On Display to Thousands · Part 1

On Display to Thousands · Part 1 (1/10)
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Prologue If your BDSM reading preference is getting right to the action, followed by more action and nothing but action, you might want to skip this writing. I offer that suggestion as this is a true story of CNC play that details what happened to me over a long three days, so there are lots of facts, backstory, physical descriptions and personal thoughts that go along with the strict bondage and sexual abuse I received, i.e. to some it is a long read. Still, I’m told many BDSM enthusiasts find it intriguing as well as stimulating to read a real story over a fictional one. That said, I think you’ll find this one has more than enough action during its course. Some parts may even be hard to believe, but it all happened.

Personally, I’d rather no one read this as it is humiliating to share what they did to me and how I was forced to service other men. It is written and posted simply because one of the provisions of my servitude contract is that I must keep a journal capturing written descriptions and my reactions to what occurred. I then am required to transcribe the diary into a story form, aided by additional notes and recordings of the events provided to me, and submit the finished work to on-line BDSM publications. My compulsory admission to the public about these activities amuses my masters, shames and mortifies me, which I believe is their intent and the root of their pleasure.

As background, a couple of months ago, late August 2025 to be more precise, my best friend Mike called to share some titillating news. Our mutual ‘friend’ in Vegas had extended an invitation to both of us to attend a special party in San Francisco the weekend of September 27-28. Now, if you have been following my other forced published journals, you know Mike as my master Sir Michael, and his Vegas friend as Dr. D, a well-practiced BDSM Dominant who has on occasion rented me from Sir Michael for his own deviant pleasures.

Both these guys are gay, and I am straight. Over the past two years periodically they have been putting me into bondage servitude for up to a week at a time and then along with their friends, sexually abusing me. All the activities are governed by the aforementioned servitude contract I have with Sir Michael. You can find the contract in my first journal ‘Eight Days in a Binding Contract,’ a disturbing and, to many, an arousing set of real BDSM events.

I know better than having a playdate with Dr. D without getting the particulars, but my yearning to satisfy my submissive needs sometimes clouds my better judgement. What I was told was this was an annual big party at a likeminded friend of Dr. D’s in San Francisco. Sir Michael indicated he also was an acquaintance and had attended this annual gala once before. He described it as incredible and right up my alley. So, I started to get excited, ignoring that this was an invitation to a stranger’s BDSM party and I would be cast in the role of a submissive wanting to be bound and abused.

Mike, working to increase my willingness to go, shared that the Host and his partner have a dungeon, just like Dr. D and mate have in their Las Vegas home. Mike doesn’t share how, but apparently this guy knows my ‘story,’ and he thought I would add a new twist to their weekend entertainment activities. I didn’t connect the dots or simply elected to ignore the fact that I had been the featured ‘entertainment’ at one of Dr. D’s play-parties and that proved to be quite a severe weekend. A red flag that I disregarded.

And so, despite potential tribulation, the trip was on. This document, like my previous journals, is written at the insistence of my Masters, and chronicles what occurred.

Chapter 1: Arrival and Ownership Transfer I flew into San Francisco from Charlotte on Friday September 26 on a flight timed to match up with Sir Michael’s arrival from San Diego and Dr. D’s flight from Las Vegas. Dr. D had an entourage with him, his mate, and four other Doms (three stag and one with his partner). These guys are all members of the Common Bonds Social Club (a group noted in my past journals of which I hold an honorary associate membership).

I don’t know any of their actual names, by design, but each one of them had previous ‘unsolicited’ relations with me while I was bound and could not resist. They being here is an odd comfort, as I recognized I would be likely having a sexually abusive but relatively health safe weekend. As each member joined the group, heartfelt hugs were shared including their greetings to me. The upcoming play date and my role in it had apparently not yet started.

A party van had been arranged to take us all to our destination. This was certainly not the first visit to this home by the others; they knew how and liked to travel comfortably and some of the members had the means to make it happen. With the whole group finally assembled we were off.

San Francisco traffic being what it is, it took us at least forty minutes to reach our destination. The conversation was jovial and festive as we rode along. I could tell the crowd was excited about the coming weekend even though their conversations were yielding no hints of what was up and coming.

As we pull into the driveway, a rarity in this town, I am unexpectedly greeted by an exquisite and stately three-story Victorian home. It sits on a large corner lot and has the traditional turret tower, bay windows, and brightly painted gingerbread common to the Victorian style; beautiful. San Francisco’s real estate values are known to be some of the highest in the nation. This home must be big bucks, three to four million easy. Funny, this is now the second BDSM gay couple’s home I’ve visited and interesting, they both turn out to be very successful in their private lives if housing is an indicator.

Our host and his partner welcome this merry crowd at the front door and invite us in. The home is as stunning and lavishly decorated as the outside would suggest. Our group is the only one here at the moment as the party doesn’t actually begin till tomorrow. We will be staying till Monday as houseguests. I’m told most other partiers will be generally local and will not necessarily stay overnight. But I’m also informed not to worry, as there will be ample time to get to ‘know’ each of the locals. Sorry, I can't help it, I am worried.

All these guys are long-term friends and are truly thrilled to see each other. Hugs and handshakes abound, friendly banter, teasing and humorous suggestive potential behavior is offered. And I stand there, waiting for an introduction. While I know all the people I just arrived with on an extremely personal level, the addition of the two hosts makes me feel awkward, standing there as the straight outsider that I am. That will change I’m sure, and I’ll pay for that acceptance.

Chapter 2: New Dungeon, New Dominant, New Regrets “So, this is my boy for the weekend?” asks the host approaching me, giving me a good hard look. “He looks good and sturdy. He should serve us well.”

“Well, he’s yours as soon as I get my dollar for the lease,” replies Sir Michael jovially.

What the hell? I assumed that since I was here with Mike, he was going to be my master for the weekend. We never discussed it; that’s my mistake for making an assumption. He’s leasing me out to someone I do not know, a first. Not happy. Well, at least Sir Michael is here. He will still be my protector; he’s my best friend. I hope that’s how it will be.

It’s me now giving the host a hard look over. He doesn’t seem to be a bad guy. Then again, Dr. D looks like a gentle soul, but under ‘his’ rental ownership I suffered unbelievable trials. I realize that this was the game I signed up for, so I try not to panic and convince myself to just see how it goes. This could be fun, maybe.

This guy seems to be about the same age as me. Taller and very physically fit, more than just trim. I’m not one to judge another man’s looks, but he’s a handsome stud. If he was straight, he would be a looker to the ladies. I assume he’d be considered ‘hot’ to the gay guys. Of note, his head is clean shaven. His right bicep and upper arm showcase tattoos, nothing too garish. He’s dressed nicely in shorts, a colorful buttoned short sleeve shirt, and sandals on his feet.

His submissive mate tends to our bags and other stuff. He is more on the feminine side of the gay world. Also nicely dressed, somewhat quiet and reserved in his interactions as I would expect a subservient would be in a public setting. I guess they make a nice couple. My thoughts are to what his reaction is to his dominant mate renting a straight male as a party favor submissive for the weekend.

The dollar is ceremoniously transferred in front of me, and I am now the rental property of this anonymous and unfamiliar BDSM gay dominant to be used as he wishes within the limits and rules of my signed contract. And so, the weekend begins.

And it begins quite benignly. The group disperses to settle into their rooms and are told they should reassemble in the ‘grand room’ for a casual buffet dinner when they are done. My new master comes to me and instructs me to follow him. I do as I am told, toting my small carry-on suitcase behind. We headed into the kitchen. I’m told to fix a lite dinner plate from the buffet foods set out and to take it with me. I comply quickly, and I then follow my renter all the way up to the third floor.

As he opens the door at the top of the final stairs he announces, “This is my playroom. Maybe not as grand as the one your friend Dr. D has, but nonetheless, a torture chamber suitable enough to push you to your limits. I think your fantasies can be well played out here.” He adds, “Keeping to your contract's demand of anonymity, I will be known to you simply as Master D and that is how you shall address me.”

An immediate fear fills me. ‘Master D’, ‘Dr. D’, such similar names. Under the stress of bondage and abuse I worry I’ll mix up their titles, with severe punishment for their perceived slight, likely to be swift and painful.

He continues his instructions, “I’m going back to my friends to eat and socialize. In the meantime, you will be locked in here. I want you to eat. Then I want you to take a tour. Check out my assortment of bondage furniture and toys and ponder on how all of us will use them on you. I hope you will find it to be a place where your S&M dreams will again become real. I know all about your submissive sadomasochism fantasies. Your owner shared your diaries with me. And I know your buddy Dr. D very well. We’ve chatted a lot recently; it was his suggestion that brought you here.”

“During your tour you will find the bath and shower area I mentioned. You are to put your belongings and clothes you are wearing in the wardrobe. In it you’ll also find a bottle of Cialis pills; take two of them. Dr. D has put his OK on this. You have been prescribed to take them each day you are here. He tells me he also has some exit drugs for you on your last day. He has them. He says you are familiar with all of this”

“Then relieve yourself, shower and cleanse your butt, leaving my bath as sanitary as you found it. Everything you need to do this should be in the bath area. Sitting where your meds were, you’ll also find a simple leather snap-on ball stretcher. You are to put it on after you’re done with the shower. I want you to then go and select from the various whips and floggers hanging on the wall the one you want me to whip you with first. Sit it on the floor on the door side about two feet in front of the pillory.”

Additional instructions follow, “You are then to secure yourself naked to the pillory facing towards the main door. There on the floor are leather ankle cuffs attached to a spreader bar that you will lock on first. These will secure your legs wide enough to provide access to your butt and balls and allow me to reposition the neck & wrist crossbar up or down with you still locked in. After you are done with your feet, put your neck and wrists through the crossbar. It is held open by free-fall tabs. Simply put a little upward pressure with your neck and wrists and it will release and slide down, securely latching in place until I see fit to release you.”

His final comments as he readies to leave are: “It will be a while till I return but I expect you to get right to your assignments. I want you to spend plenty of time in the pillory before I return so your legs will begin to fatigue, and your mind will weaken from the stress of you pondering your coming physical, sexual and mental abuse. We are in for a fun weekend, well, maybe not you, but my friends and I are going to have a blast. Delivered just the way you fantasize, bound tight and unable to resist. There, that’s something to dwell on while you stand there in your self-imposed bondage. Oh, yeah, you are on camera, lots of them, all over, sound too. The boys and I’ll be watching, you’re safe, but call out if you get in trouble. Bye for now.”

Chapter 3: Tour, Prep and Self Bondage This is a new Dom. I don’t know his tendencies or his severity yet. But I’m taking no chances as the fear of his potential punishment wrath makes me anxious. I do exactly as I’ve been told and I do it expeditiously.

First, the tour. I zero in on what Master D has already introduced, the pillory. It is a well-made and sturdy double pole fixture with the crossbar set in between the two uprights. This style pillory allows for free access for whipping and other abuses to both the front and back of the torso. The cross bar has been adjusted to be at standing height. The rack is open, waiting for its prey, me. The leather cuffs and spreader bar sit on the floor below it.

I moved on to survey the rest of the furniture. There is a St. Andrews Cross. This one is not as fancy as Dr. D’s, but it will still be effective. A black heavy-duty wood and faux leather pegging/spanking bench sits in the corner. It is of a somewhat different design from all three of Dr. D’s benches, but its use is still obvious and looks versatile. There are two dog cages, one large, one small. A block and tackle operated trapeze suspension bar hangs from the ceiling. Not far from the suspension setup is a leather sling hung with chains from a heavy black steel frame design specifically for that purpose.

One wall has a variety of setups. The first one that catches my attention is a wall mounted Sybian vibrator jutting out a little over four feet from the floor. Surrounding it are various wall mounted rings for securing arms and legs of the rider forced to straddle it. This is curious to me as this set up is most typically used to torture women. I have even witnessed a girl bound to one at Dr. D’s, driving her way past ecstasy to near insanity. The dungeon master must have a larger circle of BDSM friends then simply gay men. Either that, or my rectum may be riding it this weekend.

Another portion of the same wall (and the floor in front) is covered with nicely finished smooth plywood. It serves as the mounting base for a device bondage system that uses modular pipe & rail fittings. It is intriguing to me how many ways the system can be configured to tightly restrain someone in positions that make them completely vulnerable and accessible. I look forward to and fear being secured here.

On the floor not far from the Sybian and Modular mounts is a padded T-bar stand. It’s an effective device for bending someone over to peg or whip the butt.

The last pieces of furniture I recall were two beds. One was a high quality four poster dungeon bed with overhead frame and underneath cage. There were numerous attachment points and ample other methods of securing someone to the bed including a pillory like rack as the foot board face. The second bed was a vintage single camp style metal iron bed with an exposed metal spring mattress serving as its platform. To be put down and tied naked to this would surely be uncomfortable over time.

Hanging from one wall are all kinds of whips, crops, floggers, and paddles. There are also all sorts of leather straps, cuffs and even an assortment of hoods. Another wall features metal cuffs, irons, handcuffs, and chains. They all seem to be hung in a way to serve both as an intimidation display as well as being at the ready. If that is in fact his goal, he has succeeded as the abundance of mischievous toys has raised my apprehension level.

Making it worse, I peek into some wall cabinets. In one I find dildoes and plugs of every size and shape, many of which I could never accommodate, and I hope my abusers don’t try. Another cabinet houses electro-toys, lots and lots of electro-toys. A third stores metal fetish gear ranging from nipple clamps, penis clenchers, male chastity devices, and hanging weights to sounding rods and piercing needles. Again, more stuff than I wish to inventory or fathom. These rich gay guys seem to have unlimited budgets to satisfy their fetishes.

I realize I am spending too much time on the tour, so I stop and quickly go eat my meal. When we had stopped in the kitchen, I had simply grabbed a paper plate, picked a single mini-sub from a Jersey Mike’s ‘Subs by the Box’ party tray and added some chips and loose grapes to take with me. I had a bottle of water too. I was hungry, it was good. Master D had said a lite meal. I hope he didn’t consider what I took as being piggy. It was certainly more than I had been served on my previous bondage servitude trips out West.

Next up, my shower and cleansing. I step into the bathroom and see that it is of good size but not nearly as big as Dr. D’s ‘wet room’. Similar to his, all the walls and floor are tiled white, but its function is designed more like a traditional bathroom. It has a large walk-in shower, a set of double sinks, and a normal toilet. However, what is both odd and disturbing is that it also has two bowl style urinals mounted side by side on the far wall. Now I have seen urinals in gentlemen’s upscale home bathrooms before, but not two of them, so that is odd.

Moving the line from odd to fearsome is how the urinals are plumbed. The unit on the right looks normal. It has a common chrome flush valve mounted on top. Under the porcelain bowl is an exposed style soil discharge using a chrome pipe with traditional trap bend piped into the wall.

The left unit, on the other hand, has no flush valve. Instead, its top hole is filled with a chrome plug. Coming straight down from the bowl’s waste connection is a chrome pipe, about six inches long, that transitions to a similarly sized clear flexible hose. Affixed to the end of this plastic tube is what appears to be a mouthpiece comparable to a swimmer’s snorkel/athletic bite guard combination. A wide rubber strap incircles the mouthpiece in a way that if the strap is slipped over a person’s head it would pull the device tightly into the mouth like a gag and seal over their lips to prevent leaking.

I have no question as to what I have discovered.

Exploring further, directly below this pipe assembly I find fastened to the floor a two-piece door designed to allow each side to slide open. It is covering a hidden vault below the floor. There is a half-circle cut-away on each door, creating a round opening about the size of someone’s neck when closed together.

My curiosity gets the best of me. I open one of the doors. Below it is a shaft approximately 16 by 24 inches and maybe five feet deep. The chamber is perfectly sized to accommodate a standing person. It’s dark, but enough light shines down from the bathroom to show a side door that allows entry. I am uneasy about what may come; they have obviously built a functional human urinal. Dr. D is here and one of his biggest fetishes is submissive piss play. I am at risk and now very uneasy.

I try to not dwell on it as I have things to do. I undressed, stowed my clothes and belongings as previously directed and got on with the shower. On a bookshelf unit in the bathroom is an ample supply of fluffy folded towels, washcloths, soap, and other toiletries. Of special note, one of the shelves also held about a dozen ‘new in the box’ douche enema bulb kits with a small sign by them saying “For Our Guests. Please mark as yours.” A permanent marker sat nearby. Not sure what to label mine as I wasn’t given a name yet, I went with Dr. D’s favorite “Cunt”.

I took a shower and douched myself several times. I felt whistle-clean inside, which is to my benefit. I dried off placing my towel in the hamper labeled as such, making sure all was tidied up, and off I went to start my bondage servitude.

I have done a lot of self-bondage in my day, sometimes even providing my own self abuse through nipple clamps or electro stimulation. Even so, when locking yourself up as I have been told to do, not knowing what is coming, but dwelling on the worse, sure makes completing the task challenging. I pull down on my ball sack and snap on the leather strap. It’s a good inch and a quarter, maybe an inch and a half wide. My nuts are compressed as there is little bag left to contain them now that I am stretched tight by the constricting ban. Just as designed.

On go the ankle cuffs, with locks. I have no key. Up I stand, slipping into the rack, first with my neck, then my wrists, being ever so careful not to release it prematurely. I want to make sure my stance is comfortable as it can be before I am at the device’s mercy. The neck and wrist openings are nicely padded with leather. They are not large, they will be a firm, unyielding fit, by design I assume. I lift up against the upper rack and then back down. The board rides down with me. Click.

I’m locked in. The natural response is to push up. No movement. Pull back on my wrist then neck. Tightly secured. Wiggle my fingers, then wrists, rotate my neck. Not too tight. And so, I stand, bound by my own hand. Unable to release myself. No timer, no keys. At the mercy of others. Others who are not here; but watching.

A lot can go through one’s mind as they wait in an inescapable position. I spend plenty of this time fantasizing about what I would like done to me. Staring at the riding crop on the floor corrupts some of those more hopeful rambling thoughts, I’m sure he had me place it there for that exact mental tribulation. Then again, it really doesn’t matter what I’m dreaming; what happens to me while helplessly bound and exposed will be what satisfies the whims, pleasures and kinks of my vanquishers and not me, which is my base fantasy.

Not all the time is in fantasy dreaming. Some of the time affixed to the pillory allows me to simply enjoy and contemplate the complete helplessness of the situation I am in. Being placed in a submissive bound setting is what helps me disengage from my highly stressed work/life realm. Lastly, I spend time stuck here consciously trying to address the cramping and muscle fatigue that the pillory position can cause.

Time moves on slowly. I can only assume that Master D is being an excellent host as he stays with his downstairs guests for over two hours. I await my fate as he entertains.

Chapter 4: Meeting Master D, Up-close and Personal I’m startled by the sudden opening of the door and rapid approach of Master D, as he loudly calls out his verbal welcome of “I’m back. Miss me?” What startles me most is his appearance. He is wearing heavy black mid-thigh high boots, a leather upper chest harness and not

On Display to Thousands · Part 1 (1/10)
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