by KBFeet
It is an extraordinary feeling to experience the exhilarating thrill of being bound tightly by another man, whilst simultaneously feeling a warm comfort and having a sense of safety.
For the first time in my life, I knew what it felt like to give up all control.
For the first time in my life, I knew what it felt like to be completely helpless.
For the first time in my life, my entire body was at the mercy of another human being, a being stronger than myself and that being, was my dad. I loved every moment!
I remember the first time my dad gave me the ‘Birds and the Bees talk’, which I’m sure can be embarrassing for most guys, so you can imagine how awkward it was to be shown his ‘tools’ as he calls them. I perched on the very edge of his queen-sized bed, hands in my lap grasping a fist with my left palm, I remember forcing my vertebrae into a perfectly straight line, I had no idea what to expect, I was nervous.
At my feet stood dads ‘tool box’ not your typical handy man’s trove of screwdrivers, hammers and nails. Instead a chest full of neatly, compact, bundled rope, ranging in length and thickness, an assortment of mouth gags, some looked simple, others seemed to be devices which would encase your entire head like a hood! Surprisingly several rolls of duct tape, I laughed to myself, thinking the silver adhesive tape was the only normal thing I could see.
“Ha, you’re sweating…” Dad chuckled with that almost aggressive tone he loves to display.
I was sweating, I hadn’t noticed until he announced it, I don’t think I would have either, my dad almost had a way of making you feel things, just by telling you. His mature, finely aged tone, made everything seem like a command, which is why he loves all this dominating kinky stuff I guess.
“Don’t be scared boy, these tools are for you, to use on your slaves” he looked so proud of his collection, proud to be sharing it with me, proud that I was coming of age.
Dad sat next to me on the bed, his thigh brushed up to my own, only a third the size of his immediately making me feel inferior. He played rugby, I played on the PlayStation, the extreme physical difference between us would have anyone believe I were adopted. I glanced up above his wide shoulder which towered over mine, I caught him looking down at my clenched hands, he paused raising an eyebrow whilst softly exhaling a faint sigh. He knew I was nervous. He snatched my left hand breaking my grip, forcing his bearish paw fingers between mine, then tightly closed his grip, encasing my entire hand in his. He grinned at me, I hadn’t seen this nurturing and caring side to him before.
For the next 45 minutes or so, he explained to me the history of the men in our family, who have been sexually dominant for generations. Although each man loved their wives and shared a deep emotional bond with them, in the bedroom, the roles were strictly dominant and submissive, master and slave. I was different, I had not one dominant thought in my entire body, I enjoyed the thought of having a woman overpower me. Explaining this to my dad didn’t go down to well, after all he had just enlightened me to the family history and my role as a man in his name. The talk ended in a heated one-way conversation, with me cowering my head unable to look into his eyes.
“Women do not dominate the men of this house! No woman is going to tie you up son, get used to that” his words so final, his words were the law of the home.
So how did I get here, bound, gagged by the man who hated the thought of his only son being the opposite of what history had intended for him?
This was some time later, now in my early 20s I had grown some, but my father’s muscle mass seemed to increase to peak human levels, he was a fully grown, lightly bearded muscle bear. Not bad for a man in his late 40s. He had caught me in my room several times, I had attempted to tie myself up, with my scarfs and Football socks. This lead to immediate grounding and being hysterically laughed at. I knew my desires disgraced and embarrassed him, but the embarrassment for me was more intense, to try so carefully to hide these cravings of being helpless, only to be looked down on as a joke.
My father, as it turns out, was not the cruel man he made me believe. He caught me again, I had tried to hogtie myself, but couldn’t bind my own hands, as soon as I caught his eye I buried my face into the carpet, holding back my tears. I was frustrated, I yearned to be restrained and would never get the experience, I was sick of disappointing my dad. That’s when I felt his hand stroke the back of my head.
“Well, this is embarrassing, what a fucking mess you’ve made of this rope work” He used his free hand to quickly unravel the, as he put it, mess I made, freeing my body.
“I guess I only have myself to blame boy, I am supposed to teach you how to use rope, expertly, I just figured you didn’t want to learn” He avoided eye contact as he explained, hiding his head in his hand, the other placed on his hip.
I hoped he would turn to say he would teach me, so that I could use the skills on my self-bondage experiments. But he purposed an even better plan.
“So, I can’t watch you fail miserably with bondage son, but I will not stand to watch a woman tie any son of mine! That’s not the family way. The rules however, don’t stop you being tied up by another man…” Pausing, he lowered his hand, walked over kneeling to the ground, then grabbed under my chin, firmly bringing my eye sight into his gaze, looking down at me.
“and the only man good enough to tie up my boy, is your dad”
My heart thud, furiously pumping blood around my body, I felt a head rush, this was everything I wanted and more, I spoke almost immediately after his mouth closed.
“YES SIR!”
There I was, on my father’s bed, hogtied and gagged, not the kind of binds I had accustomed myself to with myself bondage, this was borderline extreme bondage. Dad had fashioned a thick chest harness, my elbows had been pulled back touching one another, they were tied, attached to the harness. My wrists had been cuffed and synched with rope, which had been tied to my waist. Above and below my knees, including my ankles, more rope had been used here, he explained it was for a good reason, but said no more.
The moment my father intertwined the rope from my feet to the chest harness, I felt my dick twitching! He placed one foot on the back of my neck, holding my body down, as he pulled on the looped rope, forcing my body into a contorted, unfamiliar position, the heels of my feet reach my fingertips, I was amazed I could be placed in such a position.
“No, that won’t do boy, we can do a lot better, my slaves experience bondage to the fullest, I tie em tight” his enthusiastic tone gave me a rush of confidence.
“Tighter daddy, please sir” Mortified at the words that shot from my mouth, I could feel the heat of my cheeks blushing with embarrassment, I squeezed my eyes shut in hopes he didn’t hear. I didn’t want him to think he was turning me on, I didn’t want this experience to stop.
I felt the weight of his body pressed into my restricted bound limbs and back, he lifted my chin pressing his mouth into my ear. I could feel the fluff from his beard on my face, his breath warm, each exhale sending a shiver through my body.
“Call me Daddy, one more time” he spoke softly, slowly in an aggressive deep tone. I was too excited, my straight, masculine dad had used his years of bdsm experience on me, to give me the thing I craved most.
“DADD… mmmppphh” Before I could finish shouting the word, dad had stuffed the largest ball gag into my mouth, at first, it didn’t fit, so he placed the palm of his hand over the gag forcing in further into my mouth, until it filled every inch, giving the sense, my mouth would burst with the slightest bit of pressure.
I grunted, I struggled to fight it, it was far too big, it was also so unexpected. The more I struggled against the rope, the tighter it got, which in turn made my dick throb, my grunting soon turned to whimpers of enjoyment. My fear subsided into acceptance as dad buckled the fastenings at the back of the gag.
“there we go boy, trussed up like a little farm pig…” patting me on the head.
“speaking of pigs, let’s check these little piggy’s out shall we” grabbing my bound ankles firmly, he applied a thinner, final piece of rope around my big toes, binding them together.
“Well boy, not only do you love being tied up like your mother, but you got some pretty feet too, you deffo take after her” He sounded excitingly surprised with his discovery. I had no idea why my feet would be an attractive quality to him, sure they were silky soft, but my feet didn’t smell the best. That’s when I remembered he has used extra rope to tie my ankles, something was up, what was he planning?
Dad pinched my big toe, he joyfully played “this little piggy went to the market”
“mppphhhhhmphhh” an uncontrolled cackle tried to escape the sound proofing ball gag. I had always been extremely ticklish, to the point where a hand on my shoulder would send me into a laughing fit. Fuck this tickled!
“oh yeah boy these little piggy’s are ticklish!!! THIS LITTLE PIGGY STAYED HOME” he proceeded to grab my bound ankles as he continued to play his torturous game. I couldn’t stand it, my core engaged, my breath held, tensing every muscle in my body, I would not laugh!
He pinched my pinkie toe, the last toe in his devious game, pausing for a moment, allowing me to relax, for a brief false feeling of relief “and this little piggy… you’re going to love this… went”
Dad forced my pinkie toe into his mouth! His tongue swirled ferociously, flicking the sensitive skin. It was too much, I couldn’t take it, I stretched, trying to arch my back, it didn’t work, throwing myself into a hunched position as best I could, to flay my hogtied body, trying to escape his grasp. I squealed through my tight gag like little girl, it come out so high pitched, deeply inhaling at super like speed before belting out another goat like yelp.
“oh, my little farm piggy’s squealing now ay boy, you wanted to be tied up so bad, this is what being a slave is all about…” he stopped, firmly holding my ankles in place. I took these fleeting moments to gain my breath. But it didn’t last long.
“Slaves get tied up, and slaves with pretty little feet get daddy’s beard treatment… and there’s nothing you can do about it” Spoken like he was reading from a dramatic theatre script. What the fuck was the beard treatment? I soon found out. He forcefully rubbed his beard up and down the soft soles of my feet, rapidly creating a never-ending ticklish friction, which drove me to the brink of my sanity! I found myself unable to catch my breath, but still laughing hysterically. Seconds felt like hours, I felt like I couldn’t take it anymore, while at the same time feeling like it would never go away!
“Like your mother learned boy, keeping your feet smooth and pretty makes you extremely ticklish” He sounded so cocky, he had me! He had me bound and gagged, he had my feet at the mercy of his ruthless tickling. He had every right to feel cocky.
“let’s clean these ticklish toes up shall we boy?” Dad slipped my pinkie back in his mouth, stretching across all my toes, until he reached my big toe, he slipped my foot deep into his warm mouth. My five toes and the top of my sole had been encased in his moist man cave mouth. I felt his slippery tongue glide between my toes, weaving in and out of each sensitive piggy. My body was experiencing pure ecstasy! Such torment, an exhaustingly intense, ticklish sensation mixed with an erotic pleasure from my mouth enveloped toes.
Heaving for air, my voice begun to croak from the strain of laughing. My dick remained solid throughout, I hated it, but I was the slave I craved to be, I was serving a masters desires, so in turn, I loved it. Tears streaming down my face, dripping into the ball gag, soaking into my mouth, I was tasting my own tears of laughter, and there was nothing I could do about it!
And you know what, I didn’t want to do a thing about it!
