A Slave in Steel: A Theo Story

Sure enough, the collar went around my neck and closed with a ratchetting sound that told me it was being adjusted to fit my neck exactly, snug but not restricting. The cuffs held my arms out ramrod-straight on each side, also closing snugly on ratchets. They were much wider than they needed to be simply to restrain my arms, more like Wonder Woman bracelets than handcuffs. I guess the idea was to show off as much gleaming steel as possible.

I quickly found out what the next part was for. A bar extended vertically behind my head and attached to it was what appeared to be a wide metal clamp. The client unfastened a thumbscrew and moved the clamp up and down on the bar until it was positioned behind the lower part of my face, then tightened it up again. He swung the clamp around so it covered my mouth and the lower part of my face from just below my nose to the end of my chin. It ratchetted snug like all the other restraints, forming a secure steel gag.

Although everything was made of gleaming metal, all the cuffs, including the gag, were lined with a soft rubbery compound that would prevent chaffing and cuts if I decided to struggle against them, very much like my bondage frame. The rubber on the gag had a second purpose as well. if it had been metal on the inside as well as out, I probably could have wrestled my lips open against it and made at least a few muffled but basically articulate sounds. But with the rubber in there, there was no way my lips would budge a millimetre. If I wanted to scream or protest, I would have to be content with whatever "mmpphhs" came out my nose.

The gag did one other thing in addition to stifling speech. Because it was firmly attached to the collar, it held my head like a vice, preventing me from moving it in any direction. The whole thing was a very effective immobilizing device.

The polished steel looked quite striking against my latte-coloured skin. I could see now why the client was so interested in women of colour: he had an eye for visual design. I decided to call him Steely Dan (meaning no disrespect to the seventies jazz-rock group of the same name).

The part I hadn't quite figured out yet was another metal bar like the one that held the gag, sticking straight down behind my back to just above my butt crack. It didn't have anything attached to it, but it was obviously designed to hold something.

I didn't have to wait vey long to find out what that something was. Dan went to a shelf and retrieved an anal nook, also in polished steel, with two balls the size of golf balls set a few centimetres apart at the end. It didn't have the usual loop at the top to be hooked to a chain or strap attached to some other part of my body like a harness or my hair. Instead it had two small metal clamps along the shaft, near the end opposite to the hook part. It didn't take a genius to figure out that it was intended to clamp onto the vertical bar.

Dan lubed both me and the hook, fastened the clamps loosely around the bar, positioned the first ball against my anus, and began to push. I was grateful for all the anal training I'd had: I managed not to tense up my sphincter, which always makes insertion hurt a lot more, and my asshole was used to having all manner of things stuffed into it. There was a little flash of burning pain as the first ball went in, and then another with the second, but after that, the rest of the hook slid in smoothly, the balls gently filling my rectum and the shaft nestled in my crack. He tightened the clamps on the vertical bar and stepped back to admire his handiwork.

Now I was really immobile. I could still move my legs - although I figured he would probably get to that soon - but from the waist up, I was as rigid as a statue. I moved experimentally, and wasn't surprised to find that if I tried to bend from the waist, even a little, the hook didn't bend with me. I could tell that if I didn't hold still, it would hurt me.

Then he got to my legs. He took down a spreader bar - polished steel, of course - adorned with metal ankle cuffs, and quite a bit longer than the one I had been wearing in the showroom. He pushed my ankles uncomfortably far apart and fastened the spreader in place to hold them. Then he got down a pole whose end was formed into a metal dildo shape.

I winced. I had had a dildo pole shoved into me almost every night for long enough that I knew it wouldn't hurt me, but I was so tired of it that I almost wished he'd pick something else, just for variety. Careful what you wish for, T'Jalla, I admonished myself. If he picked something else, it might be much more unpleasant.

He connected the pole to the middle of the spreader and telescoped it so that it was firmly seated in my vagina, then fastened it with a hex key in almost exact imitation of the showroom equipment. It wasn't fastened to the floor, but I clearly wasn't going anywhere just the same. I was held even more rigidly than before, from my neck right to my ankles.

Finally he pulled down one of the overhead chains and clipped it to a ring at the back of the collar. I had to suppress a wave of fear as he pulled the chain through its rachet to take up the slack. I knew that Theo would be watching the cameras and wouldn't left him strangle me, but I still wondered what would happen if he lifted me right off the ground. Would the weight distribute between the collar, the asshook and the bar holding my arms so the there was relatively little pressure on my neck? Or would the collar ride up against my throat, partially or completely cutting off my airway?

I was relieved that I didn't have to find out. He took up enough slack to hold me firmly in position - as if the spreader and the dildo pole weren't already doing that just fine - but not enough to put a lot of pressure on the yoke around my neck. In fact, the suspension chain took a bit of pressure off my knees, which were already getting tired of standing supported by nothing but the dildo in my snatch.

He retrieved a small camera from a pocket and moved around me, taking pictures of gleaming steel against African-Canadian flesh from every angle. This was another recent innovation. Theo wouldn't let clients bring their phones, but I guess he had finally decided that a plain-Jane digital camera with no GPS or internet access couldn't reveal his location. If Dan posted the pictures, it would just be advertising. I wondered whether I would see myself on line if I searched "metal bondage" in a few weeks.

He sat down for a while and admired the sight. To give him more to look at and possibly hold off whatever he would do next, I tried to struggle against the metal and made some muffled protest noises behind the gag. I was held so firmly that even moving enough to fake some resistance was difficult, but I balled up my fists and tried to pull against the horizontal bar as much as I could.

I wondered where he could possibly go from here. I had metal plugging every hole. Would he just jack off in front of me, or on me?

Not really. He came over to me and started caressing every part of my body that wasn't covered in steel. He paid particular attention to my breasts, which he kissed and sucked for several minutes. Then he walked around behind me, unclamped the asshook, and pulled it out.

Fortunately he pulled it out slowly rather than just yanking it out, which would have hurt like hell as the balls forced their way past my sphincter. Then he detached the vertical bar to which the hook had been attached. I guess it would just be in the way for what he had in mind next. Finally he detached the dildo from the spreader and pulled it out of my pussy. I could see there this was going: he was not only opening up some holes, but also removing the most obvious impediments to bending from the waist.

He released some slack on the suspension chain to give me bending room. Then he attached another gleaming metal chain, this time to a ring at the front of the collar. The other end went to a ring in the centre of the spreader, forcing me to bend far forward, my neck firmly held in place between the two chains in front and behind. He helped himself to another good grope of my breasts, now dangling from my bent-over chest, then reached for the bottle of lube. He rubbed it around my asshole generously, then loaded some into a lube launcher, a device like a hypodermic with a tube that would force more lube far into my rear canal. I was always glad when clients got out the lube launcher, which was more effective than just poking in lube with a finger - although some preferred the finger method because it gave them another excuse to shove their fingers into me.

I still couldn't turn my head with the gag locking it to the collar, but I heard undressing sounds from behind me. Good, I thought. He's finally getting down to business. I felt a cock-head pressing firmly against my sphincter, which parted for it easily after the stretching it had just received from the hook.

I can sometimes get off on anal sex if I'm in the mood and my partner manages to hit my G-spot just right, but it's not really my favourite way of doing business sexually. Also, it can really hurt if the partner doesn't take care. Dan wasn't exactly taking care, but he wasn't being unnecessarily rough either, and his cock was certainly an improvement over a big hunk of cold steel. Even if I didn't find being fucked in the ass actively pleasurable at this moment, at least it didn't hurt.

I could hear his breathing gradually quicken as his orgasm built. After five minutes or so, he made an especially hard and deep thrust, held it, and started to pump cum into my rectum. I could feel his cock pulsing with each squirt. Then he slid it slowly out, and I could feel cum start to ooze down my legs.

He got a wet cloth to clean himself off, and did me the favour of bringing one for me as well. Although I still couldn't turn my head, I could see the countdown clock out of the corner of my eye, and saw that there were still about twenty minutes left on his time allotment, even though it felt as though I had been standing around immobilized by and filled with steel for hours. Sometimes clients will feel as though they've had enough once they've had the orgasm they came for, and will walk out with some time still on the clock. That was always a bonus, and I hoped that Dan would be happy with his ass-filling experience and let me go back to quarters for a shower.

Not so much. I guess he wasn't quite done crafting his steel T'Jalla-sculpture, because he unclipped the chain leading from the collar to the spreader and used the other chain to pull me back to attention. He retrieved yet another metal device from the shelf, this time a wide rigid belt hinged at one side. He clamped it around my waist and adjusted the tension so that, like all the other stuff he had put on me, it was tight but not unbearable. Then he got down a flat U-shaped metal bar with two didoes attached to the inside of the curve.

Great, I thought. Yet more metal shoved up me. The didoes slid easily into my anus and vagina, and the ends of the bar hooked onto the waistband in front and behind. Just for show, since there was no way I was going to be able to take it off anyway, he locked it in place with two small padlocks.

To finish off the effect, he locked a metal corset around me. It covered me from just above the waistband to just under my breasts. The top was shaped into two cut-outs that pushed my breasts up and out, making then even more prominent than they usually are.

Dan seemed to think that that was enough steel to give the effect he wanted. There certainly wasn't a lot of skin showing. He picked up the camera again and took a dozen or more photographs from in front, from the side, from behind, from below looking up at my steel-covered pussy, in closeup showing my steel-covered mouth - he couldn't have gotten better images without x-ray photography.

He got one last toy down from the shelf, a narrow vibrator with a bulge at the end cocked at about a forty-five-degree angle. I had totally run out of places to insert things, but it wasn't for me. I recognized it as a prostate massager, and he lubed it and carefully inserted it into his own asshole. He moved it around a little to find the right spot to stimulate his prostate through his rectal wall, then started gently moving it in and out in a slow thrusting rhythm as he stood in front of me looking at my metal-covered body. His limp penis began to stiffen all over again under the influence of both the visual and the tactile stimulation, and he helped it along with the hand that wasn't holding the massager.

Soon he was pumping hard and obviously building up to another climax. It took him a bit longer to get there this time, and it came more as a dribble than a big squirt, which suited me fine. I was in no mood to have semen sprayed all over my belly, which is where his cock was pointed. He might as well stick to dribbling on his own hand. But it was evidently satisfying, and he got a wide smile on his face as he held his cock while his breathing gradually slowed.

He walked over to the sink and washed up, and from behind me I heard clothes rustling and zippers being pulled up. His timing was perfect - the clock beeped zero just as he finished dressing. As usual, he didn't bother to get me out of all the contraptions he had loaded me up with. He just walked out and left me standing there, my arms still stretched out horizontally like a scarecrow - although in fact I looked a lot more like an X-rated Tin Woodman.

As I stood there waiting for someone to get me out of all the steel, I reflected on the evening. It was kind of weird, and some parts were uncomfortable, but he didn't try to hurt me, and watching all the steel gradually cover my body and hold me absolutely still was both fascinating and erotic in a strange way. I sort of appreciated the artfulness of it, and it was certainly more interesting than the usual ropes and handcuffs. It wasn't something I would personally choose to do for erotic pleasure, but it was nice to break the monotony.

I decided to give Steely Dan at least a B+ client rating in my head. Maybe Theo would have to come up with some new intricate metal bondage devices to entice repeat business.