Then he felt the damn vibrations change to a higher level yet. His cock responded – it felt like it was trying to burst out of the shiny, slippery black leather holding it. The tickling was unbearable; at the top of his voice he frantically begged the guy to stop, but the gagging hood muffled his panicked pleading into silence as effectively as if a leather-gloved hand had been clamped tightly over his mouth. He couldn’t stand it. It was far, far more than he could take. He didn’t know what he was going to do – it was absolutely unendurable. But at the same time he was pumping his hips against the restraints as the vibrator relentlessly tried to milk him, his cock sliding inside the black leather.

Suddenly the man turned the vibrator up full, and attacked his hypersensitive soles all over with the fingernails of both hands at once, tickling him madly and sadistically hard. Terry shrieked, his hands clawing at the leather insides of the sleeves. His body arched, and every one of the restraints creaked with his desperate effort to escape as he writhed in tortured agony under them. He had never known anything like this in his life. But as the fingernails scraped mercilessly across the bare soles, everything suddenly came together: the hood pressing over his face, blindfolding him, gagging him; the straps holding him down to the table; his hands and arms restrained useless and immobile in their leather sheaths; the body bag gripping his body; his cock sliding in precum and lube against shiny black leather; the vibrator battering his frenulum; and most of all his total, absolute fucking helplessness . His cock erupted and he came.

He struggled violently in his restraints as his spunk pumped out madly, the vibrator and the slippery leather milking it uncontrollably as those fingernails tortured the soles of his feet.

Finally he fell back down onto the table, panting in total exhaustion. The tickling stopped, and the vibrator was switched off. He tried to moan “Oh fuck…” but he wasn’t even capable of that.

Terry sat on the table. His hair was matted, his face flushed.

André stood looking at him, his thumbs hooked in his studded belt. “So, you free for another session a week on Thursday?”

Terry swallowed. God knows what this madman would do to him next time if he was idiot enough to let the guy get him tied up again. He dropped to the floor, wincing as his battered feet took his weight. He wouldn’t be able to fucking walk properly for days.

“You got any time before that?” he asked.