The Chamber

The Chamber
by Kid Crowbar
[Illustration by TITUS]
Bound & Gagged Sep-Oct 1999


Mike groaned as a drop of precum rolled down his cock.
Scott pushed the auto-zoom button on the video camera to get a close up
shot of Mike’s leaking cock. At first he thought it was sweat, but the zoom lens
clearly showed the young stud was oozing precum. Scott chuckled softly. This
tape was definitely going into his permanent collection. To show his
appreciation, he gave a strong tug on the leash he held in his right hand. The
tug traveled along the leather leash to the custom-fitted ball
separator/stretcher he’d locked around Mike’s nuts before breakfast. Mike was
struggling to lift his chin above the bar when he felt the pull in his balls,
and rewarded Scott with a low groan.

Mike could only imagine the big smile his groans were bringing to Scott’s
handsome face. Mike was blindfolded with a triple-thick spandex crimson headband
that Scott had pulled down over his eyes before they started the current
exercise. Mike had seen Scott’s sadistic grin often enough to picture how much
his tormentor was enjoying his suffering. Not for the first time, Mike wished he
had never heard of The Chamber Fitness Camp.
Compared to some of the ordeals Scott had dreamed up for him, today was
fairly tame. Mike was dressed in only his custom-fitted metal cuffs, a jock, and
the blindfold. His ankles were locked together and chained to a ring bolted to
the floor. His left wrist had been uncuffed, and the open cuff was dangling by
the four-inch connecting chain from the right cuff, still locked around his
wrist. His bound balls had been pulled out of his jock, and his cock, always
hard when Scott worked him, was sticking out of the waist band. About the only
thing that was covered by the jock was the ring Scott had installed when he’d
pierced Mike right where his cock met his balls. That had been two weeks ago,
and it was nearly healed now. Since Mike still had two weeks left in his
contract, he dreaded the uses Scott would find for the ring.
Scott tugged the leash again, harder this time.
“You’re starting to drift, Mikey. Those last two lifts have been pretty
sloppy. Concentrate.”
Mike hung limply from the bar, gathering his strength. The bar was high
enough that even with his arms and legs fully extended his feet dangled off the
floor of the loft. He tried to clear his head of distracting thoughts and
concentrate on his performance. He knew the next lift had to be perfect or Scott
would punish him. Slowly, he contracted the muscles in his arms and shoulders,
lifting his body higher and higher. From practice, he knew exactly where the bar
was, even blindfolded. His arms felt like they were made of pure energy as he
raised them nearly parallel to the floor and lifted his chin above the bar.
Then, equally slowly, he lowered himself again. “Thirty eight, Sir!”
“Good boy. Only twelve more to go.”
Mike groaned. He knew he’d never make it, but he also knew that Scott
would go easier on him if he saw that he didn’t give up. He grunted, struggled,
and raised himself again. The only sounds in the quiet loft were his panting,
and the dripping of his sweat to the floor. Damn, it was hot in here. The second
floor loft where he trained wasn’t air-conditioned, and even in May the
California sun was hot and dry. His throat was parched, but he knew he wouldn’t
get any water until he either finished the set or collapsed from heat stroke.
His chin lifted over the bar and he extended his arms again. “Thirty-nine, Sir!”
Scott sat in his chair, recording Mike’s struggles for his future
enjoyment. Each night he edited the day’s tapes to make a highlight reel that he
showed Mike the next morning. It showed where he needed improvement. These would
normally result in demerits, demerits that would have to be worked off by having
clover clamps applied to his tits at one hour per demerit. The tapes showed
where he did well. These would result in a reduction of demerits. Scott always
edited the tapes so that Mike had at least four demerits a day. Finally, the
tapes would show Mike at his most embarrassing moments, a sort of blooper reel
that Scott used to blackmail Mike when he became rebellious.
It wasn’t really necessary. That very first tape Scott had made of Mike
sucking Scott’s cock, the one that ended with Scott shooting his cum all over
Mike’s famous face was all the blackmail he would ever need. If that tape were
made public, Mike’s career as a soap opera hunk would be over.
“Forty, Sir!” Mike hung dejectedly from the bar. He didn’t think there was
any way that he’d make another chin-up. His arms felt like they were ready to
detach from his shoulders. Scott decided a little partner-assisted exhaustion
was in order. He put down the camera, stood up from his chair, and walked over
to Mike. Mike could feel the increase in heat as Scott’s body came close to his.
“Looks like you’re going to need some help if you want to make it to
fifty, jockdog.”
“Yes, Sir. Please.”
“If I have to help you, it’s an automatic two demerits.”
“I know Sir. Please help me, Sir. I can’t do it alone.” Two demerits would
be better than being put in “the Chamber” for failing to complete the
assignment.
Scott thrust his forearm between Mike’s thighs, and pushed up against the
man’s crotch. He lifted his arm and Mike was able to continue. “Forty-one, Sir!”
Mike’s cock shuddered at the close contact and leaked even more. His thighs
squeezed Scott’s arm, and for a moment he was afraid he was going to cum. It
reminded him too much of the previous weekend, when Scott had fisted him with
that same forearm up his ass. He held the position at the top of the chin-up bar
until the danger of cumming was past, then slowly released, riding down on
Scott’s powerful forearm. “Forty-two, Sir!”
To escape the pain, Mike retreated back in his memories to the day his
present predicament had started. Appropriately enough, it was April Fool’s Day.
He had been called into the producer’s office and was informed that his
character’s plane was going to go down during May sweeps, and that unless he
could be presentable in a pair of Speedos by July the role would be recast. Mike
had been in soaps long enough to know he had committed the fatal error of
slacking off on his physical regimen. Ever since he and his boyfriend had broken
up six months ago Mike had spent far too much time alone in his apartment
drinking and jacking off, and not enough time at the gym. When he first joined
the show, he’d had lots of pool scenes, and shower scenes, but for the last six
months he’d been wearing cardigans and sports coats. His six-pack was turning
into a keg, and his ever-important demo graphics were starting to skew old. The
network had given the ultimatum: lose the flab or find a new job.
His producer had already made the arrangements. Mike would be booked into
The Chamber Fitness Camp for six weeks. Scott Chamber, the owner/director of the
camp guaranteed results. After spending four weeks under Scott’s thumb, Mike was
impressed with what he saw in the mirror and on the videotapes. He had lost his
flab, tightened his abs, and his pecs were standing out again. He looked five
years younger than his twenty-eight years, he had a nice tan, and after a month
of no alcohol or drugs his head was feeling clearer than it had in years. Except
for when Scott put him into a fuckdaze, anyway. After a month of no sex, Mike
was feeling fuckdazed whenever he was in the same room with the dynamic Scott
Chamber.
As Mike raised for another lift, he felt Scott’s tongue caress his chest,
starting in the clavicle and winding its way down below his pecs before swirling
around his right tit. “GROAN! Forty-three, Sir!”
Scott Chamber. Mike sighed. When he first heard about the camp he was
ecstatic. Fifteen years ago, as a horny, closeted adolescent, Scott had been one
of Mike’s idols. Scott played Hyperboy on syndicated television and Mike had
shot many loads of cum fantasizing about the black and red spandex-clad
super-hero. Even before the television show, Mike had gotten a Hyperboy costume
for Halloween and he and the boy next door had played tie-up games in the
basement. Scott Chamber had filled out his Hyperboy costume a lot better than
Mike ever had! After Hyper boy was canceled, Scott was typecast, so he invested
his money in an old cattle ranch out in the middle of nowhere and turned it into
The Chamber Fitness Camp, specializing in one-on-one training for actors,
athletes, models, and pop stars. Mike didn’t know it, but Scott’s private video
collection included some of the most famous men in America.
“You’re drifting again, Mikey. Stay with me.”
“Yes, Sir. GRUNT. GROAN. Forty-four, Sir!” Mike wondered if he would still
have come to the camp if he knew then what he knew now. Two weeks ago he would
have said, “No Way!” But now, his attitude was changing. He found he was
enjoying the bondage, the grueling workouts, the humiliation, and strangely
enough, he was really getting off on the way Scott controlled his cock. He liked
being hard all the time, and he liked the way his precum seemed to flow nonstop.
He liked the way a touch or a word from Scott could send him to the very brink
of orgasm. He lowered, raised, lowered, raised. It was easier with Scott helping
him. “Forty-five, Sir! Forty-six, Sir!”
For his part, Scott had enjoyed the last four weeks more than any time he
could remember. Mike was the perfect slave. His dick was incredibly responsive,
he enjoyed punishment, and he was naturally subservient. Living in the closet
for the last ten years had left Mike shy and inexperienced when it came to sex.
Under Scott’s tutelage, Mike was finally letting loose the little cumslut that
had been buried behind the wholesome façade for so long. Even that first night
at the camp, Mike had been hungry for Scott’s dominance. It didn’t take much,
just a few carefully considered words, the right wardrobe. The costume always
got them, Scott thought. Scott had kept his old Hyperboy costume, but in the ten
years since the show was canceled he had continued to build his physique. Now
when he put it on he truly looked like Hyperman, the Hero of the Age. His hair
was still a shiny jet black, and his shoulders were as broad as his waist was
narrow. Adding the black leather boots was a more recent innovation. The red
headband was always new, since he usually gave the old one away to his clients
as a souvenir. Mike was wearing the headband now as a blindfold. When Scott
modeled the costume for Mike, it only took a gentle push on his shoulders to get
Mike on his knees, humping Scott’s boots and worshipping his cock. Now the
promise of giving Mike a taste of Scott’s cock worked as well or better as the
threat of being put in the chamber. All in all, Scott would be sorry when Mike’s
six weeks were up.
“Forty-seven, Sir! Forty-eight, Sir!” Only two more, he thought. Come on,
you can do it! Two more and you’ll be done!
Scott inhaled deeply. Mike hadn’t been allowed to shower since the
previous day, so he still smelled of the latex-lined leather sleepsack. Scott
had caught Mike playing with himself on the second night at the camp. Every
night since then had been spent with his cock in a protective cup and his body
sealed in the heavy-duty sack. The sack had special sleeves that immobilized the
arms and a matching hood that sealed the head. Mike had learned early on that if
he made too much noise, Scott had no qualms about leaving him gagged overnight.
After eight hours in the sack, Mike was always happy to get out, even if it
meant being worked to the point of collapse.
“Forty-nine, Sir!” Thank you, thank you, thank you, thank you, only one
more to go and I’m done!
Scott removed his arm from between Mike’s legs. “You’re on your own for
the last one, Mikey. Make or break time. Give me a perfect lift and I’ll fuck
you the way you begged me to fuck you yesterday. Screw up, and you’ll spend the
rest of the day in the Chamber.”
Mike shuddered. He strained, but his arms refused to obey him. Without
Scott’s support, he was a helpless pussyboy. Even worse, his grip was starting
to fail. “No...oh no!”
“Don’t you dare let go!”
“I’m trying...AARRGGHH!!” Mike lost his grip on the bars and fell. Scott
caught him.
“Poor little pussyboy. And you were doing so good, too. I guess it’s the
Chamber for you.”
“GULP!”
Scott unlocked the chain from the floor and lifted Mike over his shoulder.
He carried him down two flights of stairs to the under ground dungeon. He dumped
Mike on the table and began preparing him for the Chamber. Unlike most Tops,
Scott was limited in what he could do to his clients. Since most of them came to
him to develop their bodies, Scott couldn’t do anything that would leave
permanent marks. He was forced to use more subtle methods of torture. The
Chamber was his most insidious invention.
First the probes were attached to Mike’s body. Stim-pads were placed on
his temples, his balls, his back, the pads of his feet, his thighs, his tits,
and in his armpits. A pair of tickle-balls on telescoping rods was slipped up
his ass to rub his prostate. The gurney to which he was strapped had built in
biosensors that monitored his vital signs. A rubber sleeve was slipped over
Mike’s cock and then the gurney was wheeled into a dark, silent room. Scott sat
down at the control center. Using just the keyboard in front of him, he could
run Mike through the range from ecstatic pleasure to mind-numbing pain. By
studying the responses on the monitor, he could carefully control his subject’s
reactions, bringing him to the brink of orgasm and keeping him there for hours,
or making him feel like his skin was being peeled off with a paring knife. In
the darkness, Mike could scream as loud as he wanted, and no one, not even Scott
could hear him.
But Mike could hear Scott. Scott spoke into the microphone and his soft
voice filled the Chamber.
“Oh, Mikey. What am I going to do with you? What makes you so naughty that
I have to put you in the Chamber every night? Heh heh heh.”
Mike groaned as a drop of precum rolled down his cock.