The Leather Shop - part 1

Author: BondageTop
Title: The Leather Shop - part 1
Date: 24 April 2004

This was Mark's first visit to the Leather Shop. He had sometimes gone into sexshops and self-consciously looked at the leather items in there, but had never bought that much. This time, he had gone to a town some way away from where he lived and had followed up on the address of a shop he had found on the web.

Mark's shock of blond hair and boyish looks still made him stand out, but the beauty of it was, he didn't realise it himself. The guy behind the counter masked a secret smile as he asked if he could help him with anything. Mark muttered something about just wanting to look around, and Jason, the shop assistant, told him about the different areas of the shop. "Downstairs", he told him, "there's more of our gear, so feel free to look all you like!"

There were several guys in the shop, some trying on leather clothing, others just fingering the different toys. No one else took much notice of Mark and when Jason was busy serving someone, Mark plucked up courage to go downstairs. The basement was quite extensive and full of heavy bondage and torture items, which formed the backdrop for more of the shop's stock. There were archways and different little rooms - all rather dimly lit. Some were curtained off with netting but all were full of BDSM goodies - there was so much of it.

Rounding one corner and ducking through another arch, he found himself in a rather plain room. His blood raced a bit as he took in the very well made pillory in the center of the room, picked out by a soft spotlight. He hadn't come across anyone else down there so he took his time examining the polished wood and leather lined openings. It was set on a platform, with spaces for the feet on one side. He went round and stood with his feet in the holes. It was cleverly made, with sliding bits behind the feet that could be moved in and prevent you from walking away again.

He still couldn't hear anyone else down here so he gingerly lifted the top beam of the pillory and ran his finger over the leather. Three cut-outs, the middle one slightly larger than the other two. The height of the pillory could be adjusted, he noticed. It was set quite high now and he only had to bend a little to rest his head in the center semicircle. It felt good - and pictures flashed into his mind of historical settings where the pillory was used to hold village criminals to be ridiculed by passers by. He found himself resting his wrists in the two outside indentations and was surprised how comfortable and snug the leather felt. At 19, although he was tall, his neck and wrists were not that well filled out and yet this device felt as if it had been made with his measurements in mind.

He was so lost in thought that he almost lost his balance, forgetting that his ankles were caught between the planks in the base of the pillory. This was enough dislodge the top beam which came crashing down into place, closing over the top of his neck and wrists. "Cool", he thought and continued his fantasy about village punishments.

After a few minutes, his head cleared again and he decided it was time to move on. He only had to lift his wrists and neck after all, and he would be out of there. The resistance of the top beam caught him by surprise - it didn't move an inch. He tried harder to push up, but some catch or other had clicked in when the beam came down and it had locked itself shut with Mark in it. With a bit of panic setting in, he struggled a bit and was thrown completely off guard when the sliders behind his ankles suddenly triggered and sprang forward, gripping his legs and forcing them slightly forwards so that his toes disappeared under a plank.

He was well and truly stuck and couldn't get out! This caused him to panic even more and he started to cry out. His voice didn't seem to carry very far, and he certainly heard no footsteps of a rescuer.

All of a sudden, the spotlight started to dim and, together with the rest of the lights, went out completely. He couldn't turn his head much and certainly couldn't see the tiny red LED up on the wall in the corner which indicated that a camera was working. He heard no sounds at all - and the pitch blackness was damp and almost solid, like a sudden mist that had descended.

Nobody could hear him - so he thought - and he gave up trying to shout. His back started to ache due to the uncomfortable bent position of his neck in the pillory. He had no idea of the time any more, and all sorts of thoughts were racing round in his head.

All of a sudden, a very bright spotlight in the floor in front of him snapped on. It shined right into his eyes and he had to squeeze them shut. Even once his eyes had started adjusting to the light, he couldn't make out anything else around him because it was just too bright. But the voice he suddenly heard jerked him back to reality.

"Well, what have we here!" the voice said. Mark thought he had heard that voice before - yes, the guy behind the counter in the shop. But the tone was now quite different and the dominance he could here sent shivers down his spine.

"How nice of you to fall into my trap!" Mark's body suddenly went cold. He started struggling again but his neck, wrists and ankles were firmly clamped solid. "There are just a couple of things wrong with this picture", the voice went on. "Let's see what we can do to make things right."

Mark opened his mouth to say something, to plead with his captor, only to find a large hand come into view thrusting a jockstrap into his mouth. It took a moment for his sense organs to register that this jock strap was sodden with piss and God knows what else. At any rate, he was unable to utter a word and the sounds he did produce were completely unintelligable.

Then he felt hands from behind him grappling round his waist to find his belt buckle. He relaxed a moment because he was wearing one of those fancy jobs with an unusual fastening. Unless you knew how to undo it, it was impossible to get off. His moment of triumph didn't last long as he felt something pull at the belt from behind after which it went slack. "Fuck!" he thought, the basterd has cut it with a knife.

Moments later his jeans and boxers were around his knees and the hands were all over his arse, right into the crack, and feeling for his cock which, although normally impressive, was obviously quite undecided at this moment.

The pawing stopped, and then he felt the top part of the pillory being cranked lower, forcing him to bend uncomfortably further and to arch his now bare backside further out.

The first stroke of the cat on his arse was totally unexpected. It took a brief moment for the stripes left by the tails to start stinging - and then burning. He wanted to cry out and stop everything, but his words got no further than the sodden prop wedging his mouth open.

He could only waggle his butt a little from left to right, but stroke after stroke found its mark and left his buttocks feeling they were on fire. Tears stated rolling down his face. What on earth had he gotten himself into?

He felt exhausted when the cat suddenly ceased its assualt. Unable to move, his back aching like mad and his butt on fire, he waited for the next move. He knew he wasn't going to be allowed to escape and he was entirely at the mercy of this almost unseen shop guy.

Then he heard the sound of chains being hooked to the ends of the bars of the pillory. All of a sudden, the top of the pillory was released from the post and the chains were pulled up. His head and wrists were still gripped tight in the leather lined wood, but but the bars were now hanging horizontally and he had been pulled upright. His crotch was now visible from the front and apparantly the post had been removed from the base completely.

Then he felt something in his trouser legs and before he knew it, some very sharp knife had ripped his jeans right off his legs. "Hey!", he thought. It's one thing to rape me, but destroying my clothes.... How on earth was he going to leave this place with no trousers? His mind barely had a chance to reason this out when the knife started attacking his jacket and shirt. A well sharpened knife in expert hands soon left him completely naked apart from the boots and socks that were still clamped in the base of what had been the pillory.

Now he had nothing to wear - and visions of him being discovered naked in some gutter flashed through his head.

The next sound he heard took him completely by surprise. It took him a moment to place it. From behind, industrial clippers ploughed into his hair, a free hand grasping his jaw so that he couldn't avoid the inevitable. Moments later, his head was bare. His blond locks lay on the upturned bars of the pillory and were brushed off onto the floor. The clippers kept going. His chest was neatly ridden of his manly growth, his underarms were shaved and then, with a brief pause while his captor moved around him, his pubic growth was roughly cut away.

All of a sudden, everything went quiet. The lights snapped off and he knew he was alone again. How this guy got in and out of the basement area without him seeing was a mystery to him. There he stood, swaying slightly, feeling completely naked and helpless. He started sobbing, his teeth digging deeper into the jock strap. How could things get any worse?