Curtis was cursed.

It wasn’t something he was born with, but he was dead certain that it was something he had t shoulder these days. How else to explain the wild swings and turns his life had taken recently.

He was a normal young fellow, going through university. Had even gotten a scholarship to study abroad, which had been quite enjoyable. His first two years at his new school had been great. Lots of new friends, interesting subjects, and a city social life that had been enjoyable without being overwhelming. Life was good.

Until it changed.

Curtis had been working on a project for one of his classes, with Mrs. Kellings. Professor Amanda Kellings. She had insisted on a barrage of last minute changes to his report, and he had been stubborn enough to just stick around after class to work on it rather than going home.

“I do so admire students with good work ethics.”

The odd emphasis had made Curtis raise his head from his laptop. But too slowly. Not high enough, to avoid the ether soaked rag that Professor Kellings slammed over his mouth to muffle his cries. To bring him under her control, and have his unconscious form at her mercy. His last dim memory before blacking out was of her other hand stroking over his eyes. Almost as though she was soothing a child back to sleep. Curtis had moaned in rejection, in protest, but Professor Kellings had just laughed and carried on.

When Curtis had woken back up, he had found himself strictly hogtied on the Professor’s desk, and absolutely naked. Professor Kellings had worked him over really well, flogging him, tickling him, and generally making him her utter bitch without ever proceeding to anything overtly sexual. Curtis had felt completely drained, and completely unsatisfied, when he was finally released near midnight to stagger home.

Curtis had gathered up his clothes and fled, running out in hardly more than a t-shift and boxer shorts. Everything else was in a confused jumble in his hands. He hardly knew what to think. Professor Kellings had always been perfectly professional before, her sudden desire to knock him out, tie him up, and torture him was so far outside Curtis’ experience that he hadn’t the faintest idea where to turn. He was so completely distracted, that he took a couple of wrong turns on the way home. On any other night, this would have been of little consequence. But tonight, of all the nights, his luck ran sour.

The Cappa sorority, a rather notorious one in the right circles, was always on the lookout for fresh ‘volunteers’ for their Cappa Charity Auction. Curtis, by being release so late in the evening by Professor Kellings, was a perfect mark. Male. Alone. Isolated. Distracted. Perfect. A van screeched to a halt in front of Curtis, and the poor boy found himself bundled inside, and set upon by three strong, dominant girls. The sorority girls determined that rather than selling him in their auction, Curtis was going to be their house slave and pleasure toy.

Something for them to use and discard as they pleased, for as long as they pleased. And they ended up pleased to keep him as their stringently bound, gagged, and collared plaything for the entire weekend. No reprieve, no special treatment. Curtis was their pet, and he was forced to thank them for making his life worthwhile by being their pet. They kept him hogtied on the sorority dining table at all meals so that anyone could touch and tease him. He functioned as a maid, all laced up in tight latex and leather restraints, forced to clean and give pleasure to any of the girls who wanted it from their servant. And at night he was subjected to a barrage of demands on his tongue, on his cock, and on his ass.

By the end of the weekend, Curtis had been tired, and sore, and exhausted, and outraged. This had been kidnapping plain and simple, and he wanted the girls to bloody well pay for what they had done to him. Especially since when they ‘released’ him, they had hauled him out of their sorority house and dumped him by the front gate. Naked and handcuffed. The key taped to his chest, and a phone in his hand. So Curtis, dialing carefully, called the police.

It took ten long minutes for a police cruiser to pull up, all while Curtis did his best to hide in the simple shrubbery that lined the fence around the sorority house. A female officer emerged from the car and spotted him. She introduced herself as Officer Nicole Simpson, and asked him what happened.

Maybe Curtis might have avoided the curse if he had just been able to pay attention. How while he was talking about his ordeal, Officer Simpson’s eyes were tracing up and down his naked form. How her breath hitched and quickened as he explained how the girls had used him, played with him, and pleasured him. When he demanded that she do something about this, she offered first to get him someplace where she could get him something to wear. Exhausted by his ordeal, and believing that the worst was over, Curtis meekly climbed into the back of the police cruiser.

Nicole Simpson drove him straight back to her home, and hustled him down into her own little dungeon. It wasn’t much at the time, she had calmly explained, but the gear and equipment would grow now that she had a playmate. Keeping Curtis down here was going to be good. He could take her through, step by step, what the girls had done to him. Nicole needed to understand, she explained while chuckling, exactly what had occurred. How it had made Curtis feel. What he secretly enjoyed, what he hated, and what training if any he had been given. Nicole meticulously recorded everything.

Nicole kept the poor boy for two, long, intense weeks.

When she finally declared that she had enough to begin writing her report, Curtis was simply grateful that he was going to be let go. She packed him up into her private vehicle, and drove him away from the house that had been his prison. He was still handcuffed, still naked apart from a pair of latex shorts, and blindfolded. When they arrived at wherever she had driven them to, he was marched out of the car, and into the inside of a building that sounded like a lot of people were in. Just as he was about to protest, to try to shift away, a ballgag was thrust into his mouth and his blindfold was removed. Just so that he could appreciate his situation.

Nicole had brought him to a kink club. Curtis was being ‘released’ via the club’s auction night. Rather, Curtis’ key was being auctioned off. If he wanted to be released from the handcuffs and ballgag, he would need to beg the new owner, Nicole explained to him. Two staff members came by, collared him, and led him away as he moaned and protested through his gag. Neither paid him much mind, apart from delivering a few spanks to his rear that often turned into groping.

Had everyone gone insane in this bloody city?

Curtis’ auction was a haze for the boy, plenty of raunchy comments from the auctioneer and plenty of equally lewd suggestions from members of the audience. He only really remembered that it ended up being a fairly intensive bidding process, taking several long minutes of back and forth before his key was won. By a bachelorette party as it turned out.

“We’ve got our Party Slave!” The Maid of Honour happily announced. Eager hands grasped at Curtis, hauling him back into their alcove to prepare him. The cuffs were removed, but his arms immediately swallowed by a leather armbinder. He was then spun around and found himself facing the bride. More hands forced him down onto his knees in front of her, and he realized she was wearing a strapon.

“Get sucking boy,” The Maid of Honour giggled, “We all want to experience getting a blowjob from a slut like you. And later…well, we’re all interested in experiencing the other side of things, so to speak.”

There was a round of giggling, and the Maid gripped Curtis’ ass suggestively. He moaned as his gag was removed, but couldn’t get a single word out before more hands pressed his down onto the strapon. Forced his lips around it. And his new service began.

They stayed there all night, taking turns with his mouth and ass. Tying him up with more and more material, trying out new bondage positions. But eventually, with the night winding down, they returned to the armbinder. Curtis was hustled out of the club, still collared and leashed, still naked apart from the latex shorts, and into a waiting limo. More strapon ‘blowjobs’ were demanded to gales of laughter from the varyingly tipsy or drunken ladies, and Curtis was forced to make circuits around the limo while it sped off to their destination. When they got up to their hotel room, he was hogtied on the bed and made into the cuddle slave for several of the girls who wanted to call it a night.

Curtis spent the next day and night in that room, being used or simply bound and kept as a display piece by the bridal party, until the wedding arrived. He thought that that might finally mean his release, but the Maid of Honour simply packed him up into a large suitcase and took him home. Which was a good two hours away by car from where Curtis lived. Keeping him around and playing with him until the newlyweds returned from their honeymoon, at which point Curtis was allowed to finally depart. Nothing more than some thankfully normal clothes, and his wallet and phone which had somehow accompanied him this entire time. He hadn’t the faintest idea how, just that he was grateful.

He decided that the safest way of getting home was just to hitchhike. No more amorous cops, or a bus full of randy older women, or anything like that. Just find someone who was heading his way, and hope they weren’t insane like everyone else he had encountered so far. So he headed to the outskirts of town, and hitched a ride.

Or at least, that’s what he tried to do.

Curtis had barely made it to the spot where he was going to flag down a car, when two bikes had roared to a stop around him. Two gorgeous leather clad women had dismounted and with not even a cursory greeting, had flung him to the ground. Stripped him, redressed him in tight, shiny rubber, bound him, and placed him on the back of one of their bikes. Curtis had screamed bloody murder, but they hadn’t even paused to try to quiet him down. Hell, traffic had continued to pass them by, as though two women kidnapping a man in some deranged fetish fantasy version of an abduction was totally normal.

They never gave him their names, or even used them in front of him. One called Curtis their Bitch, the other called him their Pet. As he was blindfolded or hooded most of the time, that was one of the few indicators he had to figure out who was playing with him. On the second day of his captivity with them, after interminable hours spent in his rubber bondage while they roared down the highway, they explained they were on a roadtrip of their own. They would pass through his town eventually and get him back home, but there was no room for layabouts on their trip. They needed a toy to amuse them with at night, and it was far too much trouble to chat up locals at every place they stopped in. Far better to keep a fetish toy with them.

By the time they arrived back in his hometown, after days and days on the road, Curtis was a wreck. He had been kept and treated as nothing more than their gimp. Strictly bound, completely encased in rubber, and ignored beyond the play sessions that they had insisted upon. Curtis by this point, after so many weeks of being in near constant captivity, had sunken deeply into a submissive haze. Such that he hardly noticed when they marched him away from their bikes. He barely registered that they were back at his home. He did slowly begin to rouse when he heard the two of them chatting with his landlady. He groaned into his gag when the biker ladies offered his leash to her, and his landlady thanked them, “for your kind gift. This one owes me quite a bit of rent…” That was apparently hilarious to all three of them. Curtis for his part, simply trembled in his bonds, and wondered how long he was going to be kept for this time.

As it turned out, his landlady held onto him as her captive sex toy and gimp for two long months.

Curtis tried to report her to the police. Officer Simpson was the one who responded again, and Curtis spent another pair of weeks in her expanding dungeon, pleasuring the cop and being ground into submission once more. He was convinced that he was cursed at this point. Bondage mad women seemed to dog his path wherever he went.

Curtis had tried to go out to the movies, but usually ended up spending them locked in the camera booth, pleasuring female employees while roped up and helpless. He’d tried to go somewhere quiet like the library, but the two staff members there had ‘checked him in’ and taken him into the back to rope up and ride all evening long. Hell, when Curtis went out for a bloody coffee, some barista had cuffed him and tied him up in the employee breakroom for everyone at the store to use as they pleased.

Curtis couldn’t win. He couldn’t escape them anywhere he turned to in the city. So he tried for a change. He bought a tent, bought supplies, and headed out to an isolated campground to try and get his head straight.

Curtis let out a deep sigh, muffled mostly by his gag, as he looked out on the remains of his campsite. His supposed escape. A gorgeous woman, in plain camping clothes, was busy packing up his few remaining possessions. He still hadn’t a clue how, but she had managed to drug his food. He had woken up hogtied in a rubber catsuit next to her RV. She had kindly offered an explanation before leaving him to pack up his campsite. She was on a cross country roadtrip, and wanted some company that couldn’t run out on her.

 “We should be back round these parts in six, maybe eight weeks. I mean, could be a lot longer if I like you, or find some neat places to stay for a while. But that needn’t concern you, Pet. So just concentrate on being the best toy for me, and we won’t have problems. Otherwise there’re plenty of women along our route who’d love to own a cute thing like you.”

Cursed. He was cursed.