I sat outside in my Chevy coup. We'd met on the internet. He had called me a wannabe when I told him I like the photos from his last party. I asked if I could join and told him I wanted him and his friends to turn me into a Chinese finger trap. It was crude. But the photos from his party were cruder. Straight jackets and rubber balls. All manner of rough devices and wooden contraptions. Participants in all stages of contortion and lust. I now sat two hundred feet from the scene.

His dungeon was epic. I had explored it one hundred times in photographs. The wooden stairs led down into a long skinny lair. On one wall hung a myriad of chains, leather straps and protuberant novelties. From the main chamber, narrow hallways led off in at least three directions. From the photographs I couldn't tell how it all was placed but to be sure there were a couple different cinderblock cells, some smaller than others and separate rooms for more intimate scenes maybe. I ran through it all again. I had driven more than a hundred miles and now sat parked just down the street.

I would have parked right out front but down the street felt safer. I mean, I hardly new this guy. We had exchanged 7 or 8 messages on a bondage dating site, that's all. I wouldn't have come if he had acted more excited about doing a scene with me. He never really took me seriously at all. I was a wannabe- well kind of, anyway. I wasn't like the other wannabes that never take the plunge.

He lived in a neighborhood on the outskirts of the city. The houses were big and new. Much bigger and much newer than the house I shared with my parents. In the review mirror I could watch the cars fly by on the state highway. I said I'd get out when the next car passes his neighborhood but that was 10 cars ago. So there I sat in the driver's seat waiting for the courage to go up to the door.

All at once, I stepped out of the car and put one foot in front of the other. It was like a dream. Really I had dared myself. I had told myself I couldn't, I wouldn't do it. But before I knew it, I was at his front door.

He was older than his pictures. Wearing sweatpants and an over-sized t-shirt, he looked much friendlier than I thought he would. He introduced himself and invited me to sit with him in the living room. He told me he was surprised I had actually come. The house was very nice and neatly kept but I was still nervous. I told him my parents thought I was visiting friends at the beach for the week. He thought that was clever. They would worry if I didn't come home by Sunday night, I told him. He thought that left us plenty of time to have some fun. He told me about his family, his separation from his wife and his grown children. Then he started asking about me. Where I grew up, what I was into. I started talking. I was taking a semester off to wait tables and save some money. I was so nervous and as long as I was talking I just felt better, I felt like I was with a new friend. He was just someone who was into the same stuff as me. He never asked about finger traps and for that I was at least thankful.

At one point I was in the middle of a story about the neighbor who would always watch my brother and me when my parents where away. He listened intently but interrupted me without warning. He told me he loved the story but that I should be undressing while I tell it. 'Oh duh,' I thought. You know what this is really about. I kept talking. I told him about my favorite places to go in town and some of the people I knew from school. I'm a talker, you see? As long as I was talking I felt okay. When I was fully naked I kind of kicked my clothes off to the side in a sort of ta-da motion. I felt foolish standing there. 'You're doing it,' I said to myself, 'some wannabe.' Still, I couldn't stop shaking.

I prattled on, stopping only when he opened the drawer in the table beside him. He pulled out a thick, red ball. My voice wavered, "I've been talking too much haven't I?" He agreed and got up from his chair. I was shaking harder than ever as he walked over with the ball gag in his hand.

It was tight, much tighter than I had imagined it would be. My jaw stretched open painfully when the ball slipped between my teeth. I could feel other muscles beginning to ache even though it had been in only long enough for him to secure the buckle behind my head. I focused away from the pain. This was thrilling, right? It was like a dream. Iron cuffs went around each ankle and my wrists. I was embarrassed now and thinking maybe I should have left fantasy as fantasy. He hardly looked away from the hardware as he secured my shackles.

Then we were walking. A rough hand on my upper arm guided me out of the living room, through the kitchen, and into an adjacent sort of mud room. The door before us was different than other doors in the house. It was painted matte white and was completely undecorated. It looked heavy like it belonged in the back of a warehouse not in someone's mudroom. He stepped past me and unlocked the deadbolt above the handle. I gasped into the rubber ball when he then bent to unlock the second deadbolt. It was at knee level and there was something about this enhanced security feature that suddenly broke the trance.

This was very, very real. Everything from the weight of the chains to the darkness now in front of me to the very real concern in the pit of my stomach froze my legs solid. My hands moved involuntarily upwards together toward my left ear. White light and pain- it shot up my back and down again to my ass. Ringing and heat followed in its wake. I whipped around to see the man who sat kindly and listened while I prattled. It was the same man to be certain but it was all wrong. There was no kindness. Anger and contempt had swept in over calm understanding. And in his hand, an enormous wooden paddle.

"Don't you ever reach for a lock or buckle. You hear me?" He pulled the paddle back. I wimpered into the gag. "Now get down there. Move."

On the second step the smell of sweat and body odor grated against my nostrils. You can't pick up on smells from a photograph- even if it's of a place you've been before, you know? Down and down, swallowed by the darkness. My legs moved reluctantly and the chains dragged and clanked. At any moment I thought for certain I would fall. After what seemed like an hour we arrived at the bottom of the stairs. The room was the same one from the photos, I thought, but so much darker. The overhead lights were all off and a single orange worklight set a spotlight on a cage in the corner. I knew that was where we were headed before he directed me into it.

It was a fairly tight fit, designed for a large dog I figured. It looked like it could be padlocked but he didn't bother to lock it. After throwing the latch I heard his footsteps fade into one of the narrow hallways. I took a good look at my surroundings. The wire (if you prefer to call it that) was heavy, at least a quarter-inch thick and ran with narrow gaps along all six sides. The bottom of the cage dug into my shins something fierce.

I tried to slip around to sit on my butt but the chains and shackles snagged at every move. I remembered the paddle and decided to try being still. Try to be still anywhere and you're only too aware of how much you're shaking. The leather extending from either side of the ball in my mouth was beginning to dig into the corners of my lips, or I was suddenly aware of it anyway. A heavy glob of saliva rolled out from around the gag and down my chin. I could maybe loosen it one notch before he got back. He wouldn't notice, would he?

Just as my hands reached the buckle, the steady scraping filled the room. I put my hands down in front of me and looked over my shoulder. It killed my shins to push my head against the top of the cage but it was better than not being able to see. Silhouetted in the lamp light he was dragging a wooden table. It wasn't really a table at all, rounded on top with a leather saddle tacked over padding. He let it rest at a sloppy angle near the stairs and walked past the cage without so much as a glance. I started shaking harder. I couldn't help it.

"This week is about decisions. You'll learn about facing the consequences of the choices you make." He let the weight of this sink in as he went up to the wall. It was the same wall I had seen one-hundred times, only now I couldn't see it at all. When he came back he brought a pair of black dildos with him. "Do you want to stay in that cage?" I thought about the prospect, if he left I could take the gag out. But how long would I be in there? I couldn't stretch out and it wasn't at all comfort- "Do you want to stay in that cage? Yes or no? I won't ask you again."

"Mmmo." I was able to hum through the rubber ball.

"Okay then. Which one?" He held a short dildo in one hand but it had to be two-and-a-half inches thick. In the other hand was a skinnier dildo but the length of it was frightening. "Which one's going up your ass? Don't make me pick." I was overwhelmed. Everything was happening too fast. He stood up quickly and moved back to the table. Over my shoulder I watched him dunk the 12-inch black bugger into a coffee can near the foot of the stairs. The trail of glossy droplets shined in the blue halogen light. It was unreal. My heart pounded. He fastened the dripping dildo to a leather strap hanging from one end of the table. Then in silence, he came back and unlatched the cage.

I crawled out slowly, backward. My ankle chains clung and tugged painfully. I wanted to reach down and rub my shins but thought better of it. He had picked up the paddle again. He had to kind of lead and direct me, I was back in the dream. I put one foot in front of the other but they didn't feel like my feet. I was just watching a movie. When at last I stood at the end of the bench with the leather strap, I realized the frame at the floor stuck out farther than the pad.

As I stood quivering he slipped a bolt through a link of the chain between my ankles and turned a square nut making me one with the table. Lie down," he said. Paddle or no paddle, I was only too happy to comply. The leather looked soft and after the cage this bench was like a suite at the Garden Inn. The pad sat high and I had to get up on my tip-toes to lay out on it. The look of the leather deceived me. Maybe it was soft once, but the padding felt weak and flattened like a sofa arm that's been sat on a few times too many. I felt every two-by-four of the frame in my ribs and the wood under the raised end of the pad dug into my diaphragm. It was uncomfortable.

He grabbed me around the hips then. It was the first time he had touched me and his hands were like ice. None too softly, he lifted and pulled me foreward so that the edge of the pad was just below my navel. It was a relief on my diaphragm but now my feet didn't quite touch the floor and the chains were taught enough that the shackles rubbed at my heels. Another wave of drool spouted from the gag. Lines of spit raced downward in great slimy trails on the black leather. My jaw was really starting to hurt. From the front of the bench, he yanked the chains on my hands downward and bolted them to the device.

What happened next? I'll give you three guesses. Give up? He pressed the greasy dildo against my anus. Now, I'm no stranger to anal play. I do it alone somewhat often. When you're alone you know to expect a stranger at the backdoor. When someone else brings about a foot-long sneak-thief, the experience is something totally different.

For those of you watching from the sidelines, make no mistake. Getting fucked in the ass hurts. It feels good too because its putting pressure on all kinds of good stuff or something. But it hurts like hell. You never have any doubts about one thing, when you're getting fucked in the ass, you are not in charge. The dildo slid in with a dull wet sucking sound. He pushed. Only two inches and then another two. "Keep it in," he barked, setting the leather strap down on my bare back. I felt a heavy metal buckle, cold between my shoulder blades. I clenched.

I felt him undo the buckle on the back of my head. I tried to spit out the ball and pushed with my tongue to no avail. After a moment he tugged it out for me. A great glob of slobber hung from my chin and my jaw was so stiff it would hardly move. He moved around in front of me and pulled down his sweatpants. "If I so much as feel a tooth, I'll break that paddle across your bare ass," he warned. I had never had a cock in my mouth before. There was nothing magic about it. It was kind of like someone was stuffing a warm stale bratwurst into the back of my throat and then retrieving it again and again and again. I gagged. Holding my mouth open wide, I felt my lips stretched out in a big grin. I wasn't smiling. I coughed.

He picked the leather strap off my back and tugged. The pressure came from inside, a kind of cramping, nagging pull at the center of stomach. I moaned into his manhood. Then I heard the crack and felt the fire of the wooden paddle. "Lips around. Do it right."

What choice did I have? He did all the work anyway, thrust after thrust. I never got another smack but he held the strap tight and tugged when he cared to. The natural order of my bowels worked as intended. Without effort I was forcing the dong out but he was always obliged to yank it back home. The fantasy was much different from the reality. 'Well it's definitely not fun, but this isn't so bad and I'm definitely no wannabe now,' I thought. Then he began to swell. With all his might he pulled the dildo into new territory. The pain was horrible. At the same time he thrust his hips deeply into my open mouth. There was no escape when he came.

I coughed like a fiend and the burning in my nostrils was nearly unbearable. I burped and felt like I might vomit. I looked at the sputter and spray on the floor in front of me and watched in horror as he pulled the shorter, fatter black dildo out from underneath the table. It was already on a harness with three leather straps extending from it. "Wait!" I screamed, gasping and coughing. But it was too late.

The pitch-black, stout, little bastard pinched my lip painfully against my teeth as it pried my aching jaw even wider. My mind reeled, I was drowning. I coughed and kicked and pulled with all my might. The chains were unyielding. What did they care if I died? While I fought against my predicament, he stayed busy running the three straps along either side and over my head. He fed them all through the great big buckle on my back. "Breathe through your nose." He shouted. I tried. The breaths were quick and shallow. I swallowed with trouble and swallowed again. My nostrils were still burning but my breathing was becoming more natural.

Without warning, he pulled the straps tight through the buckle and fastened them in place. The infiltrators lodged as deeply as my being would allow. I kicked and tugged wildly on the chains. My head swung madly from side to side. There was no escape. He pulled the plug on the work lamp and headed up the stairs. "Chinese fucking finger trap," he said scoffing with all contempt. "Get some sleep. Tomorrow's going to be a long day for you." The first night, I sobbed like a wannabe.