Conversion Part V (Waiting for Ross #10)
The heat was intensifying between my shaved-to-smoothness scalp and the rubber that gripped it, and I found myself musing about whether the troubling thoughts could be explained by my brain overheating, baking inside my rubber-encapsulated head. I knew from experience that my body, simmering with hotness and sweat, eventually would adjust to the unnatural rubberized state imposed on it, but I wasn’t so sure about my mind. I exhaled through the gag as I laughed to myself: Maybe my mind was turning feverish, melting on top of the sweltering, rubberized mass of hard, over-exercised muscles under it, all pumped up with blood but compressed by rubber, beefy meat in a black latex pressure cooker. Whatever the explanation, my thoughts were fermenting, boiling up and over, roasting according to a recipe of conflicting ingredients.
I was home alone on Saturday night, sitting at my computer in view of the webcam. Despite my resistant thoughts, I had just finished my latest assignment from Matt. I scanned the time-stamped photos, taken using the self-timed setting of the digital camera Matt had provided, documenting my activities so far tonight. As instructed by Matt, the pictures were identified using numbered file names in the sequence in which I completed each task:
(1) a total body shot, clearly showing the smooth, absolutely hairless result of the head-to-toe shaving session, the natural honey-glow of my muscles heightened by the glistening lubricant;
(2) a closeup of my prominent, impressive cock and balls encased tightly in the rubber sheath that Matt insisted I have on at all times except when I showered;
(3) a crotch shot, showing the emasculating effect of the hateful aluminum chastity pod, a metallic sphere imprisoning my prodigious manhood -- cock and balls folded up and stuffed inside, trapped uncomfortably and fixed in place, with the condom-like, extended cock tip of the sheath protruding from the small hole at the bottom of the pod and the color-coded padlock (purple tonight) at the top;
(4) a rear view, showing the flanged base of the butt plug barely visible between my bodacious ass cheeks;
(5) another crotch view, this one showing the thick, rubber-band-like jock/thong worn to protect my skin and top layers of rubber from the aluminum pod;
(6) a full frontal bulging-crotch view, taken after I had squirmed into the girdle-like rubber shorts that Matt usually required be worn under my street clothes;
(7-9) shots showing that rubber gloves, socks, and mouth strap with gag and breathing tube were all in place;
(10-12) final shots in which I posed for the camera in different positions to display the new catsuit, concealing all the preparation underneath and showing the end result of my evening’s work.
Through the lattice work of the pinhole eyes of the catsuit’s hood, I tried to adjust my vision to examine photo 12 more closely. Despite the discomfort it caused at my cock, I couldn’t resist squirming and contracting my plugged ass as I studied the image of the strapping, masculine form, sleek and shiny with black latex stretched tightly over gleaming ebony muscles and bulging crotch, totally encased – from square, masculine, athletic head -- to wide, sexy feet and toes -- to beefy hands and the tips of strong, sturdy fingers. The rubber coverage accentuated how well made the body underneath was: high, tight pectorals and biceps, visibly well developed; broad neck and shoulders; the resulting classic V as the muscles tapered to the small, compact waist; the wide, muscular thighs and sturdy legs that sprouted below. The hood’s small eye and nostril holes were not visible in the photograph, and the top to bottom rubber coverage looked seamless, except for the tube at the mouth.
The series of photos ending with this one showed the complete conversion, the transformation of Eric, from humpy, (formerly hairy) stud, to rubber muscle creature with no identity, the way Matt wanted “it” to live 24/7 – totally encased and ready to serve “its” Master’s kinky needs. Rubber-covered, yes; muscles pumped daily with exercise, yes; but, if Matt were to have his way, bound for much of the rest of each day, shut up and locked away, stored for future use, until Matt or John needed “its” service. That was not my idea of how I wanted to spend my life, and yet, in the weeks that passed since the night when Matt surprised me in my apartment and introduced me to the paradoxes of bondage, my cock seemed to be leading me further and further in that direction.
Beginning to rage with doubt, frustration, and horniness, I packaged the photos and typed my message. I checked the spelling and capitalization to ensure my rubber encased fingers had not erred, and I double-checked that each sentence began and ended appropriately.
Subj:Ready for bed photos
Date:11/1/03 9:30 PM
From:rbrslv
To:RbrDom
Attachment: encased.zip
Sir, tonight’s photos are attached. Sir, it is sitting at its computer, webcam on, waiting for permission to go to bed and sleep in its new gear, Sir. Sir, thank You in advance, Sir.
it
I clicked SEND and stared straight ahead at the computer screen without trying to focus through the eye holes of the hood, producing a weird, patchy view. After weeks of following Matt’s instructions, many times in such a state of horniness that I did so without question, tonight my ambivalence was so strong. Rather than wait for Matt to sign on and page or email me, I was tempted to turn off the computer and get out of all, or most of, the gear. The key to the padlock on the chastity device would probably be in the mail on Monday or Tuesday, unless Matt had decided I would have no relief before next weekend (perhaps a way to ensure I’d go through with the plan). Otherwise, I was free to remove the rest of the gear if I was willing to accept the consequences – no more Matt. No more God-like worship of the beautiful, arrogant, control freak, the Rubber Bondage Master (as he liked to call himself) with whom I had become obsessed.
I checked my position in the webcam view. Clenching the plug with my ass muscles, grimacing under the hood in response to the weird stabbing sensation produced as my cock tried to expand, sucking the gag, squirming and sweating in my newest catsuit (Matt’s most recent purchase), I debated my choices, knowing it could be hours until Matt decided to email or page me. In the weeks recently after I reconnected with him, Matt had never once slipped back into our 2-years-past relationship roles: dark, studly, vanilla top (me) who could have had any pretty bottom he wanted; and blond, beautiful, eager to please bottom (Matt), the one I wanted most and thought I had, until he dumped me. That all seemed so distant. I could have never predicted our conversion. My rational mind didn’t know what to make of it, while my cock was in a constant state of horniness because of it. Now, Matt never wavered from his current intent – that my only possible role in his life would be as property that belonged to him, a rubber bondage slave, an alien rubber creature, controlled by him at all times (even in his absence), an “it” that would worship him without question when permitted to be in his presence. Every interaction with him reinforced these notions, and my mind reacted with tumult and constant horniness. The contradictions seemed endless: complete control = liberation from decision making; absolute bondage = freedom from movement; enforced chastity = total horniness; rubber-encased imprisonment = sexual awakening. When Matt leaves me encased, tied up and incarcerated for hours on end, at first I love the physical sensations of immobility and the sense of helplessness. I sometimes cum violently, involuntarily, within seconds. Sooner or later, however, the restraint and discomfort, the isolation and boredom, and the lack of freedom overwhelm me, and I want out. I reach the point of hating it, but then I find myself loving how I hate it, and loving Matt’s enjoyment of it, his sadistic appetite for keeping me down long after I think I can take no more. He knows I detest giving in, to beg (usually through a gag) for release, and he takes pleasure in responding with denials, telling me to “shut the fuck up,” reminding me that he decides if and when to release me.
I checked the time. An hour had passed since my email to Matt. My mind moved from past to future. I considered what I had agreed to next, what I had been working toward for the last 2 weeks at Matt’s behest. The details had emerged through chats and email: 5 days in form-fitting, muscle-enveloping, airtight, skintight, rubber; in bondage at all times, to varying degrees; shut in a box in Matt’s dungeon for 23+ hours for each of the 5 days; “sentence” to begin next weekend. I thought about the overtime at work that I’d been putting in for 2 weeks, to prepare for the time off that this arrangement would require. (Crazy!) And I thought about the prospects after my temporary incarceration, if I passed muster. (Even crazier!) I knew Matt had more than the means to support me for the rest of my life. I suspected he already supported John. I knew they were serious about wanting a third guy in their relationship, someone they could keep under their thumbs, totally controlled to suit their kinky needs. It wasn’t for me, I thought, and yet there I sat, plugged at both ends, rubber-sealed head to toe, with my cock in a lock down, waiting for approval from Matt. Surely what Matt said he wanted was really just a fantasy. Or was it?
Another 15 minutes, and still no sign of Matt on line. Saturday night. I wondered if he was even home. I knew he wouldn’t forget me. He was too much of a control freak for that to happen. How long would I have to wait?
I started reviewing some of our most recent email exchanges.
Subj:ur Five Days of Encasement in the Box
Date:10/15/03 11:22 PM
From:RbrDom
To:rbrslv
As discussed in our recent chats, I’ve decided that being boxed for a minimum of 5 days is the next phase. Nov 8-12 is definite. Mandatory if u want to continue ur training. A full 5 days in the box. This is the current plan I have in mind:
1. u will stay in rubber head to toe for the duration, NO exceptions.
2. u will be bolted into the box for the duration. u will be released for 15 minutes once each 12 hours for brief exercise, to keep ur blood circulating, and for food and bathroom. (While ur sleeping in rubber currently every night is good practice, from now on I also want u to prepare for ur coming incarceration by training urself to piss and shit 2-3 times a day only, preferably at 8-12 hour intervals.)
3. If u misbehave in the box, bathroom privileges will be revoked, meaning u will be sealed up with ur piss and shit. Once they are revoked, they will NOT be reinstated.
4. u will be in some form of restraint the entire time u are in the box, NO exceptions. The severity of restraint will vary and be determined by me.
5. u will be gagged at all times during the day. u will not be gagged at night. When u are not gagged, I expect u to remain silent.
I WILL ENJOY DOING THIS TO u.
On reviewing the message, I pictured how Matt might have looked as he wrote it: sitting in his throne-like computer chair, dressed in his favorite rubber cop uniform and looking impossibly handsome, his thick, blond hair gleaming in a perfect military crop, muscular legs spread wide, his cock growing larger with each word, and John crouched between his legs, licking his boots and sucking him off as he completed writing the message.
I looked at my response and the subsequent reply.
Subj:Re ur Five Days of Encasement in the Box
Date:10/17/03 5:58 PM
From:rbrslv
To:RbrDom
Sir, I can arrange the time off from work if I work overtime the next couple of weeks.
Subj:RE ur Five Days of Encasement in the Box
Date:10/17/03 10:53 PM
From:RbrDom
To:rbrslv
Good, slave. It pleases me that u want to continue your training. To be clear, this means u will spend 5 days in the box under the following conditions:
1. u will receive detailed instructions on how to prepare for your incarceration beforehand, including the dietary and other requirements that will be necessary. u will get into full gear (more too on this later) after work on Friday, Nov 7, and u will wait in silence and darkness in your apartment until someone arrives to transport you to my dungeon.
2. When u arrive, u will be bound and boxed over night and left, totally ignored for 12 hours, probably in extreme bondage for that time, to help u to develop the proper mind set.
3. u will be kept in the box in various degrees of restraint until Wednesday night. Restraint will range from mild to severe, at my discretion. u will be given 15 minutes each 12 hours to exercise for a few minutes, and to eat and take care of bodily functions.
4. Once u begin, u will complete the 5 days in the box, by force if necessary.
5. u will remain in head to toe rubber for the duration, NO exceptions. u will continue to address me as Sir at all times, and u will not speak unless given permission. (In all future communications with me, refer to me as ‘Sir’ [capital S] and urself as “it” [lowercase].)
6. u will endure your incarceration in silence, except for extreme emergencies, or as indicated below, requests to make things harder on urself.
7. ur chastity device will be removed and u will be fitted with an electronic cock ring and butt plug with remote control.
8. If u are caught attempting to pleasure urself, u will be shocked with electricity and ur bathroom privileges may be revoked.
9. I will shock u with electricity for punishment or for my amusement.
10. u may request more severe bondage, longer time between breaks or revocation of bathroom privileges at any time.
11. If bathroom privileges are revoked for any reason, they will NOT be reinstated. I WARN u. ONCE u BEGIN ur SENTENCE, u WILL COMPLETE IT.
It was now past 11 PM with still nothing from Matt. The feet of my new catsuit felt extremely tight, squeezing my toes and producing excessive sweat. The odor of latex had long since subsided in my nostrils, but shifting around restlessly in my chair somehow sent a strong shot of it into my sinuses. Reading the messages had made me even more horny, and the resurrected aroma of rubber was adding to it. I needed badly to jerk off, but that was not an option.
Minutes passed, and I zoned out. Leaning back in my computer chair, in a daze, dimly aware of how my encasement insulated and separated me from my surroundings, I retreated inside myself, inside the tight rubber hood that dulled my hearing and interfered with my sight. Around 1:00 AM, I noticed that my mailbox had a message in it.
Subj:Re Ready for bed photos
Date:11/1/04 12:35 PM
From:RbrDom
To:rbrslv
Attachment:tightsack.jpg, rubberdog.jpg
Good job, slave. Permission to go to bed is granted. Be up, awake, and in front of the webcam by 7 AM, still geared/suited up as u are now. Study the slave in the attached pics – that will be u starting next weekend.
I clicked on tightsack.jpg and watched the picture load slowly on my screen. Lying straight and flat on its back, a muscular male form was completely encased from head to toe in shiny, black, form-fitting rubber, like a mummy. I had never been in a sleepsack, but I knew that this was a picture of one, a rubber one, in action. The rubber looked very snug and close-fitting, as though it were stretched tightly around the slave, front to back and side to side, from the top of his head over the tip of his nose, down his body and legs to the tips of his big toes. The sack was all encompassing and continuous, as the hood appeared to be molded to it, with the only visible opening being a tube about 4-6 inches long sticking out at the slave’s mouth. At the base of the tube, where it entered the slave’s face, there was a circular, flat area, where it looked like the slave’s rubber-covered mouth was compressed wide open by the tight hood, probably because it contained a huge gag under the tube, but I couldn’t tell for sure. Next to the slave’s head lay a large black funnel. Returning my gaze to the sleepsack, I noticed there was no visible zipper or entry at the front. The unbroken rubber was so shiny and tight, with reflections of light, that certain parts of the slave’s body appeared in outline: forehead, nose, and chest; arms and hands, plastered flat to his sides; knees and feet held closely together; even the slave’s cock, long and compressed to one side, was visible. A tight, black, head to toe rubber mummy. It looked extreme and perverted, right up Matt’s alley, and I could easily imagine how much he’d enjoy it, especially if I were the one stuck that way. I wondered how it would feel to be the one inside the rubber cocoon and if Matt had got a sleepsack like that for me. I suddenly realized that I was tweaking my left nipple throught the catsuit, using the rubber-covered fingers of my left hand. Tightsack.jpg was renewing my horniness.
Next, I clicked on rubberdog.jpg. In this picture, the slave was again encased in head to toe rubber, but this time in an unusual rubber suit that I had never seen anything like. The slave was in a dog-like, crawling position, on all fours, but “standing” on his knees and elbows, on the floor on a small mattress. What struck me first about the rubber suit were its arms and legs: The arms ended at the elbow and had no opening, and the legs ended at the knee, also with no opening. The rubber encasement turned the slave’s arms and legs into flipper-like appendages, bent and doubled up into stumps, each arm and leg with its lower half against its upper half, wedged into the thick, abbreviated sleeves and legs of the suit and trapped there. Obviously custom made, the suit looked extremely heavy and fit the slave perfectly, tightly and thickly encasing his folded up limbs, the rest of his body, and his head and neck. The picture was taken from a side view, and it really did give the impression of a rubber dog, posing in profile. I clicked on it to enlarge it. In position on his knees and elbows, his back horizontal about 18 inches above the floor, totally encased in rubber, the slave had a definite canine bearing about him – a muscular, misshapen hound, with stubby legs that had no paws, back legs that were longer than front “legs,” a rear end that stuck up prominently, and an apple-shaped, earless head. No, I said to myself, on second thought, this was not a hound breed – it was more like a Bulldog or Boxer. At the posterior, where the shoulders of the dog's hind legs would be, the slave's human feet were twisted inward at the ankle and compressed tightly against his butt by the seat of the rubber suit. The slightly visible outer edge and toes of his human feet stuck up above ass level, creating the impression of a docked rubber tail. At the pup’s anterior, the head of the dog suit had no visible openings. It appeared to be sealed so tight that a human ear, flattened against the side of the head under the rubber, was noticeable. The slave held his head down, in a submissive posture, and a short black tube extended from the mouth area to the floor, where it ended in a bulb. A wide collar encircled the slave’s neck, and there were individual straps buckled around his arms and legs that seemed to reinforce the bent, stump-like position his limbs assumed within the dog suit. Fascinated by the slave’s predicament, I clicked on the picture to enlarge it again and squinted through the eye holes of my hood. On the side facing the camera, small padlocks were now visible on the collar and straps. I studied the Boxer-like bulge at the dog's front shoulder, just above the strap that encircled the dog’s front leg, and concluded that it was the slave’s hand, somehow trapped in a fist position inside, under the rubber. It seemed obvious that the slave was a captive within the suit, with no choice but to stay in it until someone let him out. I supposed he could roll, like a dog, and walk on his elbows and knees, serving as his canine legs. The poor pooch was definitely fucked, and I had to admit I was enthralled by his predicament. Taking in every detail, hypnotized by the image, I studied the rubber dog and tried to comprehend the total bondage and humiliation depicted. Was that really what Matt had in store for me?
Conversion VI (Waiting for Ross 11)
In his subconscious desire to please Ross, Tim was counting, by thousands, but there was something wrong – his mouth was trying to move but it was unable to form words. He stopped, abruptly. He felt he had to clear his mind of the numbers, to try to figure out what was going on. Gradually, he returned to awareness, in the limited sense he was able. “That’s right,” he thought, “I’m not in the pit now. Ross took me out of it. No more counting.”
Tim’s arms and legs attempted to extend themselves spontaneously, instinctually trying to stretch, and Tim felt the constriction around them, reminding him of the gear that enclosed them and the rest of his body. His cock was aching with stiffness, angled upward and compressed against his lower abdomen but otherwise free under the tightfitting rubber encasement. Squirming and twitching, aware of the intense warmth and sweat, he drew his circumscribed limbs closer to his body and made no attempt to change position. Fighting the urge to struggle against the overpowering, almost smothering sensation of thick, binding rubber completely enveloping him, he willed himself into staying calm and still.
He didn’t think he had dozed off. “Sleep would be impossible in this gear,” he thought to himself. Yet, he did remember being so exhausted that he had felt like a robot, following orders and instructions almost without thinking or knowing what he was doing, in the hope that he would soon have some rest. Had he really fallen asleep, or was he just coming out of a semiconscious state, perhaps hypnotized by his focus on breathing? The repetitive sound of air passing in and out of his body through the narrow tube was hypnotic. He inhaled, held his breath, and waited, but there was nothing but deathly quiet and darkness. When he exhaled, he felt the saliva, built up at the back of this throat, and he struggled to clear it away, working the muscles until finally achieving a swallow.
As the black stillness continued, Tim realized that a long stretch of uninterrupted time had passed. He suddenly felt totally alone, lost, and disoriented. Had they left him, without any signal to let him know? He needed to get a sense of where he was. Keeping his knees and arms close to his chest, fetus-like, he rolled slowly from his side to his back, and he felt his knees graze a surface above him.
He lay still, tried to breathe more softly, and waited for several minutes – more nothing. He wondered if they were really gone or whether they were just neglecting him, to play head games. He tried to relax, but it was difficult to settle back and feel any measure of comfort. The sense that much time had passed remained with him.
Continuous, unbroken seconds extended into minutes, perhaps into an hour, perhaps more. The solitude persisted, and a feeling of abandonment came over Tim. New thoughts entered his mind, of Brad, begging off from further bondage and then disappearing, and Tim’s own mixed feelings when he realized Brad was gone. Tim wondered how long ago that had been.
More time passed, with no indication that anyone was near. Tim became increasingly uncomfortable. He maneuvered himself onto his side again, this time with his knees slightly forward, where he felt them brush against something solid. He tried to remember the sequence of things, what Ross and the others had done to him last. He had no memory of being shut up or locked away. Instead, what stood out in his mind was the sense of relief he experienced when he realized he was able to inhale and exhale at will. He remembered one of Ross’s friends leading him around on the leash, yanking him roughly when he went blindly in the wrong direction, shouting loudly at him, to penetrate the hood: “Heel, Fido.” He remembered being so, so tired.
Tim’s thoughts returned to his current predicament. Maybe he had fallen asleep, after all, and he should signal somehow that he was awake. He tried to call for Ross. “Sir” was in his mind, but the sounds he made were throaty and gagged, with no distinguishable meaning.
“AHH!”
“AHH!”
“AHH!”
He waited until he thought several minutes had passed and tried again, but there was no response. Tim felt heat rising up his body and blood pounding in his face, and he realized he was getting angry.
He tried to calm himself, but it was difficult to breathe easy. The urge to figure out somehow, by feel, exactly where he was in Ross’s dungeon was taking over, but he hesitated. Unable to open, Tim’s eyelids fluttered reflexively against the impenetrable rubber, as if his eyes were trying to overcome the pressure and darkness to see his whereabouts, but the restricted twitching movements only reinforced the reality of his plight. The hood produced such a tight seal that his head felt as though it were vacuum packed in rubber, impermeable to air and light, and most sound. Tim knew from experience that, in fact, the hood was airtight, with no holes at all except for the gag, where two narrow channels contained a small tube through which he could breathe (when permitted, as he was now) and a second tube that ended in an inflatable bulb. The gag was now substantially inflated, left fixed at an enlarged size that made Tim acutely aware of the pressure in his mouth and the internal sound, within the hood, of his own air whistling through the small tube as he inhaled and exhaled.
Lodged securely behind his teeth, the gag filled his mouth restrictively, and yet he knew he was safe, as Ross had trained him, through careful repetition and gradually prolonged periods, to deal with being gagged most of the time. Tim reminded himself that the gag’s current size, though very intrusive, was still a relief compared to what had been imposed on him earlier.
Awkwardly repositioning his body, Tim shifted his weight onto his elbows and knees to rise to a crawling position. Immediately, he felt the limitation of his containment. The top of his rubber-insulated head thumped against a hard surface. Through the thick rubber covering them, he felt his rear end and his toes (sticking up over his butt) touch the surface too. He paused, took a series of deep, if restricted, breaths, and tried to stay calm. He thought he knew where he was now, but he had to test his theory. Crouched low, all that the space allowed, on his knees and elbows, he moved blindly, inching backward and forward and around, bumping the sides to get a sense of the dimensions of the enclosure, until he was certain: He was in Ross’s “wall box.” Probably bolted in and already left for some time, he thought. “Fuck this shit,” he said to himself, silently, wordlessly, and yet his cock surged with the understanding of how thoroughly fucked he really was, by Ross’s relentless need to keep him in bondage, and by his own need to let it happen.
A despairing sigh, protracted as it passed through the small tube in the gag, escaped from the depths of his rubber-encased chest. His mind was ruminating, torturing him with doubts and images, and he couldn’t get it to stop. Shut away and locked in a box, below ground in a basement, alone, isolated, sealed sadistically in rubber, Tim was feeling the effects of the rubber dog suit: His limbs were stuck in the perverse bondage created by the special sleeves, which converted his arms and legs to drumstick-like appendages. Each was bent completely at the elbow or knee and doubled up on itself, encased tightly in a folded position and trapped that way within the squeezing confinement of the individual sleeves, each truncated and sealed off at the elbows and knees by design of the suit. His mouth, packed full and wide but pressed closed, lined on the inside and sealed on the outside with rubber, was rendered totally useless except to exchange air with the outside world, such as it existed for him, through the small tube in the inflated gag. The contrasting thoughts and images of Ross and his friends, what they might be doing and where they might be, were also tormenting Tim. “Did they all go out to the bar together? Did Ross’s friends leave a long time ago? Is Ross upstairs in bed, sleeping soundly?” Whatever possibilities Tim considered, the conclusion remained the same: Ross had a habit of using the wall box for extended confinement. To Tim, the fact that he was in the box, and had been, apparently for sometime, meant one thing: He wouldn’t be getting out until morning... or even later if Ross slept in. He could deal with it okay, he thought, if he wasn’t in the dog suit.“Fuck,” he thought. “It’s probably Sunday already by now, who knows when he’ll decide to get up.” And Tim knew that Ross knew full well that Tim had a vacation day on Monday, per Ross’s instructions. “Fucking bastard! He knows I hate this suit!”
With the full realization of his situation setting in, Tim felt his muscles tighten involuntarily as he fought the urge to struggle against the stricture of the rubber that trapped his arms and legs in such an uncomfortable and useless state. His erection diminished as he leaned his head against one side of the box and felt his eyes burning with tears. He began to repeat the words, “I can do this, I can do this,” over and over in his mind, like a bondage mantra. He bent his neck as much as the thick collar encircling it allowed and lowered his head to try to stop the movement of the bulb dangling from his gag. The sensation of the bulb, swinging at the end of the tube, and his inability to control it, made him nervous. He felt a sharp cramp in one of his feet and tried to wiggle his toes, which were flattened against his butt, where his feet, sweaty and squirmy, impossible to make comfortable, were secured to his rear end at an awkward angle by the rubber encasement. Tim flexed his fingers, trying to stretch them within the rubber fist mitts under the dog suit. His hands, compressed at each side against his pectorals, were held in place by the thick tightness of the suit and the strong outer straps encircling the union of upper to lower arm. He let down his hind quarters, his legs under him, each one folded up on itself and sealed that way, reinforced with straps, and he tried to slacken his muscles as much as the constraint would allow. The cramp in his foot was becoming very painful. He had to simmer down, collect himself, and somehow make the best of things, but he didn’t know if he could.
“I wanted this, I craved this, I can do this, I can do this, I can do this.” The phrases repeated in his head as low, gagged moans reverberated in his throat. “Fuck, I CANNOT do this! I did not want to be left in this suit!”
“AHH!”
“AHH!”
“AHH!”
His pathetic, gagged noises seemed to go unnoticed. Black, blank, empty time passed, and Tim kneeled lower, descending into a fetal position, with his head resting on the floor of the box. He tried to examine his feelings, to understand what was going on in his mind. He guessed that Brad’s presence had thrown him off. That, combined with the company of Ross’s friends, had created an expectation of... what? He didn’t now for sure.
Tim’s mind switched to replay mode, and the events that took place with Ross and his friends started to become clearer. He thought about the players first: There was the blond guy, so fucking handsome and hot, tall and full of authority in his rubber uniform and boots, and extremely sadistic -- at least at a level with Ross, but different somehow, colder, distant, maybe even more unyielding than Ross.
Then there was the other friend, shorter, big-muscled but less commanding, who seemed to take his cues from the blond guy or from Ross. And there was Brad, fucking hot Brad, looking wiped out, hanging back, and watching. Tim had been glad to see that Ross released him from the isolation chamber.
Tim remembered.... the humiliation of having to beg over and over to be released from the pit while he heard laughter from above; and then the embarrassment of finding a whole audience, including Brad, there to witness it. He remembered Ross fiddling with his feet, pulling him to an upright position out of the pit, but then gagging him, almost immediately, with a tube gag, and leaving the arm binder on. He remembered the piss, Ross forcing him to take it through the gag, and the humiliation as the others watched him, bound and kneeling as Ross used him for a urinal.
Tim remembered...the blond guy, looking through Ross’s gear and being fascinated by the dog suit... asking questions about it... wanting to put Brad in the suit and being disappointed to hear it was made for Tim... Brad pleading tiredness and after that being gone... and Tim ending up in the suit, crawling around, forever it seemed, at the end of a leash... someone inflating the gag intermittently, making him hold his breath longer and longer... yelling commands at him... being posed in different positions, having to hold still... more orders...
“Looks like a penguin! Why doesn’t it quack?”
“Heel, Fido!”
“Flipper!”
“Roll over, Sparky!”
“Time to hold your breath and play dead, Spot!”
Tim remembered... the sting of the belt against his butt and feet, to punish him if he didn’t respond to their commands, even when it was because he couldn’t hear through the hood.
And, lastly, Tim remembered... through it all, the total exhaustion, the wish that he would be left alone, to rest. Well, apparently he had gotten what he wanted, but he still couldn’t remember how that came to be. “Fuck!” Tim cursed the blond guy, whose name he couldn’t remember or hadn’t been told. The reason he was in this dog suit was because of that cocky fuckhead! Wiggling in frustration and discomfort, Tim flopped heavily to one side and flapped his bound appendages against the side of the box. His arms and legs were cramping. He moaned into the gag, “This is impossible!” His misery continued, for hours (or so it seemed to Tim), until he noticed that his cock had belied his desperation. His thoughts and struggles had somehow fully restored it to its painfully stiff, maximum erect state. Under the thick rubber encasement, it was throbbing. The overpowering sensation, which earlier had seemed so oppressive -- of thick, binding rubber completely enveloping him – was transforming itself into a sensation that seemed to be satisfying an essential need. Tim moaned and wiggled, the difficult movements now producing erotic pleasure rather than anxiety, as he maneuvered himself awkwardly within the confined space. Stomach down, he straightened out his bound body as much as the box let him, until he was wedged lengthwise in it, at a diagonal, his knees crammed against one end and his head pushed into a corner at the other. Breathing rapidly through the tube with the effort, reveling in the all-encompassing constriction of the rubber suit, experimenting with repetitive grinding movements, he thrust his pelvis up and down repetitively and rubbed his crotch against the floor of the box. His ass muscles squeezed the butt plug that he almost forgot had been shoved up his ass so long ago.
Two stories above Tim, Brad pulled his head back quickly without releasing the suction created by his lips. Ross’s wide, fat, engorged cock unintentionally popped out of his mouth with an audible smacking sound, and Brad drooled onto it. Brad exclaimed, “Sorry, Sir!” He took a breath and continued speaking. “But do you hear that? Think he’s all right? Um... should I go down there?”
Brad, kneeling between Ross’s legs, turned his head, and Ross, stretched out on his bed, lay still.
They both watched the video monitor and listened. While the night vision feature produced a visible image, the angle of the camera and small dimensions of the box made it difficult to get a full view of what Tim was doing. Yet, the sounds were unmistakable to Ross.
Ross explained: “That pig is cumming... without permission, I might add!”
Brad smiled with relief. “Guess he’s okay then!”
Ross laughed. “A bondage pig’s cock always gives him away.”
Brad laughed also. He looked at the clock on Ross’s night stand. “It’s past noon. He’s been in there for quite a while.”
Ross pushed Brad’s head down, back onto his cock. “He’s fine. If he’s still able to cum in there, he’s doing okay. I’m sure he’ll keep for a couple more hours. We need to hydrate him, give him some food, but not right now. It can wait. Anyway, if he cums in bondage without permission, he stays put. That’s a rule he knows very well. After several months of training, he’s used to such treatment. It’s what he wants, remember?”
Slurping upward off Ross’s cock to keep all the saliva in his mouth, Brad interrupted his sucking. He swallowed. “Right, how could I forget? That’s why he ended things with me, so he could be your slave. I guess I agree with you. He can wait for QUITE a while longer.”
“He has no choice!” They laughed together. Ross pushed Brad down again and continued talking. “I can’t think of a better scenario – having a rubber sealed pig down in my dungeon, bound 24/7, and you up here in my bed. Life couldn’t be more perfect.” With his face impaled on Ross’s cock, Brad nodded his head in agreement.
Conversion VII (Waiting for Ross 12)
I was so fuckin’ horny I could spit, right through the tube gag. Almost a full 24 hours encased in rubber, with my dick sheathed and locked up underneath, had turned me into a raving pervert. I was ready for anything Matt had in store for me – but right away, not 5 days from now!
I had worked at home all day Sunday, still geared up in full rubber from the night before as Matt instructed. I was trying to complete the projects due at work so that I could take the planned vacation the following week, for Matt’s 5-day marathon “training session.” The constant checking in with Matt over the webcam throughout the day, to ensure him that I remained totally encased and sealed in rubber, hadn’t deterred me from my work, but the building intensity of my horniness had. Now, sitting at my computer, typing rather well in spite of the rubber gloves, I was acutely aware of my posture, which suddenly seemed to enhance the skintight encapsulation squeezing my biceps and pecs and bathing me in sweat. I got up from my desk chair and flounced on my back on the bed. The plug in my ass shifted enough to remind me of its continued presence, my rubber-capped cock expanded with a weird sensation, attempting to drive itself through the chastity pod, and I moaned loudly through the gag. I ran my hands up and down my body and felt the tight rubber, packed with bulging muscle. I couldn’t take it anymore! I had to do something for relief! I positioned my left arm under me, with my hand between my rubber-sealed ass cheeks, and pushed my fingers into my ass crack... I lifted my right leg and angled it across my body, cradling it with my arm, and pushed my foot toward my face. I felt like I was engaging in some kinky rubber version of yoga. The feel of my leg muscles and the sexy shape of my rubber-encased foot were hot, and the fucking sensation of the plug jamming against my prostate gave me some satisfaction. The wide ball and sole of my foot, stretching the rubber as I wiggled my toes, looked incredibly sexual as my eyes feasted on its shape through the lattice work of pinholes in my hood. The heat, sweat, and snug fit of the latex as I contorted my muscles produced an intense wave of ecstasy. I scrunched forward, increasing the pressure against the plug, and tried to push my foot into my face. I had the urge to rip off the hood and gag to try to lick my foot, but, instead, I let go and collapsed backward into the mattress and pillows. The sudden stabbing pain in my cock thwarted me. Fuck! This horniness was maddening. I had to clear my mind of it. I lay there, convincing myself that I had to give up this crazy arrangement with Matt, that I would go out of my mind if I didn’t, until I thought I heard the familiar zing, faintly through the hood, and jumped up. I was right. Matt’s pager had appeared on the computer monitor:
RBRDOM: Time for check in, slave. No image visible in the webcam. Where the fuck are u?
I sat down and began typing.
rbrslv: Sir, it is here, Sir
I shifted around in the chair, into full view of the webcam.
RBRDOM: That’s better. Is it looking forward to its incarceration starting next weekend?
rbrslv: Sir, going crazy with horniness, Sir
RBRDOM: I’m pleased that it is horny. Don’t expect relief anytime soon!
(I groaned loudly inside my hood.)
rbrslv: can’t stand it, Sir. cock hurts, Sir.
RBRDOM: it will get used to that. u’ll be kept encased and frustrated from now on, count on it.
(More groaning inside my hood.)
rbrslv: right, Sir.
RBRDOM: Did it study the pictures I sent?
rbrslv: yes, Sir. is that rubber dog for real, Sir?
RBRDOM: Yes, very real. The pic is from last night. The slave belongs to a Master who is a friend of mine.
I squirmed in my seat and clenched the butt plug, despite the unpleasant sensation within the chastity pod. I wanted to know more.
rbrslv: Sir, how long did the slave stay that way?
RBRDOM: I’m not sure. Knowing how my friend’s mind works, the slave could still be that way right now :-)
rbrslv: hard to believe SIR.
RBRDOM: not at all. When we left the Master’s house late last night, the slave was sleeping, still sealed in the dog suit and locked in its box.
rbrslv: Sir, what if the slave asks to be let out?
RBRDOM: The gag keeps him silenced. It’s unlikely his Master would respond anyway unless there was an emergency of some sort. The slave has been taught it has no choice in such matters.
rbrslv: Sir, it seems pretty extreme.
RBRDOM: heavy duty slaves like him are rare. he has the type of endurance I want in a slave. u’ll understand better after ur next training session.
I felt painful throbbing within the confined space of the chastity pod. My cock was totally intrigued by Matt’s sexual appetite, but my rational mind continued to question the sanity of it.
rbrslv: have doubts Sir.
A long stretch of seconds, maybe a minute, passed. I wondered if Matt had decided not to respond, and my fingers were poised over the keyboard, ready to send him another instant message, when a fairly long response finally appeared.
RBRDOM: Well, we can chat more about all of this later. I am signing off for the night. u can remove whatever gear is necessary for food and bathroom tonight, but otherwise u should suit up again for bed and stay as u are now until it’s time for work tomorrow morning. Since u’r so interested in the rubber dog slave, u have permission to page its Master. He is online right now – MrRoss.
I typed “Night, Sir” and clicked send, but Matt had already signed off. Heightened by the combination of horniness and skepticism in my mind, the curiosity I had was stronger than my need to finally, if only temporarily, get out of some of my rubber gear. I decided to stay online and page Matt’s friend. I added his name to my buddy list, which indicated he was still signed on. As I hesitated for several seconds, trying to decide what to type, I felt a new flux of hot sweat under the tight hood covering my scalp. How should I introduce myself? Matt’s friend? Slave? Unexpectedly, I noticed a renewed sense of awareness of my encapsulated state, and the unlikely path my life seemed about to follow flashed in my mind in the form of an anonymous male form encased in rubber from head to toe. I felt confused and ridiculous and horny.
The new perspiration increased, encompassing my face, as I decided against offering any explanations of my identity. I typed.
rbrslv: how is your slave doing, Sir?
About a minute passed with no reply. Waiting, I sat still and stewed in the heat and sweat. My bowel felt uncomfortable and my bladder full. I shifted to one side, relieving some pressure of the plug as gas escaped around it. Staring at the computer screen, I was about to give up and log off when I noticed the response come through.
MrRoss: Fine. He’s a good pig.
I typed quickly, and he responded immediately this time.
rbrslv: where is he now?
MrRoss: Down in the dungeon. He was very tired from the weekend, so I put him to “bed” early.
rbrslv: is he tied up?
MrRoss: always
rbrslv: and he does okay that way?
MrRoss: Sure. He is a rubber bondage pig.
rbrslv: How can he stay healthy tied up all the time?
MrRoss: He does not live with me (yet). When he’s here, I release him for short breaks, to keep his blood circulating, sometimes with exercise on my treadmill, but the break periods are not allowed that often and are usually very brief and strictly supervised.
rbrslv: Doesn’t seem like enough to stay fit.
MrRoss: He works out heavily between visits to me.
rbrslv: How often does he visit?
MrRoss: On most weekends he is here. Sometimes extended weekends like this one.
rbrslv: Aren’t there physical problems with being restrained all the time?
MrRoss: No. He gets lots of vitamins and daily aspirin, to prevent blood clots forming while he is immobile for long periods. I also ensure he stays hydrated and nourished, with liquids mostly, while he is here.
I was intrigued by the realistic, matter-of-fact nature of Ross’s ‘articulate’ explanations and his humor.
rbrslv: How does he piss and shit when he’s tied up all the time?
MrRoss: I have total control of his bodily functions. The specific arrangements depend on my mood. His ass is often plugged. With adequate flushing and dietary restrictions, he can go for 2-3 days without passing solid waste. In the dungeon, his diet consists mostly of liquids and protein drinks. Sometimes he is catheterized. In any case, as I’m sure you know, rubber encapsulation seals the slave in with his own bodily excretions.
rbrslv: doesn’t he get lonely or bored down there in the dungeon all by himself?
MrRoss: YGTBK
rbrslv: Sorry. Stupid question, I guess.
MrRoss: He is a fucking bondage pig!
rbrslv: That’s the part I’d like to know more about.
MrRoss: All I can say is that he satisfies many of my needs as a Top, and he keeps coming back for more. I know he is used to being in bondage and rubber for long periods and would not return if he didn’t like it. Over time, I’ve increased the degree and period of restraint to limits that please me. There are some areas where he still needs work, IMAO
rbrslv: what if he wants to be released? What if there’s a fire?
MrRoss: If he really needed to be released on demand he wouldn’t be here. And, I have a sprinkler system. Aren’t you going to ask about earthquakes? Floods?
(I smiled under the hood.)
rbrslv: :-) You have all the bases covered, I guess. Is he still in the dog suit?
MrRoss: No.
I was concerned that I was asking too many questions, or questions that were too stupid, but my desire to know more about Ross and his slave persisted.
rbrslv: am I asking too many questions?
MrRoss: No, not at all. I am enjoying your questions. Plus, I like Matt. You need to learn to address your superiors properly, however.
Under the rubber hood, I could feel the heat of embarrassment on my face, but my drive to find out more seemed more important than figuring out why I felt self-conscious.
rbrslv: Sir, how long did you keep him in the dog suit last night?
MrRoss: About 16 hours. Matt instigated it.
Incredulous and forgetting my manners, I typed quickly.
rbrslv: and your slave’s okay?
MrRoss: Of course. He’s fine. Very submissive and quiet when I released him. Obviously feeling achy and stiff. The dog suit is fairly new. It is tough on his knees and elbows after a few hours. The eventual goal is at least 24 hours, but it may take a few more sessions to work up to that.
rbrslv: Sir, what situation is he in now?
About a minute passed with no response. My feet and hands seemed to have heated up during our chat, and I was uncomfortably aware of their coating of sweat under the tight latex encasement. All at once, I wanted to log off and extract myself from the rubber suit. Instead, I continued to wait for MrRoss, and then my computer announced, “You have mail” at the same time I noticed my buddy list indicate that MrRoss signed off.
The email consisted of a jpeg attachment with no text. I clicked on the picture and watched it load. Through the small holes of my rubber hood, my eyes scanned the image as I tried to understand the details revealed by the vivid photograph that appeared on my computer screen. Black and chrome colors were illuminated by a bright, white spotlight in addition to the flash of the camera, revealing straps, tethers, and casements bordered by metal that looked like steel. The basement setting revealed a beam and overhead floor supports along with some sort of suspension apparatus and a pulley, both of which were unused. I clicked on the zoom feature to adjust the size and study the photo. The target of the photo was obvious, but what struck me first was that it was surrounded by a large rectangular metal frame, on a platform, to which the frame was attached by metal supports, arms that looked like they allowed the frame to pivot and change position. Short, multiple straps extended web-like from the frame inward toward its center, where a leather-covered, cocoon-shaped form was suspended by tethers and belts connected to its encasement at innumerable points, from its heavily hooded head, to its tightly packed body and limbs, ending at its toes, indistinguishable within the pouch-like boot that enclosed its feet. At the level of each nipple, small zippers, closed in place, were visible, giving some indication that there was a living being within the complicated web of secure bindings and encasement. If it hadn’t been for my recent experiences with Matt, I wouldn’t have believed there was a real person inside the hanging, mummified form within the frame. “Fuck,” I muttered to myself through my gag. Knowing that Ross’s slave had not only really been in there when the photo was taken but was still rigged up that way, and would be for the entire night, amazed me. In addition, I was impressed by the extremity of the whole situation: the basement context and elaborate setup, with its multiple fastenings and uncompromising restraint. Ross and his slave were definitely serious about their mutual pursuit. I looked closely at the slave’s head. At first the hood appeared to have no openings, but closer inspection showed a small tube at the mouth. I wondered if there were nose holes. Even so, the slave’s head looked totally sealed, and I wondered if he could breathe. I was intrigued by the perversity and severity of the bondage fetish portrayed in the photo, but I was struck most by the deep reservoir of trust and commitment represented by the circumstances depicted.
Lost in thought, I stared at the photo for several more minutes. What level of trust did Matt and I have? I wasn’t sure. With the old Matt, my beautiful blond bottom, I would have had no doubts. But I still didn’t feel I knew or understood the new Matt, this emotionally distant Top who wanted to keep me rubberized, bound, and under his control. I composed an email to him, telling him I was uncertain about proceeding with our plans, sent it, and logged off.
Waiting for Ross 13 (Conversion VIII)
Under the denim covering his considerable crotch, Ross felt a familiar sensation in his groin. Chatting online about Tim with Matt’s friend, Eric, had made Ross unexpectedly horny. Ross grabbed the beer he had been slowly nursing, rose from his desk, and walked to his bedroom. After such a full and satisfying weekend, he had planned to read and go to bed early, but the feeling of his cock awakening led him to reconsider. He checked the time. Brad had sucked him off well over 7 hours ago and had gone home soon after. Ross wished Brad had been able to stay.
Acutely aware of Brad’s absence from it, Ross relaxed in his medieval-style steel bed and comfortably settled into its water-filled mattress. He closed his eyes, picturing Brad servicing him as he had earlier, and then opened them to look at the dungeon monitor. Suspended in the bondage frame, inclined forward at a slight angle, Tim appeared still and quiet within his sleepsack. Ross adjusted the audio to its maximum setting and could hear Tim snoring softly through the gag.
After the arduous and, at times, protracted bondage Tim had endured throughout the long weekend, Ross had planned for Tim to spend the night in relative “comfort” and to be released early in the morning. With the unanticipated horniness, however, Ross was rethinking that plan. Focusing on the monitor, he lay back in bed, unzipped his pants, and extracted his cock and balls to stroke himself. He knew that Tim had apparently been able to sleep, even trapped in the dog suit, for at least part of the night before. And, after all, he thought, a slave like Tim should not necessarily be comfortable enough to sleep, especially two nights in a row. Ross’s cock grew larger and his bladder fuller as he sipped beer and lay in bed mulling over the options and studying Tim, to refresh himself on which gear Ross had used on him. As Ross let his sadistic imagination generate horny ideas, a scenario developed that gave him a huge erection. Wondering if it would work, whether it was too complex or would require a change in Tim’s gear, Ross considered it for several minutes before getting up from his bed. His monumental erection was telling him it was worth a try.
A few minutes later, two levels below in Ross’s dungeon, Tim dreamed he was falling. In his rubber skin, within his tight leather cocoon, he felt himself thrashing hopelessly as he realized he was unable to move, and then he emitted muffled shouts into the gag, inwardly cursing himself for waking up with a struggle. “Shit!” Tim hated it when he woke up in bondage and panicked. During the minute or two it took him to recover and orient himself, he felt things happening to him, and his powerlessness to do anything about them, beyond a few grunts, made his dick swell and pulsate. In darkness, encased in one of his rubber catsuits, shrouded in his leather sleepsack and suspended helplessly, Tim nevertheless understood that Ross had returned and was busy messing with him.
In response to pressure at his throat, Tim instinctively raised his chin and recognized the feeling of a wide, stiff posture collar closing securely around his neck, to further rigidify his already encased and bound head. With the exaggerated upright position, he also noticed that the angle of his suspension had been altered: He was tilted slightly back instead of forward. In addition, the sensations around his cock were different, perhaps explaining why he had sensed it getting erect. His cock felt exposed and hard, yet somehow encased, and his balls were tightly stretched and constricted. Tim concluded that he had slept through whatever Ross had done to his cock and balls, apparently via the access provided at the crotch-level zippers of the sleepsack and catsuit.
Fully awake now, Tim felt Ross tugging at the rear zippers, first at the sleepsack and then under it, on the catsuit. Next, he felt Ross gently searching and then penetrating his asshole, with something cold and wet. Thinking he would be unable to accommodate the entrance of a butt plug with his legs fastened together so tightly, Tim squirmed and moaned to protest, but then grunted in surprise when he recognized the intrusion of the electric anal probe. Tim felt Ross fiddling with it, perhaps fixing it in place somehow, and then adjusting the zippers, and then Tim yelped and jerked in his bindings as a few sharp, strong jolts painfully coursed through his ass and balls, as though Ross were testing the connections.
His cock uncomfortably erect, adrenaline pumping through his body now, Tim sighed heavily into his gag as he became aware of Ross fiddling with the nipple zippers on the sleepsack and catsuit. This time, Tim knew what was coming next and held his breath as the clamps made their way under the rubber flaps of the catsuit to be attached, first on the right and then the left. Trying to absorb the shock of the clamps, Tim exhaled. The sensation was more painful than erotic, but soon Tim felt the juices flowing into his cock as the clamps pulled on his nipples and the sensation changed to exquisite tenderness, the kind of good hurt that usually stimulated his horniness. Quickly the tension increased, however, until Tim groaned and tried to lean forward to release the pressure, but the securely fastened sleepsack prevented any appreciable movement. The clamps gripped his nipples tightly and something was pulling them up and out, making his nipples feel extremely sensitive, and Tim’s squirming seemed only to increase the tension. He tried to calm himself, to stay as still as possible and enjoy the sensation, but he lurched when a new wave of electric current cut through him below.
He groaned loudly and thought he heard Ross say something or laugh in response. Tim’s now tenderized nipples throbbed as the tension on them seemed to pulsate, and Tim wondered if the clamps were attached to some kind of weight.
Next, Tim felt sensations of increased compression and restriction, starting at his head and proceeding sequentially at each side down and over his body, and he understood that Ross was tightening the laces, straps, and other bindings that enclosed him in the sleepsack and held him suspended in the bondage frame. Tim felt sure he would be unable to move a muscle. On the verge of losing control, he began tensing his body and vigorously squirming, like some sort of human male sausage cooked to the point of bursting. Moaning and wiggling as he involuntarily tested the limits of his extreme restraint, he couldn't stop himself from enjoying the resulting feeling of progressively tighter constriction and immobility. Though Tim would soon be desperate for release, at that moment all he knew was the incredible physical excitement of being tightly, inescapably wrapped and tied from head to toe.
Despite his state of near frenzy, through the rubber and heavy leather at his mouth Tim felt pressure and sensed that something was going on with the tube in his gag. The channel for air seemed to have changed. He had to work slightly harder to draw breath through it, and then he noticed a small amount of liquid enter his mouth. It was cold and bitter tasting, like stale piss, and Tim recognized that it was probably old piss that Ross had collected and been saving for a special occasion. The flow increased to a constant trickle, and then seemed to fill the tube completely, blocking out air. Tim swallowed the piss repeatedly, until finally he was gulping it down as quickly as possible. He was aware of his Adam’s Apple, moving uncomfortably against the constriction of the posture collar as he choked down the sour brew. Nevertheless, the task of swallowing seemed to calm him temporarily.
As he continued, however, the awful taste became more apparent, and he thought he might gag, so he used his tongue to block the tube and stop the flow temporarily. Thankfully, he was able to breathe through the nose holes of the rubber and leather hoods. Apparently, however, Ross did not appreciate the delay, as Tim felt a series of strong shocks and groaned with reverberations of pain in his ass, cock, and clamped tits. Understanding the signal, Tim released his tongue and swallowed. The flow of piss continued. Distasteful as Tim found it, Tim’s cock pulsed with the knowledge that he had no choice but to endure it. “Fucking sadist,” Tim thought. “Haven’t I had enough piss for one weekend?” At one point Tim noticed it change to warm, fresh piss, obviously directly from Ross, and Tim swallowed dutifully, until finally the flow dried up. Grateful to be finished with it and able to breathe through his mouth again, he inhaled deeply through the tube. He puffed up his chest as much as the sleepsack would allow and enjoyed the soreness that resulted as his nipples expanded under the clamps. His stomach felt bloated within the confines of the tight sleepsack. With the heated rush of bondage excitement beginning to subside, Tim felt a mixture of discomfort and horniness. His cock strained to become fully erect as he renewed his squirming within the tightness of his bindings. “Ross is relentless,” Tim thought, and Tim’s cock surged in agreement. Simultaneously, Tim hated and loved both his predicament and Ross. “Fucking bastard!” Tim’s cock was throbbing. He wondered if he was allowed to cum.
Suddenly, Tim realized Ross was talking to him, and he wormed himself into stillness within the sleepsack, to try to hear the words through the hoods. It was a question, and he understood that Ross had repeated it several times before he comprehended the words.
“...need to piss, slave?”
Tim tried to grunt a “yes.” His bladder was aching with fullness.
“... whenever you want.”
Tim couldn’t hear everything Ross said and was puzzled by what he did hear. Tim didn’t think he could piss, with his legs squeezed together by the sleepsack, an anal probe up his ass, his balls somehow tied and electrified, and his tits feeding his erection, with his cock encased in... what?
Probably something connecting it to his mouth, Tim thought. Yet, his bladder was full, ready to overflow from the water he had consumed earlier in the evening combined with what his system had processed so far of the piss Ross had just made him swallow. Tim concentrated on relaxing his sphincter, and soon he sensed that a cautious but constricted flow had started. Waiting for the piss to enter his mouth, he tried to proceed slowly, but nothing seemed to happen. Apparently the piss was going somewhere other than his mouth. With a feeling of relief, he let loose and pissed as freely as the constriction around his cock allowed. That’s when he noticed the real connection. The tension of the clamps on his nipples increased as he pissed. The more he pissed, the further stretched and painful his tits became. Somehow Ross had connected the clamps on his nipples to a container that collected Tim’s piss. With difficulty, Tim stopped himself from pissing. He unintentionally groaned through the gag. It felt like his tits were being pulled off.
A minute or two passed, and Tim tasted piss, cold and bitter again, more that Ross had saved, entering his mouth. He swallowed unhappily. Ross was talking again. Tim stopped the flow with his tongue and struggled to stay still and listen.
“... should be good for quite a while.”
Tim groaned loudly, intentionally this time, and squirmed. The creaking of the leather drowned out Ross’s words. He tried to understand.
“... automatic shocks to keep you awake, make sure you don’t fall asleep and choke.”
Stunned by a nasty jolt of electricity in his ass, Tim wanted to protest, but his efforts to verbalize resulted in a mouthful of piss. He swallowed quickly.
“... couple liters to go”
Pain coursed through Tim’s ass, balls and tits as a series of shocks erupted and the weight on his nipple clamps undulated. He forced himself to remain silent and still. Without releasing his tongue, he tried to articulate “Sir?” through his gag, but there was no response.
A half hour later, two levels above, surveying Tim on the dungeon monitor as though he were a work of art, Ross lay in bed and relaxed. With particular interest in the suspended pulley, over which the chain connecting the piss bucket to the tit clamps was looped, Ross stroked his cock as he studied the image. The constant drip from the overhead bag into the funnel, hanging above Tim’s head and connected with a tube through his gag, had just stopped, and Ross therefore knew Tim had finished swallowing all the piss. Ross had watched Tim carefully for ill effects, and there had been none. He considered going downstairs to refill the piss bag, but instead he gently pumped his cock, which leaked precum onto his hand. He massaged the goo into his cockhead. Enjoying the slow buildup, Ross continued admiring the diabolical setup and the hapless victim who was the subject of it as he pumped his cock. Ross was proud of his own sadistic imagination. Still gradually stimulating himself, Ross waited patiently. Eventually, he was rewarded when he noticed Tim’s piss coursing out of the tube connected to the cock sheath. Just like the first time when Ross had tested the setup earlier, now the piss ran into the suspended bucket, which descended, almost imperceptibly, lower toward the floor as its weight increased.
“Mmmph... Uh... Ahh... Ahh... Ohh... Ohh!”
On hearing Tim’s stifled pleas and groans, Ross’s cock exploded and spurted cum upward, onto his stomach and chest. The eruption was brief but powerful and deeply felt. Finally totally satisfied and relieved of his horniness, Ross found himself in an exhausted postorgasmic haze, which quickly enveloped him in a deep sleep.
Ross 14
Late Monday morning, sitting at a red light as he drove home after his long weekend with Ross, Tim quickly checked his look in the rear view mirror.
There was nothing extraordinary about his outward appearance, though the 4 days’ growth of dark stubble provided a striking contrast with his earnest-looking baby-face features. His unshaven face, combined with the buzz-crew cut, made him look even more sexy and appealing than usual, but Tim was unaware of that effect. Looking for signs of the weekend on his face, all he found were fading indentations on his forehead and right cheek, a dry, cracked area in the left corner of his mouth, and redness over the bridge of his nose. Maneuvering his arms to turn the steering wheel, Tim winced as the fabric of the T-shirt under his leather jacket shifted across his tight pectorals and grazed, ever so slightly, his bruised, tender nipples. His cock pulsed in response. The soreness would last for days, he knew, and keep him continuously horny – a constant reminder of Ross, as if he needed one!
Tim’s turn of the steering wheel coincided with his split-second decision to head to the gym rather than home. His car quickly picked up speed. Inwardly, Tim’s sense of freedom was producing extreme relief, to the point of exhilaration that bordered on wild euphoria. The heady feeling was affecting his judgment. He checked the speedometer and eased off the gas pedal. Energized by perhaps the most intense post-bondage high he had ever experienced, he was suffused with a strong sense of triumph over adversity, mixed with a lingering but somewhat resentful horniness. “Fuck! I survived!” The intensity of his own feelings surprised him. Being free felt like the best thing that had ever happened to him. “Never again!” Tim vowed as he parked in the lot outside MANSWEAT. He had learned his lesson. Four days had been too long. Ross could find some other victim who wanted to be left in the confined, dark, isolated world of bondage hell that Tim had lived through over the long weekend!
Arriving just before the lunch crowd, Tim undressed quickly in the deserted locker room of MANSWEAT. Minimal nourishment over the weekend had further slimmed his lean muscles and tight waist. As he slipped into his jock, the image in the locker room mirror of his own shaved-smooth, well-defined, compact body made his cock stir. His enlarged, red nipples looked obscenely sexual. Resisting the temptation to play with himself, within minutes he finished changing clothes and was upstairs in the gym. Joyously pumping his muscles, extending, flexing, and stretching his arms and legs with a freedom of movement that he promised himself he would never take for granted again, he warmed up on a treadmill and then began his workout with weights. The striking contrast seemed overwhelming -- startling bright sunlight streaming through the gym skylights and washing over the workout area, the cool air against his skin, lightweight exercise clothes offering no resistance as he freely moved his body and limbs, and the pure, clean taste of spring water cleansing his mouth and quenching his thirst – all of that instead of hooded darkness and immobility, heavy encasement in hot, sweaty binding rubber and leather, and the constant taste of piss. Thoughts that he and Ross had definitely taken things too far occupied his mind as he enjoyed the comfortable freedom and independence that powered him through the first phase of his workout. Maybe Brad could be Ross’s new slave, he thought. “No way I’m going back there!”
Savoring his rebirth into freedom, aware that he was a healthy, sexy young man able to move about at his own will with life and liberty ahead of him, Tim took his time enjoying the workout. Midway through, lying on the bench press between sets, his mind unintentionally began to replay specifics from the weekend, and he felt his cock start to respond. Deliberately resisting his thoughts, Tim resumed the bench presses, pushing the memories out of his mind with each push of the dumbbell off his chest. He tried to concentrate on the presses, but his nipples throbbed painfully as the blood pulsed into his pecs. “Forget that shit!” he told himself. He refused to think about the weekend anymore. It was time to get on with his real life.
A little later, however, drifting off in thought as he sat on the shoulder machine, mental images of Ross floated through Tim’s consciousness: Ross’s wide, masculine, but cheerful face, looking constantly pleased, always unfazed, as he contemplated Tim’s immobility and discomfort; Ross’s big, hard cock, continually demanding service, growing larger even as Tim’s cock was kept stifled and trapped, unable to seek pleasure, tied, hidden, and encased; the authoritative presence of Ross’s boots, when they were visible to Tim, as he cleaned them with his tongue; the images of Ross, Sadistic Bondage Master, that formed in Tim’s mind when he was bound and hooded, unable to see his captor but always conscious of his control. “Are you through there?” With a start, Tim shook his head, ridding it of the daydreams and orienting himself as he jumped up off the shoulder press machine. The guy waiting for it gave him a shit-eating grin as Tim moved on, and Tim turned his head away self-consciously. Tim’s cock was semi-hard, and apparently it was noticeable.
While Tim continued his workout, recollections of the sporadic, sometimes intense discomfort and desperation he had experienced throughout the weekend, the intermittent yet seemingly never-ending periods of isolation, the need for release and feelings of hopeless abandonment when release hadn’t come, the lonely despair, anger and struggle, so fresh in his mind earlier in the morning, all began to fade, giving way to a needy horniness. Shit! Fuck! It had been the fucking hottest, horniest weekend of his life! His vow to stay away from Ross was crumbling already. In the middle of a squatting exercise, suddenly realizing that the hardness of his ramrod stiff cock was clearly visible through his tight shorts, Tim looked around the gym to see if anyone had noticed. He pushed the barbell up and finished the rep, with the flush of the effort (or was it embarrassment?) on his face. By now the lunchtime exercisers were there: hair dressers with Monday off, waiters whose workdays begin at dinner, lawyers, accountants, and software engineers who pump up instead of eating up during their lunchtime. They were heaving and sweating in their trendy exercise garb, and none of them seemed to be looking in Tim’s direction. Tim stood still, holding a towel with his hands nonchalantly covering his crotch, as his erection slowly subsided. Reassured that he had not humiliated himself again, Tim renewed his efforts to banish Ross from his thoughts as he continued with the squats. An agonizing sense of urgency overtook him when his efforts failed, however, and he hurried through the rest of his workout with a partial erection. He had to get home, jerk off, and get Ross off his mind!
Two hours later in his apartment at home, well fed, clean and stretched out naked on his bed, Tim pumped his sore cock vigorously and pinched his aching nipples in an attempt to cum a fifth time. His arm was tired from the repetitive beating off motion, but he ignored it.
The first quick load he shot in the shower had felt almost clinical, as if it merely satisfied a physical need for his cock and balls to discharge. The second, in bed after eating a late lunch, was more satisfying, and would have been a good send-off for a much needed nap, but Tim had decided to check his email instead of sleeping. The pictures from Ross, documenting Tim’s weekend incarceration, had fueled the third and fourth eruptions, with Tim pumping wildly, his angry red cock engorged and overstimulated, spewing cum in front of his computer while he wished that he was still in captivity in Ross’s dungeon.
Now that Tim could see how he had looked all weekend – encased, sealed, and bound up in several different variations of bondage pig heaven – he wanted more. One photo in particular stayed in his mind as he closed his eyes and pulled on his cock: a view from several feet back showed a door, partially opened to reveal that behind it was a black, cocooned figure hung inside a closet-like area. Tim had spent more than 30 hours bound up in a sleepsack, suspended and locked away, and now the image of how it had looked was fixed in his mind and cock. Still not completely satiated, his cock was painfully hard but refused to cum a fifth time despite Tim’s concentration and energetic pumping. Tim let go of his cock and flopped onto his stomach. “Fuck!”
A few minutes passed, but Tim was still restless. He had a lot of chores to catch up on after 4 days away, but he was too distracted to think about doing anything except jerk off. He had to do it one more time, to feel completely satisfied, so that he could stop obsessing about how Ross had kept him in bondage all weekend. With his cock refusing to relax, Tim jumped out of bed and raided the storage trunk at the bottom of this bed, where he kept all his gear.
A half hour later, Tim sat at his computer browsing the gallery of photos Ross had sent. Sweating his ass off under the thick, tightly stretched rubber of a size-small catsuit (the tightest one he had at his apartment), grinding his butt into the chair as his muscles contracted against the huge plug he had taken up his ass, he pushed at his crotch, massaging his encased cock, as he connected his memories of the weekend with the images on his computer screen. He shifted forward and back on the chair and bounced lightly up and down to leverage his weight on the plug. An impending feeling of orgasm was building, but he was not quite there, when the sound of his phone interrupted the action. The name of Ross's company appeared on his caller ID.
Tim’s voice cracked and he stumbled over his words as he answered. “Hi, um ... I mean, hell-oh, um... Sir.”
“Hi, pig.” Tim squirmed on his plug and pressed his free hand down hard on his cock at the curt sound of assurance and authority in Ross’s insulting greeting. “Doing okay after our adventure this weekend?”
“Yes, Sir. Um... Fine, yes, Sir. Thanks for the pictures, Sir.”
“You’re welcome. What did you do so far today?”
“Just routine stuff, Sir. First I worked out for a long time at the gym.”
“And then what?”
“Came home. Ate a big meal. Checked email. Catching up on chores and stuff right now, Sir.” Tim was mildly annoyed. Under the influence of the feelings of independence produced by being in his own surroundings, he didn’t feel like accounting for every minute that he had spent away from Ross.
“Is that all you’ve done, pig? I thought you said you had ‘important’ things to accomplish today. Sounds like I could have kept you locked up until tonight.”
Ross’s words, combined with the image Tim had on his computer monitor, were bringing Tim closer to an orgasm. Unintentionally silent while he massaged his crotch, Tim let out a groan.
“Are you playing with yourself, pig? How many times has the pig jacked off since it was released this morning?”
Tim felt humiliated. He hated being addressed as ‘pig,’ especially at home on his own phone, and yet his cock hardened more at Ross’s use of the word. “Sir, well... four... well, just about to...almost five times.”
“Get your hand off your cock right now!”
As if Ross were in the room, Tim lifted his hand away from his crotch. He had been just about to cum. “Fu...k I mean, sshh... sure. I mean... um... right, Yes, Sir!”
“Your slave dick needs a major lockup, doesn’t it, pig? Are you the kind of slave who requires constant control, pig?”
Tim hesitated. The words were very familiar, as Ross tended to use them often, but this time, Tim thought, Ross is right. I’m out of control. “Probably, Sir.”
“No doubt it my mind, pig. The new chastity device I ordered may be ready later this week. Perhaps in the meantime we can arrange some form of control later tonight, depending on how much work I get done this afternoon.”
Not sure he had any interest in Ross’s suggestion, Tim doubted that Ross was serious. Ross continued: “For now, I need to concentrate on next weekend. There’s been a change in plans. I may require more of your time than I anticipated, at least 5 days in a row. Can you arrange more days off, to tack some time onto next weekend?”
Tim didn’t know what to say. More time off from work, and he hadn’t even been back there yet! “Sir, I don’t know. I’d have to talk to my boss tomorrow.”
Ross replied quickly. “Can’t you call your office this afternoon? It’s only 3:30.”
Tim wavered. “Sir, I’m not sure. I don’t know if she’s available. I am entitled to more vacation. I guess I could try to call and ask.”
Ross replied: “Good pig. I’ll call you back in 10 minutes. AND NO MORE JERKING OFF!” Tim heard the phone click as Ross disconnected.
Tim held the phone at his face and stared at it, as if he could see Ross in it. Fuck. He felt like he was back under Ross’s control already. How had that happened? Now he wished he hadn’t even answered the phone, and yet his cock was aching with stiffness. Ross was such a demanding fucker! Tim turned off the phone and put it down. He scanned the pictures on his computer again, looking at how Ross had treated him for 4 days. He pressed down hard, crushing his rubberized crotch. “Fuck. I do want more!” He picked up the phone again, hesitated a few seconds, and then quickly made a phone call to his office.
Hours later, tangled up on top of his bed covers, Tim woke from a deep sleep with a start. It was dark. He checked the clock: 7:00 PM. It was the noise that woke him: Why was his alarm sounding? He reached toward his night stand and turned it off. He was so tired and groggy. The last thing he remembered was jerking off... for the fifth or sixth time? He wasn’t sure. At least his horniness was gone now. He clenched his asshole – it felt clean, empty and sore from the big plug, no longer in place, that he had used to make himself cum. He felt cool air in his crotch and ass crack, where he had left his catsuit unzipped. He was soaked with sweat under the rubber elsewhere and felt slightly uncomfortable, but the discomfort was not enough to motivate him to get up. He felt so lazy. He closed his eyes. What a relief not to be thinking about Ross! Wait a minute.... There was something he was supposed to do with Ross... tonight? That second phone call from Ross! When was that? He tried to think, but before he could recall anything specific, drowsiness enveloped him again, and a deep and satisfying sleep set in.
Tim woke unwillingly, barely aware of his surroundings, a second time. Now a light was on, and Ross was standing over his bed. Tim closed his eyes against the brightness. He felt the weight of Ross’s body and the bed covers being yanked. Barely functional, Tim hardly understood Ross’s words.
“You’re snoring like a pig!” Sleepily, reluctantly, Tim opened his mouth at the feeling of pressure against his lips and teeth. A rubber piss gag was suddenly buckled roughly and tightly in place, creating immediate discomfort as the wide tube was forced into Tim’s mouth.
Unthinking, Tim started to object, but the only noise that came out of his mouth was unintelligible: “AAHHH!”
“Yes, much better. That should stifle your snoring, at least a little.”
Ross worked quickly as Tim came gradually to semi-consciousness. Before Tim knew what hit him, he had been gagged and hooded and was cooperating without question as he stood in front of Ross and extended his arms into the sleeves of a heavy leather straitjacket. Like a dazed sleepwalker unable to resist, Tim became even more compliant as Ross turned him this way and that, jerked and pushed him from side to side, and pulled, yanked, and tugged as he buckled, fastened and locked the straps that trapped Tim inside the snug-fitting jacket. At that moment, Tim didn’t care what Ross did, as long as he finished soon and let him go back to bed. Over the rubber hood, Ross fitted a leather hood that connected to the thick, sturdy collar of the straitjacket. The leather hood had zippers, laces and straps, and though Ross acted quickly, Tim sensed he spared no energy in making sure it was applied as tightly as possible. Both hoods had eye holes, which gave Tim limited vision, and mouth holes, where the outer ring of the gag, held fast underneath and sealed against Tim’s lips, protruded outside.
Now becoming fully awake, Tim noticed that his breathing seemed limited, and he began to appreciate the degree of the restraint. Trying to adjust to the pressure of the tight restriction, Tim inhaled and exhaled, noisily and deeply, though the wide tube. He was beginning to feel uncomfortable and claustrophobic. Fuck. He cursed himself. Why had he ever given Ross a key to his apartment? How could he have let Ross rig him up in this straitjacket so abruptly and thoroughly?
Tim was aware that Ross was talking, but Tim could hardly process the words. The anxiety and excitement caused by the physical sensations of intense restraint were interfering with his ability to concentrate, and it was difficult to hear anything external within the tight hoods. Continuing to try to adjust, Tim concentrated on his breathing. Aware that he was sweating and his heart was pounding, he found himself reflexively trying to twist his arms and squirm against the binding leather. All he could hear was the creaking sound of leather as he twisted and squirmed in a futile effort to feel comfortable. Everything was so goddamned tight! He wanted out! He snorted through the gag, and thought he heard Ross laugh.
Tim took another series of deep breaths and peered through the eye holes of the hoods. Ross was sitting on the bed with a sadistically happy expression on his face. Exuding confidence and playful masculinity, he looked handsome and strapping, freshly showered and dressed as though for a casual night out. “Rubber pigs always need an inescapable layer of leather on top of their rubber, to keep them secure, don’t they, pig?”
Tim shook his head emphatically in the negative and tried to protest. “Uh-uh! Uh-uh!” He wanted out of the straitjacket. He tried say OUT, OUT, but the noises that Ross heard sounded more like barks than words. Tim quieted himself and waited expectantly for a response from Ross. Please let me out of this, Tim thought.
“Your protests are not very convincing,” Ross chuckled authoritatively. “A bondage slave’s cock will always give him away!”
With the tight fastenings, stiff leather, and position of his bound arms inhibiting him, Tim tried to look down, having to bend at his waist and knees to see the front of his body. The ass/crotch zipper of his catsuit was still open, and his erect cock was sticking out prominently between the binding crotch straps of the straitjacket. Tim could feel his cock rising, hardening even more with the knowledge that Ross was watching it. Fuck!
Ross smiled. “See what happens to pigs who are compulsive masturbators? Now come closer to the bed and turn around. I brought a present, a new toy for you, pig. Did you clean yourself out thoroughly, as I instructed?”
Tim didn’t remember being instructed, but he knew he was empty and clean. “Ethir,” he responded hesitantly. He wasn’t in the mood to have anything shoved up his ass.
In one hand Ross held a long, strange dildo that looked to Tim as though it was shaped to be anatomically correct, and, in his other hand, a contraption attached to it. Tim didn’t recognize the device as anything he had ever seen before. And, in his current mood, he didn't like the looks of it.
The dildo was fastened to one end of a steel bar. The other end of the bar appeared to be welded to the center of a second bar, which had cuffs attached to it at either end. Tim moved toward Ross and reluctantly turned around. “Spread your legs!” The next few minutes passed slowly, as Tim, tensing and sweating under the rubber inside the leather straitjacket and hood, surrendered to Ross’s application of the new device: Tim’s ankles were locked into the cuffs, secured to the spreader bar that fixed his legs in place about 2 feet apart. The second bar, which Tim soon discovered was adjustable, extended from the center of the spreader bar straight up between Tim’s outstretched legs and ended at the base of the dildo, which was bolted to it. Ross inserted the lubricated tip, and the first half of the dildo slid in easily, but its length, deep penetration, and increasing diameter quickly became apparent to Tim as Ross continued pushing firmly on the flared base at the bottom.
Automatically, Tim straightened up and tried to move forward to resist any further insertion, but he felt Ross slap his ass, still covered by the catsuit though his crack was exposed.
“Stay still, pig!” Tim felt Ross’s strong hands guiding him back into position. Awkward and uncomfortable, hot and perspiring, Tim stood still, moved forward and back, and turned this way and that, at Ross’s command as Ross worked on administering the new device. Nearly finished, Ross adjusted the center bar, extending it upward. Tim groaned and wiggled his rubber-socked feet, then pushed himself up on his toes in an effort to mitigate the penetration.
“Very good, pig. Get up there as high as you can on your little rubber tippy toes.”
Tim strained higher, trying not to tip forward, but soon realized that Ross was using the height to further lengthen the bar, pushing the dildo up inside him as far as possible. Tim’s spread legs shook, his feet trembled, and his bound upper body listed forward as he tried to keep his balance. Under the hoods, Tim grunted with the effort and moaned at the sensation of the dildo inching upward, probing far inside and stretching his sensitive hole. His anal muscles contracted reflexively, trying to expel the invader, and his moans changed, becoming repetitive and high-pitched.
“Okay, you can quit squealing and relax now, pig. And stop acting so refined, like you’re not used to having your ass plugged!”
Tim silenced himself, holding his breath as he started to lower his heels. He hesitated and jerked at the intense sensation, until gentle but steady pressure from Ross’s hands pushed him down until his feet were flat. Tim sank as low as possible onto the device, finally fully impaled by it, and emitted a loud moan. Though the stretching and stimulation of his butt hole were overwhelming, the feeling of the broad flange at the wide base of the dildo gave him some measure of comfort, as it indicated that neither the dildo nor its supporting bar could fuck him any deeper. His rock hard cock was throbbing and twitching. It felt like his prostate was going to explode.
“Good job. Now don’t move a muscle, pig!”
Tim rested his feet and tried to keep his legs from shaking as he realized Ross was kneeling in front of him. He felt painful stretching and pinching of his cock and balls. Next, he responded to a strong downward pull on his balls by bending his knees ever so slightly, but the bar that impaled him on the dildo, extended and locked in place, prevented any appreciable movement. His cock, balls, and ass were on fire, and the excruciating urge to cum continued.
Ross stood up. “Perfect. It’s definitely you! Now let’s see you walk.”
Tim stared through the eye holes of his hoods in astonishment and disbelief. He mustered all of the mouth coordination the gag would allow to try to make himself understood: “U-C-K O-O!”
Ross laughed and pulled Tim forward. “You are the one who is fucked, pig!”
Tim stumbled awkwardly, afraid he would lose balance. To his surprise, however, he found that he could “walk.” Slowly, with effort, he was able to rock from side to side and advance his feet forward, with a gait that was somewhere between a shuffle and a waddle. Unexpectedly, the position that the device forced him to maintain, though awkward, felt stable and balanced as he stood and moved forward. However, the fucking sensation that resulted was almost totally overpowering. In rhythmic bursts, his asshole, prostate, and cock seemed to be contracting in uncontrollable spasms, so that Tim felt his muscles squeezing the dildo as though it were a real cock he was trying to milk. His own rigid cock bobbed, twitched, and arched upward in front of him, in resistance to the snug cock strap and ball stretcher harness, pulled down tightly by bindings that connected it to the spreader bar below.
“Okay, that’s good. Stop there, next to your bed.” Grateful to stop, Tim stood still. “Now, let’s see if you can flop onto your bed and then get yourself up.”
Confused by Ross’s request, Tim thought he had misunderstood. How could he do that? He couldn’t bend his legs. And his arms and hands were useless, trapped helplessly in the tight straitjacket. “Thir?”
“This way, pig.” Ross turned Tim, until the backs of Tim’s legs were against the side of the bed.
Standing to one side, Ross gave Tim a gentle push and guided him back, until Tim dropped onto his bed, with his splayed legs extended over the side. The restraints held tightly, though Tim felt the dildo shift inside uncomfortably. He squirmed backward, further onto his bed, to ease the pressure on the center bar, and found that the position was bearable.
“Good. Get up, now, without my help.”
By shifting from side to side and rocking forward, Tim was able to comply, though the sensations resulting from the pressure and slight movement of the restraining device that impaled him were not enjoyable. Ross made Tim repeat the whole process, two more times without assistance, and Tim hoped Ross was enjoying what seemed to Tim to be a pointless exercise in discomfort.
After achieving a standing position a third time, Tim looked expectantly at Ross, and saw him checking his watch. Tim hoped the session was drawing to a close. He was eager to be released from the dildo perch and get out of the straitjacket.
Ross talked quickly, and Tim strained to hear. “Come with me, and hurry it up.” Tim moved forward reluctantly. Where was Ross taking him? “It’s getting late. Brad’s probably already at the restaurant.” Tim was confused. What did Brad have to do with this? With the enclosure of the hoods, creaking of leather, and effort required to walk, Tim thought he must have misheard. After slowly ambling forward a few steps, Tim stopped and suddenly cried out as he felt a sharp, painful sting on his cock.
Ross was holding a small whip, up level with Tim’s face. “Faster!” Tim tried to comply, speeding up his clumsy duck walk, but it was difficult. Ross whipped and taunted him as they walked to the kitchen. “Weebles wobble but they don’t fall down!”
At Ross’s command, Tim stood still. Ross had stopped him in front of the kitchen counter, where the console for Tim’s phone system was stationed. Ross pushed the phone keys to dial a number. As the cell phone in Ross’s pocket started ringing, Tim and Ross could also hear the rings on the speaker of Tim’s phone. Ross hit the disconnect key. “Now let me see you hit the redial key using the tube in your mouth.” A nervous feeling came over Tim and his legs shook as he leaned forward, his straitjacketed arms against the counter. He touched the key with the tube. The redial function worked immediately, and Ross’s cell phone rang as before. Ross pushed the release key to disconnect. “Good, pig.”
Next, Ross pointed near the phone, where, on the counter next to it, Tim saw a plastic gallon jug, yellow liquid visible inside it. The lid on top, sealed with duct tape, had a wide straw coming out of it that appeared to extend down inside to the bottom of the jug. Tim was accustomed to (and disliked) Ross’s habit of saving piss for him, but this was the first time that a piss jug had made its way to Tim’s apartment.
“Here’s the next test. Let me see if that gag allows you to sip through the straw.”
Tim’s anxiety was turning to anger. He stood still for a few seconds, silently refusing to comply, until a squeal of pain escaped from his mouth. The whip flicked sharply and unmercifully on his balls and cock, still inflexibly stiff despite his objections to the situation. Ross refused to stop whipping until Tim leaned forward, over the counter, seeking the straw by extending his tongue through the tube of the rubber piss gag. With much effort, by trapping the straw with his tongue against the top of the tube and drawing air in, Tim was able to create enough suction to get a mouthful of Ross’s piss. His hard cock jabbed the cabinet under the counter, and Tim swallowed noisily, attempting to clear his mouth. The piss was cold and sour, and it seemed to coat his tongue. Under the hood, he felt his head shake as his facial muscles contorted in an uncontrollable grimace.
Tim straightened up, and Ross looked at him with reserved approval. “Good. Now over to the door.”
Tim followed Ross reluctantly to the front door of his apartment. The vexation building within Tim was almost completely suppressing the acute sensations in his ass and cock. “This is the last test. Let me see you open the door by leaning on the handle.” Motionless and feeling puzzled, Tim stared through the eye holes of the hoods until he saw Ross raise the penis whip threateningly. Suddenly acting quickly to avoid the sting of the whip, Tim discovered that, by bending at the waist and angling his upper body to the right, he was able to push on the chrome lever with his elbow until it released. The door opened slightly, and Ross promptly closed it.
Tim had an adrenaline rush and tried to fight the anxious feeling that was overtaking him. His legs still felt wobbly, and he was afraid to know Ross’s intentions with these odd, seemingly unrelated tasks. Breathing heavily through the tube gag and trying to shift his arms to alleviate the tight bindings of the straitjacket, Tim suddenly realized that Ross was talking again, in a cold, businesslike tone that increased Tim’s anxiety.
“I’ve been thinking you need additional bondage time, between visits to me. This should be really good training for you. Being trapped in restraints in your own apartment, with all your familiar things of no use to you, could be quite interesting, perhaps a new twist for a jaded bondage pig like you.” In spite of Tim’s nervousness, Tim felt his cock pulsate at the meaning in Ross’s words and the certainty with which he said them. Momentarily distracted by the throbbing of his cock, Tim hoped it was not visible, because he knew Ross would interpret it as some kind of signal of acceptance. Some words and phrases penetrated Tim’s consciousness: “... good preparation for this coming weekend.” Tim squirmed silently. “... maybe every night this week.” Zoning out again, Tim couldn’t, or didn’t want, to comprehend what Ross was saying. A sentence or two later, he forced himself to focus on the words: “... going to leave now, but I’ll back tomorrow morning, in time to release you to go to work.”
Tomorrow morning! Tim raised his voice through the gag. “Uh-uh!” “Uh-uh!” Tim twisted his torso, trying to move his arms, irrationally struggling and attempting to make Ross understand his objections as he continued to protest through the gag. “Uh-uh!” “Uh-uh!”
Ross’s next comment had a much more serious tone: “I’ll drag you out in the hallway and leave you there if you don’t stop your whining and shut the fuck up right now!”
Tim stopped himself from squirming and tried to calm down. His heart was pounding and his mind was racing. How could he convince Ross not to leave? Maybe begging would work. He did his best to enunciate.
“HEESTHIR?”
“P-U-L-EE-STHIR?”
“THIR... P-E-E-E-SE!”
Ross laughed. “Your reluctance is convincing me that this is definitely the right thing for you. Don’t worry. You’ll survive. This will be excellent training. Make sure that jug is empty by the morning, and don’t spill any. You should be able to pee into the toilet if your greedy slave dick ever goes down.”
Tim bent slightly forward, to look down, and felt the pressure of the dildo deep inside. His hard cock, bigger and stiffer than he had ever seen it, extended straight out, and a thick glob of precum hung off its tip. It felt like the dildo was pushing the cum out, like some kind of mechanical prod used at a stud farm.
Ross smiled. “Like I said before, a bondage slave’s cock always gives him away.”
Tim moaned quietly. The subtle change in position caused by leaning forward made him feel like he was about to shoot, and he had the urge to struggle inside the straitjacket to increase the sensation. With blood pounding in his temples, his head felt like it was being squeezed by the hoods. He straightened up, trying to relieve the pressure of the multiple restraints, and took a deep breath.
Ross continued with his explanations: “Stop fretting, pig. You're not in any danger. You can’t sit down with that impaler locked in place, but you can shuffle around your apartment and lie in bed. I’ve unplugged your TV, just to make sure there’s nothing to distract you. I'm leaving the lights on, so you don't fall down in the dark.” Ross put his hand on the door lever. “Use the redial to get my attention only if there’s a real crisis. You’ll be very sorry if you use it foolishly. If there’s an emergency, you can always leave your apartment and waddle out into the hallway for help. That would certainly give your neighbors in the building something to talk about!”
Still taking it all in, Tim felt desperate. How had everything happened so quickly? Trying to process what Ross said and believe that it was true, Tim grunted dumbly, too shocked to react otherwise, when Ross smacked his butt and wished him a good night. “Have fun. See you sometime tomorrow, pig!” The door opened and closed, and Ross was gone.
The heat was intensifying between my shaved-to-smoothness scalp and the rubber that gripped it, and I found myself musing about whether the troubling thoughts could be explained by my brain overheating, baking inside my rubber-encapsulated head. I knew from experience that my body, simmering with hotness and sweat, eventually would adjust to the unnatural rubberized state imposed on it, but I wasn’t so sure about my mind. I exhaled through the gag as I laughed to myself: Maybe my mind was turning feverish, melting on top of the sweltering, rubberized mass of hard, over-exercised muscles under it, all pumped up with blood but compressed by rubber, beefy meat in a black latex pressure cooker. Whatever the explanation, my thoughts were fermenting, boiling up and over, roasting according to a recipe of conflicting ingredients.
I was home alone on Saturday night, sitting at my computer in view of the webcam. Despite my resistant thoughts, I had just finished my latest assignment from Matt. I scanned the time-stamped photos, taken using the self-timed setting of the digital camera Matt had provided, documenting my activities so far tonight. As instructed by Matt, the pictures were identified using numbered file names in the sequence in which I completed each task:
(1) a total body shot, clearly showing the smooth, absolutely hairless result of the head-to-toe shaving session, the natural honey-glow of my muscles heightened by the glistening lubricant;
(2) a closeup of my prominent, impressive cock and balls encased tightly in the rubber sheath that Matt insisted I have on at all times except when I showered;
(3) a crotch shot, showing the emasculating effect of the hateful aluminum chastity pod, a metallic sphere imprisoning my prodigious manhood -- cock and balls folded up and stuffed inside, trapped uncomfortably and fixed in place, with the condom-like, extended cock tip of the sheath protruding from the small hole at the bottom of the pod and the color-coded padlock (purple tonight) at the top;
(4) a rear view, showing the flanged base of the butt plug barely visible between my bodacious ass cheeks;
(5) another crotch view, this one showing the thick, rubber-band-like jock/thong worn to protect my skin and top layers of rubber from the aluminum pod;
(6) a full frontal bulging-crotch view, taken after I had squirmed into the girdle-like rubber shorts that Matt usually required be worn under my street clothes;
(7-9) shots showing that rubber gloves, socks, and mouth strap with gag and breathing tube were all in place;
(10-12) final shots in which I posed for the camera in different positions to display the new catsuit, concealing all the preparation underneath and showing the end result of my evening’s work.
Through the lattice work of the pinhole eyes of the catsuit’s hood, I tried to adjust my vision to examine photo 12 more closely. Despite the discomfort it caused at my cock, I couldn’t resist squirming and contracting my plugged ass as I studied the image of the strapping, masculine form, sleek and shiny with black latex stretched tightly over gleaming ebony muscles and bulging crotch, totally encased – from square, masculine, athletic head -- to wide, sexy feet and toes -- to beefy hands and the tips of strong, sturdy fingers. The rubber coverage accentuated how well made the body underneath was: high, tight pectorals and biceps, visibly well developed; broad neck and shoulders; the resulting classic V as the muscles tapered to the small, compact waist; the wide, muscular thighs and sturdy legs that sprouted below. The hood’s small eye and nostril holes were not visible in the photograph, and the top to bottom rubber coverage looked seamless, except for the tube at the mouth.
The series of photos ending with this one showed the complete conversion, the transformation of Eric, from humpy, (formerly hairy) stud, to rubber muscle creature with no identity, the way Matt wanted “it” to live 24/7 – totally encased and ready to serve “its” Master’s kinky needs. Rubber-covered, yes; muscles pumped daily with exercise, yes; but, if Matt were to have his way, bound for much of the rest of each day, shut up and locked away, stored for future use, until Matt or John needed “its” service. That was not my idea of how I wanted to spend my life, and yet, in the weeks that passed since the night when Matt surprised me in my apartment and introduced me to the paradoxes of bondage, my cock seemed to be leading me further and further in that direction.
Beginning to rage with doubt, frustration, and horniness, I packaged the photos and typed my message. I checked the spelling and capitalization to ensure my rubber encased fingers had not erred, and I double-checked that each sentence began and ended appropriately.
Subj:Ready for bed photos
Date:11/1/03 9:30 PM
From:rbrslv
To:RbrDom
Attachment: encased.zip
Sir, tonight’s photos are attached. Sir, it is sitting at its computer, webcam on, waiting for permission to go to bed and sleep in its new gear, Sir. Sir, thank You in advance, Sir.
it
I clicked SEND and stared straight ahead at the computer screen without trying to focus through the eye holes of the hood, producing a weird, patchy view. After weeks of following Matt’s instructions, many times in such a state of horniness that I did so without question, tonight my ambivalence was so strong. Rather than wait for Matt to sign on and page or email me, I was tempted to turn off the computer and get out of all, or most of, the gear. The key to the padlock on the chastity device would probably be in the mail on Monday or Tuesday, unless Matt had decided I would have no relief before next weekend (perhaps a way to ensure I’d go through with the plan). Otherwise, I was free to remove the rest of the gear if I was willing to accept the consequences – no more Matt. No more God-like worship of the beautiful, arrogant, control freak, the Rubber Bondage Master (as he liked to call himself) with whom I had become obsessed.
I checked my position in the webcam view. Clenching the plug with my ass muscles, grimacing under the hood in response to the weird stabbing sensation produced as my cock tried to expand, sucking the gag, squirming and sweating in my newest catsuit (Matt’s most recent purchase), I debated my choices, knowing it could be hours until Matt decided to email or page me. In the weeks recently after I reconnected with him, Matt had never once slipped back into our 2-years-past relationship roles: dark, studly, vanilla top (me) who could have had any pretty bottom he wanted; and blond, beautiful, eager to please bottom (Matt), the one I wanted most and thought I had, until he dumped me. That all seemed so distant. I could have never predicted our conversion. My rational mind didn’t know what to make of it, while my cock was in a constant state of horniness because of it. Now, Matt never wavered from his current intent – that my only possible role in his life would be as property that belonged to him, a rubber bondage slave, an alien rubber creature, controlled by him at all times (even in his absence), an “it” that would worship him without question when permitted to be in his presence. Every interaction with him reinforced these notions, and my mind reacted with tumult and constant horniness. The contradictions seemed endless: complete control = liberation from decision making; absolute bondage = freedom from movement; enforced chastity = total horniness; rubber-encased imprisonment = sexual awakening. When Matt leaves me encased, tied up and incarcerated for hours on end, at first I love the physical sensations of immobility and the sense of helplessness. I sometimes cum violently, involuntarily, within seconds. Sooner or later, however, the restraint and discomfort, the isolation and boredom, and the lack of freedom overwhelm me, and I want out. I reach the point of hating it, but then I find myself loving how I hate it, and loving Matt’s enjoyment of it, his sadistic appetite for keeping me down long after I think I can take no more. He knows I detest giving in, to beg (usually through a gag) for release, and he takes pleasure in responding with denials, telling me to “shut the fuck up,” reminding me that he decides if and when to release me.
I checked the time. An hour had passed since my email to Matt. My mind moved from past to future. I considered what I had agreed to next, what I had been working toward for the last 2 weeks at Matt’s behest. The details had emerged through chats and email: 5 days in form-fitting, muscle-enveloping, airtight, skintight, rubber; in bondage at all times, to varying degrees; shut in a box in Matt’s dungeon for 23+ hours for each of the 5 days; “sentence” to begin next weekend. I thought about the overtime at work that I’d been putting in for 2 weeks, to prepare for the time off that this arrangement would require. (Crazy!) And I thought about the prospects after my temporary incarceration, if I passed muster. (Even crazier!) I knew Matt had more than the means to support me for the rest of my life. I suspected he already supported John. I knew they were serious about wanting a third guy in their relationship, someone they could keep under their thumbs, totally controlled to suit their kinky needs. It wasn’t for me, I thought, and yet there I sat, plugged at both ends, rubber-sealed head to toe, with my cock in a lock down, waiting for approval from Matt. Surely what Matt said he wanted was really just a fantasy. Or was it?
Another 15 minutes, and still no sign of Matt on line. Saturday night. I wondered if he was even home. I knew he wouldn’t forget me. He was too much of a control freak for that to happen. How long would I have to wait?
I started reviewing some of our most recent email exchanges.
Subj:ur Five Days of Encasement in the Box
Date:10/15/03 11:22 PM
From:RbrDom
To:rbrslv
As discussed in our recent chats, I’ve decided that being boxed for a minimum of 5 days is the next phase. Nov 8-12 is definite. Mandatory if u want to continue ur training. A full 5 days in the box. This is the current plan I have in mind:
1. u will stay in rubber head to toe for the duration, NO exceptions.
2. u will be bolted into the box for the duration. u will be released for 15 minutes once each 12 hours for brief exercise, to keep ur blood circulating, and for food and bathroom. (While ur sleeping in rubber currently every night is good practice, from now on I also want u to prepare for ur coming incarceration by training urself to piss and shit 2-3 times a day only, preferably at 8-12 hour intervals.)
3. If u misbehave in the box, bathroom privileges will be revoked, meaning u will be sealed up with ur piss and shit. Once they are revoked, they will NOT be reinstated.
4. u will be in some form of restraint the entire time u are in the box, NO exceptions. The severity of restraint will vary and be determined by me.
5. u will be gagged at all times during the day. u will not be gagged at night. When u are not gagged, I expect u to remain silent.
I WILL ENJOY DOING THIS TO u.
On reviewing the message, I pictured how Matt might have looked as he wrote it: sitting in his throne-like computer chair, dressed in his favorite rubber cop uniform and looking impossibly handsome, his thick, blond hair gleaming in a perfect military crop, muscular legs spread wide, his cock growing larger with each word, and John crouched between his legs, licking his boots and sucking him off as he completed writing the message.
I looked at my response and the subsequent reply.
Subj:Re ur Five Days of Encasement in the Box
Date:10/17/03 5:58 PM
From:rbrslv
To:RbrDom
Sir, I can arrange the time off from work if I work overtime the next couple of weeks.
Subj:RE ur Five Days of Encasement in the Box
Date:10/17/03 10:53 PM
From:RbrDom
To:rbrslv
Good, slave. It pleases me that u want to continue your training. To be clear, this means u will spend 5 days in the box under the following conditions:
1. u will receive detailed instructions on how to prepare for your incarceration beforehand, including the dietary and other requirements that will be necessary. u will get into full gear (more too on this later) after work on Friday, Nov 7, and u will wait in silence and darkness in your apartment until someone arrives to transport you to my dungeon.
2. When u arrive, u will be bound and boxed over night and left, totally ignored for 12 hours, probably in extreme bondage for that time, to help u to develop the proper mind set.
3. u will be kept in the box in various degrees of restraint until Wednesday night. Restraint will range from mild to severe, at my discretion. u will be given 15 minutes each 12 hours to exercise for a few minutes, and to eat and take care of bodily functions.
4. Once u begin, u will complete the 5 days in the box, by force if necessary.
5. u will remain in head to toe rubber for the duration, NO exceptions. u will continue to address me as Sir at all times, and u will not speak unless given permission. (In all future communications with me, refer to me as ‘Sir’ [capital S] and urself as “it” [lowercase].)
6. u will endure your incarceration in silence, except for extreme emergencies, or as indicated below, requests to make things harder on urself.
7. ur chastity device will be removed and u will be fitted with an electronic cock ring and butt plug with remote control.
8. If u are caught attempting to pleasure urself, u will be shocked with electricity and ur bathroom privileges may be revoked.
9. I will shock u with electricity for punishment or for my amusement.
10. u may request more severe bondage, longer time between breaks or revocation of bathroom privileges at any time.
11. If bathroom privileges are revoked for any reason, they will NOT be reinstated. I WARN u. ONCE u BEGIN ur SENTENCE, u WILL COMPLETE IT.
It was now past 11 PM with still nothing from Matt. The feet of my new catsuit felt extremely tight, squeezing my toes and producing excessive sweat. The odor of latex had long since subsided in my nostrils, but shifting around restlessly in my chair somehow sent a strong shot of it into my sinuses. Reading the messages had made me even more horny, and the resurrected aroma of rubber was adding to it. I needed badly to jerk off, but that was not an option.
Minutes passed, and I zoned out. Leaning back in my computer chair, in a daze, dimly aware of how my encasement insulated and separated me from my surroundings, I retreated inside myself, inside the tight rubber hood that dulled my hearing and interfered with my sight. Around 1:00 AM, I noticed that my mailbox had a message in it.
Subj:Re Ready for bed photos
Date:11/1/04 12:35 PM
From:RbrDom
To:rbrslv
Attachment:tightsack.jpg, rubberdog.jpg
Good job, slave. Permission to go to bed is granted. Be up, awake, and in front of the webcam by 7 AM, still geared/suited up as u are now. Study the slave in the attached pics – that will be u starting next weekend.
I clicked on tightsack.jpg and watched the picture load slowly on my screen. Lying straight and flat on its back, a muscular male form was completely encased from head to toe in shiny, black, form-fitting rubber, like a mummy. I had never been in a sleepsack, but I knew that this was a picture of one, a rubber one, in action. The rubber looked very snug and close-fitting, as though it were stretched tightly around the slave, front to back and side to side, from the top of his head over the tip of his nose, down his body and legs to the tips of his big toes. The sack was all encompassing and continuous, as the hood appeared to be molded to it, with the only visible opening being a tube about 4-6 inches long sticking out at the slave’s mouth. At the base of the tube, where it entered the slave’s face, there was a circular, flat area, where it looked like the slave’s rubber-covered mouth was compressed wide open by the tight hood, probably because it contained a huge gag under the tube, but I couldn’t tell for sure. Next to the slave’s head lay a large black funnel. Returning my gaze to the sleepsack, I noticed there was no visible zipper or entry at the front. The unbroken rubber was so shiny and tight, with reflections of light, that certain parts of the slave’s body appeared in outline: forehead, nose, and chest; arms and hands, plastered flat to his sides; knees and feet held closely together; even the slave’s cock, long and compressed to one side, was visible. A tight, black, head to toe rubber mummy. It looked extreme and perverted, right up Matt’s alley, and I could easily imagine how much he’d enjoy it, especially if I were the one stuck that way. I wondered how it would feel to be the one inside the rubber cocoon and if Matt had got a sleepsack like that for me. I suddenly realized that I was tweaking my left nipple throught the catsuit, using the rubber-covered fingers of my left hand. Tightsack.jpg was renewing my horniness.
Next, I clicked on rubberdog.jpg. In this picture, the slave was again encased in head to toe rubber, but this time in an unusual rubber suit that I had never seen anything like. The slave was in a dog-like, crawling position, on all fours, but “standing” on his knees and elbows, on the floor on a small mattress. What struck me first about the rubber suit were its arms and legs: The arms ended at the elbow and had no opening, and the legs ended at the knee, also with no opening. The rubber encasement turned the slave’s arms and legs into flipper-like appendages, bent and doubled up into stumps, each arm and leg with its lower half against its upper half, wedged into the thick, abbreviated sleeves and legs of the suit and trapped there. Obviously custom made, the suit looked extremely heavy and fit the slave perfectly, tightly and thickly encasing his folded up limbs, the rest of his body, and his head and neck. The picture was taken from a side view, and it really did give the impression of a rubber dog, posing in profile. I clicked on it to enlarge it. In position on his knees and elbows, his back horizontal about 18 inches above the floor, totally encased in rubber, the slave had a definite canine bearing about him – a muscular, misshapen hound, with stubby legs that had no paws, back legs that were longer than front “legs,” a rear end that stuck up prominently, and an apple-shaped, earless head. No, I said to myself, on second thought, this was not a hound breed – it was more like a Bulldog or Boxer. At the posterior, where the shoulders of the dog's hind legs would be, the slave's human feet were twisted inward at the ankle and compressed tightly against his butt by the seat of the rubber suit. The slightly visible outer edge and toes of his human feet stuck up above ass level, creating the impression of a docked rubber tail. At the pup’s anterior, the head of the dog suit had no visible openings. It appeared to be sealed so tight that a human ear, flattened against the side of the head under the rubber, was noticeable. The slave held his head down, in a submissive posture, and a short black tube extended from the mouth area to the floor, where it ended in a bulb. A wide collar encircled the slave’s neck, and there were individual straps buckled around his arms and legs that seemed to reinforce the bent, stump-like position his limbs assumed within the dog suit. Fascinated by the slave’s predicament, I clicked on the picture to enlarge it again and squinted through the eye holes of my hood. On the side facing the camera, small padlocks were now visible on the collar and straps. I studied the Boxer-like bulge at the dog's front shoulder, just above the strap that encircled the dog’s front leg, and concluded that it was the slave’s hand, somehow trapped in a fist position inside, under the rubber. It seemed obvious that the slave was a captive within the suit, with no choice but to stay in it until someone let him out. I supposed he could roll, like a dog, and walk on his elbows and knees, serving as his canine legs. The poor pooch was definitely fucked, and I had to admit I was enthralled by his predicament. Taking in every detail, hypnotized by the image, I studied the rubber dog and tried to comprehend the total bondage and humiliation depicted. Was that really what Matt had in store for me?
Conversion VI (Waiting for Ross 11)
In his subconscious desire to please Ross, Tim was counting, by thousands, but there was something wrong – his mouth was trying to move but it was unable to form words. He stopped, abruptly. He felt he had to clear his mind of the numbers, to try to figure out what was going on. Gradually, he returned to awareness, in the limited sense he was able. “That’s right,” he thought, “I’m not in the pit now. Ross took me out of it. No more counting.”
Tim’s arms and legs attempted to extend themselves spontaneously, instinctually trying to stretch, and Tim felt the constriction around them, reminding him of the gear that enclosed them and the rest of his body. His cock was aching with stiffness, angled upward and compressed against his lower abdomen but otherwise free under the tightfitting rubber encasement. Squirming and twitching, aware of the intense warmth and sweat, he drew his circumscribed limbs closer to his body and made no attempt to change position. Fighting the urge to struggle against the overpowering, almost smothering sensation of thick, binding rubber completely enveloping him, he willed himself into staying calm and still.
He didn’t think he had dozed off. “Sleep would be impossible in this gear,” he thought to himself. Yet, he did remember being so exhausted that he had felt like a robot, following orders and instructions almost without thinking or knowing what he was doing, in the hope that he would soon have some rest. Had he really fallen asleep, or was he just coming out of a semiconscious state, perhaps hypnotized by his focus on breathing? The repetitive sound of air passing in and out of his body through the narrow tube was hypnotic. He inhaled, held his breath, and waited, but there was nothing but deathly quiet and darkness. When he exhaled, he felt the saliva, built up at the back of this throat, and he struggled to clear it away, working the muscles until finally achieving a swallow.
As the black stillness continued, Tim realized that a long stretch of uninterrupted time had passed. He suddenly felt totally alone, lost, and disoriented. Had they left him, without any signal to let him know? He needed to get a sense of where he was. Keeping his knees and arms close to his chest, fetus-like, he rolled slowly from his side to his back, and he felt his knees graze a surface above him.
He lay still, tried to breathe more softly, and waited for several minutes – more nothing. He wondered if they were really gone or whether they were just neglecting him, to play head games. He tried to relax, but it was difficult to settle back and feel any measure of comfort. The sense that much time had passed remained with him.
Continuous, unbroken seconds extended into minutes, perhaps into an hour, perhaps more. The solitude persisted, and a feeling of abandonment came over Tim. New thoughts entered his mind, of Brad, begging off from further bondage and then disappearing, and Tim’s own mixed feelings when he realized Brad was gone. Tim wondered how long ago that had been.
More time passed, with no indication that anyone was near. Tim became increasingly uncomfortable. He maneuvered himself onto his side again, this time with his knees slightly forward, where he felt them brush against something solid. He tried to remember the sequence of things, what Ross and the others had done to him last. He had no memory of being shut up or locked away. Instead, what stood out in his mind was the sense of relief he experienced when he realized he was able to inhale and exhale at will. He remembered one of Ross’s friends leading him around on the leash, yanking him roughly when he went blindly in the wrong direction, shouting loudly at him, to penetrate the hood: “Heel, Fido.” He remembered being so, so tired.
Tim’s thoughts returned to his current predicament. Maybe he had fallen asleep, after all, and he should signal somehow that he was awake. He tried to call for Ross. “Sir” was in his mind, but the sounds he made were throaty and gagged, with no distinguishable meaning.
“AHH!”
“AHH!”
“AHH!”
He waited until he thought several minutes had passed and tried again, but there was no response. Tim felt heat rising up his body and blood pounding in his face, and he realized he was getting angry.
He tried to calm himself, but it was difficult to breathe easy. The urge to figure out somehow, by feel, exactly where he was in Ross’s dungeon was taking over, but he hesitated. Unable to open, Tim’s eyelids fluttered reflexively against the impenetrable rubber, as if his eyes were trying to overcome the pressure and darkness to see his whereabouts, but the restricted twitching movements only reinforced the reality of his plight. The hood produced such a tight seal that his head felt as though it were vacuum packed in rubber, impermeable to air and light, and most sound. Tim knew from experience that, in fact, the hood was airtight, with no holes at all except for the gag, where two narrow channels contained a small tube through which he could breathe (when permitted, as he was now) and a second tube that ended in an inflatable bulb. The gag was now substantially inflated, left fixed at an enlarged size that made Tim acutely aware of the pressure in his mouth and the internal sound, within the hood, of his own air whistling through the small tube as he inhaled and exhaled.
Lodged securely behind his teeth, the gag filled his mouth restrictively, and yet he knew he was safe, as Ross had trained him, through careful repetition and gradually prolonged periods, to deal with being gagged most of the time. Tim reminded himself that the gag’s current size, though very intrusive, was still a relief compared to what had been imposed on him earlier.
Awkwardly repositioning his body, Tim shifted his weight onto his elbows and knees to rise to a crawling position. Immediately, he felt the limitation of his containment. The top of his rubber-insulated head thumped against a hard surface. Through the thick rubber covering them, he felt his rear end and his toes (sticking up over his butt) touch the surface too. He paused, took a series of deep, if restricted, breaths, and tried to stay calm. He thought he knew where he was now, but he had to test his theory. Crouched low, all that the space allowed, on his knees and elbows, he moved blindly, inching backward and forward and around, bumping the sides to get a sense of the dimensions of the enclosure, until he was certain: He was in Ross’s “wall box.” Probably bolted in and already left for some time, he thought. “Fuck this shit,” he said to himself, silently, wordlessly, and yet his cock surged with the understanding of how thoroughly fucked he really was, by Ross’s relentless need to keep him in bondage, and by his own need to let it happen.
A despairing sigh, protracted as it passed through the small tube in the gag, escaped from the depths of his rubber-encased chest. His mind was ruminating, torturing him with doubts and images, and he couldn’t get it to stop. Shut away and locked in a box, below ground in a basement, alone, isolated, sealed sadistically in rubber, Tim was feeling the effects of the rubber dog suit: His limbs were stuck in the perverse bondage created by the special sleeves, which converted his arms and legs to drumstick-like appendages. Each was bent completely at the elbow or knee and doubled up on itself, encased tightly in a folded position and trapped that way within the squeezing confinement of the individual sleeves, each truncated and sealed off at the elbows and knees by design of the suit. His mouth, packed full and wide but pressed closed, lined on the inside and sealed on the outside with rubber, was rendered totally useless except to exchange air with the outside world, such as it existed for him, through the small tube in the inflated gag. The contrasting thoughts and images of Ross and his friends, what they might be doing and where they might be, were also tormenting Tim. “Did they all go out to the bar together? Did Ross’s friends leave a long time ago? Is Ross upstairs in bed, sleeping soundly?” Whatever possibilities Tim considered, the conclusion remained the same: Ross had a habit of using the wall box for extended confinement. To Tim, the fact that he was in the box, and had been, apparently for sometime, meant one thing: He wouldn’t be getting out until morning... or even later if Ross slept in. He could deal with it okay, he thought, if he wasn’t in the dog suit.“Fuck,” he thought. “It’s probably Sunday already by now, who knows when he’ll decide to get up.” And Tim knew that Ross knew full well that Tim had a vacation day on Monday, per Ross’s instructions. “Fucking bastard! He knows I hate this suit!”
With the full realization of his situation setting in, Tim felt his muscles tighten involuntarily as he fought the urge to struggle against the stricture of the rubber that trapped his arms and legs in such an uncomfortable and useless state. His erection diminished as he leaned his head against one side of the box and felt his eyes burning with tears. He began to repeat the words, “I can do this, I can do this,” over and over in his mind, like a bondage mantra. He bent his neck as much as the thick collar encircling it allowed and lowered his head to try to stop the movement of the bulb dangling from his gag. The sensation of the bulb, swinging at the end of the tube, and his inability to control it, made him nervous. He felt a sharp cramp in one of his feet and tried to wiggle his toes, which were flattened against his butt, where his feet, sweaty and squirmy, impossible to make comfortable, were secured to his rear end at an awkward angle by the rubber encasement. Tim flexed his fingers, trying to stretch them within the rubber fist mitts under the dog suit. His hands, compressed at each side against his pectorals, were held in place by the thick tightness of the suit and the strong outer straps encircling the union of upper to lower arm. He let down his hind quarters, his legs under him, each one folded up on itself and sealed that way, reinforced with straps, and he tried to slacken his muscles as much as the constraint would allow. The cramp in his foot was becoming very painful. He had to simmer down, collect himself, and somehow make the best of things, but he didn’t know if he could.
“I wanted this, I craved this, I can do this, I can do this, I can do this.” The phrases repeated in his head as low, gagged moans reverberated in his throat. “Fuck, I CANNOT do this! I did not want to be left in this suit!”
“AHH!”
“AHH!”
“AHH!”
His pathetic, gagged noises seemed to go unnoticed. Black, blank, empty time passed, and Tim kneeled lower, descending into a fetal position, with his head resting on the floor of the box. He tried to examine his feelings, to understand what was going on in his mind. He guessed that Brad’s presence had thrown him off. That, combined with the company of Ross’s friends, had created an expectation of... what? He didn’t now for sure.
Tim’s mind switched to replay mode, and the events that took place with Ross and his friends started to become clearer. He thought about the players first: There was the blond guy, so fucking handsome and hot, tall and full of authority in his rubber uniform and boots, and extremely sadistic -- at least at a level with Ross, but different somehow, colder, distant, maybe even more unyielding than Ross.
Then there was the other friend, shorter, big-muscled but less commanding, who seemed to take his cues from the blond guy or from Ross. And there was Brad, fucking hot Brad, looking wiped out, hanging back, and watching. Tim had been glad to see that Ross released him from the isolation chamber.
Tim remembered.... the humiliation of having to beg over and over to be released from the pit while he heard laughter from above; and then the embarrassment of finding a whole audience, including Brad, there to witness it. He remembered Ross fiddling with his feet, pulling him to an upright position out of the pit, but then gagging him, almost immediately, with a tube gag, and leaving the arm binder on. He remembered the piss, Ross forcing him to take it through the gag, and the humiliation as the others watched him, bound and kneeling as Ross used him for a urinal.
Tim remembered...the blond guy, looking through Ross’s gear and being fascinated by the dog suit... asking questions about it... wanting to put Brad in the suit and being disappointed to hear it was made for Tim... Brad pleading tiredness and after that being gone... and Tim ending up in the suit, crawling around, forever it seemed, at the end of a leash... someone inflating the gag intermittently, making him hold his breath longer and longer... yelling commands at him... being posed in different positions, having to hold still... more orders...
“Looks like a penguin! Why doesn’t it quack?”
“Heel, Fido!”
“Flipper!”
“Roll over, Sparky!”
“Time to hold your breath and play dead, Spot!”
Tim remembered... the sting of the belt against his butt and feet, to punish him if he didn’t respond to their commands, even when it was because he couldn’t hear through the hood.
And, lastly, Tim remembered... through it all, the total exhaustion, the wish that he would be left alone, to rest. Well, apparently he had gotten what he wanted, but he still couldn’t remember how that came to be. “Fuck!” Tim cursed the blond guy, whose name he couldn’t remember or hadn’t been told. The reason he was in this dog suit was because of that cocky fuckhead! Wiggling in frustration and discomfort, Tim flopped heavily to one side and flapped his bound appendages against the side of the box. His arms and legs were cramping. He moaned into the gag, “This is impossible!” His misery continued, for hours (or so it seemed to Tim), until he noticed that his cock had belied his desperation. His thoughts and struggles had somehow fully restored it to its painfully stiff, maximum erect state. Under the thick rubber encasement, it was throbbing. The overpowering sensation, which earlier had seemed so oppressive -- of thick, binding rubber completely enveloping him – was transforming itself into a sensation that seemed to be satisfying an essential need. Tim moaned and wiggled, the difficult movements now producing erotic pleasure rather than anxiety, as he maneuvered himself awkwardly within the confined space. Stomach down, he straightened out his bound body as much as the box let him, until he was wedged lengthwise in it, at a diagonal, his knees crammed against one end and his head pushed into a corner at the other. Breathing rapidly through the tube with the effort, reveling in the all-encompassing constriction of the rubber suit, experimenting with repetitive grinding movements, he thrust his pelvis up and down repetitively and rubbed his crotch against the floor of the box. His ass muscles squeezed the butt plug that he almost forgot had been shoved up his ass so long ago.
Two stories above Tim, Brad pulled his head back quickly without releasing the suction created by his lips. Ross’s wide, fat, engorged cock unintentionally popped out of his mouth with an audible smacking sound, and Brad drooled onto it. Brad exclaimed, “Sorry, Sir!” He took a breath and continued speaking. “But do you hear that? Think he’s all right? Um... should I go down there?”
Brad, kneeling between Ross’s legs, turned his head, and Ross, stretched out on his bed, lay still.
They both watched the video monitor and listened. While the night vision feature produced a visible image, the angle of the camera and small dimensions of the box made it difficult to get a full view of what Tim was doing. Yet, the sounds were unmistakable to Ross.
Ross explained: “That pig is cumming... without permission, I might add!”
Brad smiled with relief. “Guess he’s okay then!”
Ross laughed. “A bondage pig’s cock always gives him away.”
Brad laughed also. He looked at the clock on Ross’s night stand. “It’s past noon. He’s been in there for quite a while.”
Ross pushed Brad’s head down, back onto his cock. “He’s fine. If he’s still able to cum in there, he’s doing okay. I’m sure he’ll keep for a couple more hours. We need to hydrate him, give him some food, but not right now. It can wait. Anyway, if he cums in bondage without permission, he stays put. That’s a rule he knows very well. After several months of training, he’s used to such treatment. It’s what he wants, remember?”
Slurping upward off Ross’s cock to keep all the saliva in his mouth, Brad interrupted his sucking. He swallowed. “Right, how could I forget? That’s why he ended things with me, so he could be your slave. I guess I agree with you. He can wait for QUITE a while longer.”
“He has no choice!” They laughed together. Ross pushed Brad down again and continued talking. “I can’t think of a better scenario – having a rubber sealed pig down in my dungeon, bound 24/7, and you up here in my bed. Life couldn’t be more perfect.” With his face impaled on Ross’s cock, Brad nodded his head in agreement.
Conversion VII (Waiting for Ross 12)
I was so fuckin’ horny I could spit, right through the tube gag. Almost a full 24 hours encased in rubber, with my dick sheathed and locked up underneath, had turned me into a raving pervert. I was ready for anything Matt had in store for me – but right away, not 5 days from now!
I had worked at home all day Sunday, still geared up in full rubber from the night before as Matt instructed. I was trying to complete the projects due at work so that I could take the planned vacation the following week, for Matt’s 5-day marathon “training session.” The constant checking in with Matt over the webcam throughout the day, to ensure him that I remained totally encased and sealed in rubber, hadn’t deterred me from my work, but the building intensity of my horniness had. Now, sitting at my computer, typing rather well in spite of the rubber gloves, I was acutely aware of my posture, which suddenly seemed to enhance the skintight encapsulation squeezing my biceps and pecs and bathing me in sweat. I got up from my desk chair and flounced on my back on the bed. The plug in my ass shifted enough to remind me of its continued presence, my rubber-capped cock expanded with a weird sensation, attempting to drive itself through the chastity pod, and I moaned loudly through the gag. I ran my hands up and down my body and felt the tight rubber, packed with bulging muscle. I couldn’t take it anymore! I had to do something for relief! I positioned my left arm under me, with my hand between my rubber-sealed ass cheeks, and pushed my fingers into my ass crack... I lifted my right leg and angled it across my body, cradling it with my arm, and pushed my foot toward my face. I felt like I was engaging in some kinky rubber version of yoga. The feel of my leg muscles and the sexy shape of my rubber-encased foot were hot, and the fucking sensation of the plug jamming against my prostate gave me some satisfaction. The wide ball and sole of my foot, stretching the rubber as I wiggled my toes, looked incredibly sexual as my eyes feasted on its shape through the lattice work of pinholes in my hood. The heat, sweat, and snug fit of the latex as I contorted my muscles produced an intense wave of ecstasy. I scrunched forward, increasing the pressure against the plug, and tried to push my foot into my face. I had the urge to rip off the hood and gag to try to lick my foot, but, instead, I let go and collapsed backward into the mattress and pillows. The sudden stabbing pain in my cock thwarted me. Fuck! This horniness was maddening. I had to clear my mind of it. I lay there, convincing myself that I had to give up this crazy arrangement with Matt, that I would go out of my mind if I didn’t, until I thought I heard the familiar zing, faintly through the hood, and jumped up. I was right. Matt’s pager had appeared on the computer monitor:
RBRDOM: Time for check in, slave. No image visible in the webcam. Where the fuck are u?
I sat down and began typing.
rbrslv: Sir, it is here, Sir
I shifted around in the chair, into full view of the webcam.
RBRDOM: That’s better. Is it looking forward to its incarceration starting next weekend?
rbrslv: Sir, going crazy with horniness, Sir
RBRDOM: I’m pleased that it is horny. Don’t expect relief anytime soon!
(I groaned loudly inside my hood.)
rbrslv: can’t stand it, Sir. cock hurts, Sir.
RBRDOM: it will get used to that. u’ll be kept encased and frustrated from now on, count on it.
(More groaning inside my hood.)
rbrslv: right, Sir.
RBRDOM: Did it study the pictures I sent?
rbrslv: yes, Sir. is that rubber dog for real, Sir?
RBRDOM: Yes, very real. The pic is from last night. The slave belongs to a Master who is a friend of mine.
I squirmed in my seat and clenched the butt plug, despite the unpleasant sensation within the chastity pod. I wanted to know more.
rbrslv: Sir, how long did the slave stay that way?
RBRDOM: I’m not sure. Knowing how my friend’s mind works, the slave could still be that way right now :-)
rbrslv: hard to believe SIR.
RBRDOM: not at all. When we left the Master’s house late last night, the slave was sleeping, still sealed in the dog suit and locked in its box.
rbrslv: Sir, what if the slave asks to be let out?
RBRDOM: The gag keeps him silenced. It’s unlikely his Master would respond anyway unless there was an emergency of some sort. The slave has been taught it has no choice in such matters.
rbrslv: Sir, it seems pretty extreme.
RBRDOM: heavy duty slaves like him are rare. he has the type of endurance I want in a slave. u’ll understand better after ur next training session.
I felt painful throbbing within the confined space of the chastity pod. My cock was totally intrigued by Matt’s sexual appetite, but my rational mind continued to question the sanity of it.
rbrslv: have doubts Sir.
A long stretch of seconds, maybe a minute, passed. I wondered if Matt had decided not to respond, and my fingers were poised over the keyboard, ready to send him another instant message, when a fairly long response finally appeared.
RBRDOM: Well, we can chat more about all of this later. I am signing off for the night. u can remove whatever gear is necessary for food and bathroom tonight, but otherwise u should suit up again for bed and stay as u are now until it’s time for work tomorrow morning. Since u’r so interested in the rubber dog slave, u have permission to page its Master. He is online right now – MrRoss.
I typed “Night, Sir” and clicked send, but Matt had already signed off. Heightened by the combination of horniness and skepticism in my mind, the curiosity I had was stronger than my need to finally, if only temporarily, get out of some of my rubber gear. I decided to stay online and page Matt’s friend. I added his name to my buddy list, which indicated he was still signed on. As I hesitated for several seconds, trying to decide what to type, I felt a new flux of hot sweat under the tight hood covering my scalp. How should I introduce myself? Matt’s friend? Slave? Unexpectedly, I noticed a renewed sense of awareness of my encapsulated state, and the unlikely path my life seemed about to follow flashed in my mind in the form of an anonymous male form encased in rubber from head to toe. I felt confused and ridiculous and horny.
The new perspiration increased, encompassing my face, as I decided against offering any explanations of my identity. I typed.
rbrslv: how is your slave doing, Sir?
About a minute passed with no reply. Waiting, I sat still and stewed in the heat and sweat. My bowel felt uncomfortable and my bladder full. I shifted to one side, relieving some pressure of the plug as gas escaped around it. Staring at the computer screen, I was about to give up and log off when I noticed the response come through.
MrRoss: Fine. He’s a good pig.
I typed quickly, and he responded immediately this time.
rbrslv: where is he now?
MrRoss: Down in the dungeon. He was very tired from the weekend, so I put him to “bed” early.
rbrslv: is he tied up?
MrRoss: always
rbrslv: and he does okay that way?
MrRoss: Sure. He is a rubber bondage pig.
rbrslv: How can he stay healthy tied up all the time?
MrRoss: He does not live with me (yet). When he’s here, I release him for short breaks, to keep his blood circulating, sometimes with exercise on my treadmill, but the break periods are not allowed that often and are usually very brief and strictly supervised.
rbrslv: Doesn’t seem like enough to stay fit.
MrRoss: He works out heavily between visits to me.
rbrslv: How often does he visit?
MrRoss: On most weekends he is here. Sometimes extended weekends like this one.
rbrslv: Aren’t there physical problems with being restrained all the time?
MrRoss: No. He gets lots of vitamins and daily aspirin, to prevent blood clots forming while he is immobile for long periods. I also ensure he stays hydrated and nourished, with liquids mostly, while he is here.
I was intrigued by the realistic, matter-of-fact nature of Ross’s ‘articulate’ explanations and his humor.
rbrslv: How does he piss and shit when he’s tied up all the time?
MrRoss: I have total control of his bodily functions. The specific arrangements depend on my mood. His ass is often plugged. With adequate flushing and dietary restrictions, he can go for 2-3 days without passing solid waste. In the dungeon, his diet consists mostly of liquids and protein drinks. Sometimes he is catheterized. In any case, as I’m sure you know, rubber encapsulation seals the slave in with his own bodily excretions.
rbrslv: doesn’t he get lonely or bored down there in the dungeon all by himself?
MrRoss: YGTBK
rbrslv: Sorry. Stupid question, I guess.
MrRoss: He is a fucking bondage pig!
rbrslv: That’s the part I’d like to know more about.
MrRoss: All I can say is that he satisfies many of my needs as a Top, and he keeps coming back for more. I know he is used to being in bondage and rubber for long periods and would not return if he didn’t like it. Over time, I’ve increased the degree and period of restraint to limits that please me. There are some areas where he still needs work, IMAO
rbrslv: what if he wants to be released? What if there’s a fire?
MrRoss: If he really needed to be released on demand he wouldn’t be here. And, I have a sprinkler system. Aren’t you going to ask about earthquakes? Floods?
(I smiled under the hood.)
rbrslv: :-) You have all the bases covered, I guess. Is he still in the dog suit?
MrRoss: No.
I was concerned that I was asking too many questions, or questions that were too stupid, but my desire to know more about Ross and his slave persisted.
rbrslv: am I asking too many questions?
MrRoss: No, not at all. I am enjoying your questions. Plus, I like Matt. You need to learn to address your superiors properly, however.
Under the rubber hood, I could feel the heat of embarrassment on my face, but my drive to find out more seemed more important than figuring out why I felt self-conscious.
rbrslv: Sir, how long did you keep him in the dog suit last night?
MrRoss: About 16 hours. Matt instigated it.
Incredulous and forgetting my manners, I typed quickly.
rbrslv: and your slave’s okay?
MrRoss: Of course. He’s fine. Very submissive and quiet when I released him. Obviously feeling achy and stiff. The dog suit is fairly new. It is tough on his knees and elbows after a few hours. The eventual goal is at least 24 hours, but it may take a few more sessions to work up to that.
rbrslv: Sir, what situation is he in now?
About a minute passed with no response. My feet and hands seemed to have heated up during our chat, and I was uncomfortably aware of their coating of sweat under the tight latex encasement. All at once, I wanted to log off and extract myself from the rubber suit. Instead, I continued to wait for MrRoss, and then my computer announced, “You have mail” at the same time I noticed my buddy list indicate that MrRoss signed off.
The email consisted of a jpeg attachment with no text. I clicked on the picture and watched it load. Through the small holes of my rubber hood, my eyes scanned the image as I tried to understand the details revealed by the vivid photograph that appeared on my computer screen. Black and chrome colors were illuminated by a bright, white spotlight in addition to the flash of the camera, revealing straps, tethers, and casements bordered by metal that looked like steel. The basement setting revealed a beam and overhead floor supports along with some sort of suspension apparatus and a pulley, both of which were unused. I clicked on the zoom feature to adjust the size and study the photo. The target of the photo was obvious, but what struck me first was that it was surrounded by a large rectangular metal frame, on a platform, to which the frame was attached by metal supports, arms that looked like they allowed the frame to pivot and change position. Short, multiple straps extended web-like from the frame inward toward its center, where a leather-covered, cocoon-shaped form was suspended by tethers and belts connected to its encasement at innumerable points, from its heavily hooded head, to its tightly packed body and limbs, ending at its toes, indistinguishable within the pouch-like boot that enclosed its feet. At the level of each nipple, small zippers, closed in place, were visible, giving some indication that there was a living being within the complicated web of secure bindings and encasement. If it hadn’t been for my recent experiences with Matt, I wouldn’t have believed there was a real person inside the hanging, mummified form within the frame. “Fuck,” I muttered to myself through my gag. Knowing that Ross’s slave had not only really been in there when the photo was taken but was still rigged up that way, and would be for the entire night, amazed me. In addition, I was impressed by the extremity of the whole situation: the basement context and elaborate setup, with its multiple fastenings and uncompromising restraint. Ross and his slave were definitely serious about their mutual pursuit. I looked closely at the slave’s head. At first the hood appeared to have no openings, but closer inspection showed a small tube at the mouth. I wondered if there were nose holes. Even so, the slave’s head looked totally sealed, and I wondered if he could breathe. I was intrigued by the perversity and severity of the bondage fetish portrayed in the photo, but I was struck most by the deep reservoir of trust and commitment represented by the circumstances depicted.
Lost in thought, I stared at the photo for several more minutes. What level of trust did Matt and I have? I wasn’t sure. With the old Matt, my beautiful blond bottom, I would have had no doubts. But I still didn’t feel I knew or understood the new Matt, this emotionally distant Top who wanted to keep me rubberized, bound, and under his control. I composed an email to him, telling him I was uncertain about proceeding with our plans, sent it, and logged off.
Waiting for Ross 13 (Conversion VIII)
Under the denim covering his considerable crotch, Ross felt a familiar sensation in his groin. Chatting online about Tim with Matt’s friend, Eric, had made Ross unexpectedly horny. Ross grabbed the beer he had been slowly nursing, rose from his desk, and walked to his bedroom. After such a full and satisfying weekend, he had planned to read and go to bed early, but the feeling of his cock awakening led him to reconsider. He checked the time. Brad had sucked him off well over 7 hours ago and had gone home soon after. Ross wished Brad had been able to stay.
Acutely aware of Brad’s absence from it, Ross relaxed in his medieval-style steel bed and comfortably settled into its water-filled mattress. He closed his eyes, picturing Brad servicing him as he had earlier, and then opened them to look at the dungeon monitor. Suspended in the bondage frame, inclined forward at a slight angle, Tim appeared still and quiet within his sleepsack. Ross adjusted the audio to its maximum setting and could hear Tim snoring softly through the gag.
After the arduous and, at times, protracted bondage Tim had endured throughout the long weekend, Ross had planned for Tim to spend the night in relative “comfort” and to be released early in the morning. With the unanticipated horniness, however, Ross was rethinking that plan. Focusing on the monitor, he lay back in bed, unzipped his pants, and extracted his cock and balls to stroke himself. He knew that Tim had apparently been able to sleep, even trapped in the dog suit, for at least part of the night before. And, after all, he thought, a slave like Tim should not necessarily be comfortable enough to sleep, especially two nights in a row. Ross’s cock grew larger and his bladder fuller as he sipped beer and lay in bed mulling over the options and studying Tim, to refresh himself on which gear Ross had used on him. As Ross let his sadistic imagination generate horny ideas, a scenario developed that gave him a huge erection. Wondering if it would work, whether it was too complex or would require a change in Tim’s gear, Ross considered it for several minutes before getting up from his bed. His monumental erection was telling him it was worth a try.
A few minutes later, two levels below in Ross’s dungeon, Tim dreamed he was falling. In his rubber skin, within his tight leather cocoon, he felt himself thrashing hopelessly as he realized he was unable to move, and then he emitted muffled shouts into the gag, inwardly cursing himself for waking up with a struggle. “Shit!” Tim hated it when he woke up in bondage and panicked. During the minute or two it took him to recover and orient himself, he felt things happening to him, and his powerlessness to do anything about them, beyond a few grunts, made his dick swell and pulsate. In darkness, encased in one of his rubber catsuits, shrouded in his leather sleepsack and suspended helplessly, Tim nevertheless understood that Ross had returned and was busy messing with him.
In response to pressure at his throat, Tim instinctively raised his chin and recognized the feeling of a wide, stiff posture collar closing securely around his neck, to further rigidify his already encased and bound head. With the exaggerated upright position, he also noticed that the angle of his suspension had been altered: He was tilted slightly back instead of forward. In addition, the sensations around his cock were different, perhaps explaining why he had sensed it getting erect. His cock felt exposed and hard, yet somehow encased, and his balls were tightly stretched and constricted. Tim concluded that he had slept through whatever Ross had done to his cock and balls, apparently via the access provided at the crotch-level zippers of the sleepsack and catsuit.
Fully awake now, Tim felt Ross tugging at the rear zippers, first at the sleepsack and then under it, on the catsuit. Next, he felt Ross gently searching and then penetrating his asshole, with something cold and wet. Thinking he would be unable to accommodate the entrance of a butt plug with his legs fastened together so tightly, Tim squirmed and moaned to protest, but then grunted in surprise when he recognized the intrusion of the electric anal probe. Tim felt Ross fiddling with it, perhaps fixing it in place somehow, and then adjusting the zippers, and then Tim yelped and jerked in his bindings as a few sharp, strong jolts painfully coursed through his ass and balls, as though Ross were testing the connections.
His cock uncomfortably erect, adrenaline pumping through his body now, Tim sighed heavily into his gag as he became aware of Ross fiddling with the nipple zippers on the sleepsack and catsuit. This time, Tim knew what was coming next and held his breath as the clamps made their way under the rubber flaps of the catsuit to be attached, first on the right and then the left. Trying to absorb the shock of the clamps, Tim exhaled. The sensation was more painful than erotic, but soon Tim felt the juices flowing into his cock as the clamps pulled on his nipples and the sensation changed to exquisite tenderness, the kind of good hurt that usually stimulated his horniness. Quickly the tension increased, however, until Tim groaned and tried to lean forward to release the pressure, but the securely fastened sleepsack prevented any appreciable movement. The clamps gripped his nipples tightly and something was pulling them up and out, making his nipples feel extremely sensitive, and Tim’s squirming seemed only to increase the tension. He tried to calm himself, to stay as still as possible and enjoy the sensation, but he lurched when a new wave of electric current cut through him below.
He groaned loudly and thought he heard Ross say something or laugh in response. Tim’s now tenderized nipples throbbed as the tension on them seemed to pulsate, and Tim wondered if the clamps were attached to some kind of weight.
Next, Tim felt sensations of increased compression and restriction, starting at his head and proceeding sequentially at each side down and over his body, and he understood that Ross was tightening the laces, straps, and other bindings that enclosed him in the sleepsack and held him suspended in the bondage frame. Tim felt sure he would be unable to move a muscle. On the verge of losing control, he began tensing his body and vigorously squirming, like some sort of human male sausage cooked to the point of bursting. Moaning and wiggling as he involuntarily tested the limits of his extreme restraint, he couldn't stop himself from enjoying the resulting feeling of progressively tighter constriction and immobility. Though Tim would soon be desperate for release, at that moment all he knew was the incredible physical excitement of being tightly, inescapably wrapped and tied from head to toe.
Despite his state of near frenzy, through the rubber and heavy leather at his mouth Tim felt pressure and sensed that something was going on with the tube in his gag. The channel for air seemed to have changed. He had to work slightly harder to draw breath through it, and then he noticed a small amount of liquid enter his mouth. It was cold and bitter tasting, like stale piss, and Tim recognized that it was probably old piss that Ross had collected and been saving for a special occasion. The flow increased to a constant trickle, and then seemed to fill the tube completely, blocking out air. Tim swallowed the piss repeatedly, until finally he was gulping it down as quickly as possible. He was aware of his Adam’s Apple, moving uncomfortably against the constriction of the posture collar as he choked down the sour brew. Nevertheless, the task of swallowing seemed to calm him temporarily.
As he continued, however, the awful taste became more apparent, and he thought he might gag, so he used his tongue to block the tube and stop the flow temporarily. Thankfully, he was able to breathe through the nose holes of the rubber and leather hoods. Apparently, however, Ross did not appreciate the delay, as Tim felt a series of strong shocks and groaned with reverberations of pain in his ass, cock, and clamped tits. Understanding the signal, Tim released his tongue and swallowed. The flow of piss continued. Distasteful as Tim found it, Tim’s cock pulsed with the knowledge that he had no choice but to endure it. “Fucking sadist,” Tim thought. “Haven’t I had enough piss for one weekend?” At one point Tim noticed it change to warm, fresh piss, obviously directly from Ross, and Tim swallowed dutifully, until finally the flow dried up. Grateful to be finished with it and able to breathe through his mouth again, he inhaled deeply through the tube. He puffed up his chest as much as the sleepsack would allow and enjoyed the soreness that resulted as his nipples expanded under the clamps. His stomach felt bloated within the confines of the tight sleepsack. With the heated rush of bondage excitement beginning to subside, Tim felt a mixture of discomfort and horniness. His cock strained to become fully erect as he renewed his squirming within the tightness of his bindings. “Ross is relentless,” Tim thought, and Tim’s cock surged in agreement. Simultaneously, Tim hated and loved both his predicament and Ross. “Fucking bastard!” Tim’s cock was throbbing. He wondered if he was allowed to cum.
Suddenly, Tim realized Ross was talking to him, and he wormed himself into stillness within the sleepsack, to try to hear the words through the hoods. It was a question, and he understood that Ross had repeated it several times before he comprehended the words.
“...need to piss, slave?”
Tim tried to grunt a “yes.” His bladder was aching with fullness.
“... whenever you want.”
Tim couldn’t hear everything Ross said and was puzzled by what he did hear. Tim didn’t think he could piss, with his legs squeezed together by the sleepsack, an anal probe up his ass, his balls somehow tied and electrified, and his tits feeding his erection, with his cock encased in... what?
Probably something connecting it to his mouth, Tim thought. Yet, his bladder was full, ready to overflow from the water he had consumed earlier in the evening combined with what his system had processed so far of the piss Ross had just made him swallow. Tim concentrated on relaxing his sphincter, and soon he sensed that a cautious but constricted flow had started. Waiting for the piss to enter his mouth, he tried to proceed slowly, but nothing seemed to happen. Apparently the piss was going somewhere other than his mouth. With a feeling of relief, he let loose and pissed as freely as the constriction around his cock allowed. That’s when he noticed the real connection. The tension of the clamps on his nipples increased as he pissed. The more he pissed, the further stretched and painful his tits became. Somehow Ross had connected the clamps on his nipples to a container that collected Tim’s piss. With difficulty, Tim stopped himself from pissing. He unintentionally groaned through the gag. It felt like his tits were being pulled off.
A minute or two passed, and Tim tasted piss, cold and bitter again, more that Ross had saved, entering his mouth. He swallowed unhappily. Ross was talking again. Tim stopped the flow with his tongue and struggled to stay still and listen.
“... should be good for quite a while.”
Tim groaned loudly, intentionally this time, and squirmed. The creaking of the leather drowned out Ross’s words. He tried to understand.
“... automatic shocks to keep you awake, make sure you don’t fall asleep and choke.”
Stunned by a nasty jolt of electricity in his ass, Tim wanted to protest, but his efforts to verbalize resulted in a mouthful of piss. He swallowed quickly.
“... couple liters to go”
Pain coursed through Tim’s ass, balls and tits as a series of shocks erupted and the weight on his nipple clamps undulated. He forced himself to remain silent and still. Without releasing his tongue, he tried to articulate “Sir?” through his gag, but there was no response.
A half hour later, two levels above, surveying Tim on the dungeon monitor as though he were a work of art, Ross lay in bed and relaxed. With particular interest in the suspended pulley, over which the chain connecting the piss bucket to the tit clamps was looped, Ross stroked his cock as he studied the image. The constant drip from the overhead bag into the funnel, hanging above Tim’s head and connected with a tube through his gag, had just stopped, and Ross therefore knew Tim had finished swallowing all the piss. Ross had watched Tim carefully for ill effects, and there had been none. He considered going downstairs to refill the piss bag, but instead he gently pumped his cock, which leaked precum onto his hand. He massaged the goo into his cockhead. Enjoying the slow buildup, Ross continued admiring the diabolical setup and the hapless victim who was the subject of it as he pumped his cock. Ross was proud of his own sadistic imagination. Still gradually stimulating himself, Ross waited patiently. Eventually, he was rewarded when he noticed Tim’s piss coursing out of the tube connected to the cock sheath. Just like the first time when Ross had tested the setup earlier, now the piss ran into the suspended bucket, which descended, almost imperceptibly, lower toward the floor as its weight increased.
“Mmmph... Uh... Ahh... Ahh... Ohh... Ohh!”
On hearing Tim’s stifled pleas and groans, Ross’s cock exploded and spurted cum upward, onto his stomach and chest. The eruption was brief but powerful and deeply felt. Finally totally satisfied and relieved of his horniness, Ross found himself in an exhausted postorgasmic haze, which quickly enveloped him in a deep sleep.
Ross 14
Late Monday morning, sitting at a red light as he drove home after his long weekend with Ross, Tim quickly checked his look in the rear view mirror.
There was nothing extraordinary about his outward appearance, though the 4 days’ growth of dark stubble provided a striking contrast with his earnest-looking baby-face features. His unshaven face, combined with the buzz-crew cut, made him look even more sexy and appealing than usual, but Tim was unaware of that effect. Looking for signs of the weekend on his face, all he found were fading indentations on his forehead and right cheek, a dry, cracked area in the left corner of his mouth, and redness over the bridge of his nose. Maneuvering his arms to turn the steering wheel, Tim winced as the fabric of the T-shirt under his leather jacket shifted across his tight pectorals and grazed, ever so slightly, his bruised, tender nipples. His cock pulsed in response. The soreness would last for days, he knew, and keep him continuously horny – a constant reminder of Ross, as if he needed one!
Tim’s turn of the steering wheel coincided with his split-second decision to head to the gym rather than home. His car quickly picked up speed. Inwardly, Tim’s sense of freedom was producing extreme relief, to the point of exhilaration that bordered on wild euphoria. The heady feeling was affecting his judgment. He checked the speedometer and eased off the gas pedal. Energized by perhaps the most intense post-bondage high he had ever experienced, he was suffused with a strong sense of triumph over adversity, mixed with a lingering but somewhat resentful horniness. “Fuck! I survived!” The intensity of his own feelings surprised him. Being free felt like the best thing that had ever happened to him. “Never again!” Tim vowed as he parked in the lot outside MANSWEAT. He had learned his lesson. Four days had been too long. Ross could find some other victim who wanted to be left in the confined, dark, isolated world of bondage hell that Tim had lived through over the long weekend!
Arriving just before the lunch crowd, Tim undressed quickly in the deserted locker room of MANSWEAT. Minimal nourishment over the weekend had further slimmed his lean muscles and tight waist. As he slipped into his jock, the image in the locker room mirror of his own shaved-smooth, well-defined, compact body made his cock stir. His enlarged, red nipples looked obscenely sexual. Resisting the temptation to play with himself, within minutes he finished changing clothes and was upstairs in the gym. Joyously pumping his muscles, extending, flexing, and stretching his arms and legs with a freedom of movement that he promised himself he would never take for granted again, he warmed up on a treadmill and then began his workout with weights. The striking contrast seemed overwhelming -- startling bright sunlight streaming through the gym skylights and washing over the workout area, the cool air against his skin, lightweight exercise clothes offering no resistance as he freely moved his body and limbs, and the pure, clean taste of spring water cleansing his mouth and quenching his thirst – all of that instead of hooded darkness and immobility, heavy encasement in hot, sweaty binding rubber and leather, and the constant taste of piss. Thoughts that he and Ross had definitely taken things too far occupied his mind as he enjoyed the comfortable freedom and independence that powered him through the first phase of his workout. Maybe Brad could be Ross’s new slave, he thought. “No way I’m going back there!”
Savoring his rebirth into freedom, aware that he was a healthy, sexy young man able to move about at his own will with life and liberty ahead of him, Tim took his time enjoying the workout. Midway through, lying on the bench press between sets, his mind unintentionally began to replay specifics from the weekend, and he felt his cock start to respond. Deliberately resisting his thoughts, Tim resumed the bench presses, pushing the memories out of his mind with each push of the dumbbell off his chest. He tried to concentrate on the presses, but his nipples throbbed painfully as the blood pulsed into his pecs. “Forget that shit!” he told himself. He refused to think about the weekend anymore. It was time to get on with his real life.
A little later, however, drifting off in thought as he sat on the shoulder machine, mental images of Ross floated through Tim’s consciousness: Ross’s wide, masculine, but cheerful face, looking constantly pleased, always unfazed, as he contemplated Tim’s immobility and discomfort; Ross’s big, hard cock, continually demanding service, growing larger even as Tim’s cock was kept stifled and trapped, unable to seek pleasure, tied, hidden, and encased; the authoritative presence of Ross’s boots, when they were visible to Tim, as he cleaned them with his tongue; the images of Ross, Sadistic Bondage Master, that formed in Tim’s mind when he was bound and hooded, unable to see his captor but always conscious of his control. “Are you through there?” With a start, Tim shook his head, ridding it of the daydreams and orienting himself as he jumped up off the shoulder press machine. The guy waiting for it gave him a shit-eating grin as Tim moved on, and Tim turned his head away self-consciously. Tim’s cock was semi-hard, and apparently it was noticeable.
While Tim continued his workout, recollections of the sporadic, sometimes intense discomfort and desperation he had experienced throughout the weekend, the intermittent yet seemingly never-ending periods of isolation, the need for release and feelings of hopeless abandonment when release hadn’t come, the lonely despair, anger and struggle, so fresh in his mind earlier in the morning, all began to fade, giving way to a needy horniness. Shit! Fuck! It had been the fucking hottest, horniest weekend of his life! His vow to stay away from Ross was crumbling already. In the middle of a squatting exercise, suddenly realizing that the hardness of his ramrod stiff cock was clearly visible through his tight shorts, Tim looked around the gym to see if anyone had noticed. He pushed the barbell up and finished the rep, with the flush of the effort (or was it embarrassment?) on his face. By now the lunchtime exercisers were there: hair dressers with Monday off, waiters whose workdays begin at dinner, lawyers, accountants, and software engineers who pump up instead of eating up during their lunchtime. They were heaving and sweating in their trendy exercise garb, and none of them seemed to be looking in Tim’s direction. Tim stood still, holding a towel with his hands nonchalantly covering his crotch, as his erection slowly subsided. Reassured that he had not humiliated himself again, Tim renewed his efforts to banish Ross from his thoughts as he continued with the squats. An agonizing sense of urgency overtook him when his efforts failed, however, and he hurried through the rest of his workout with a partial erection. He had to get home, jerk off, and get Ross off his mind!
Two hours later in his apartment at home, well fed, clean and stretched out naked on his bed, Tim pumped his sore cock vigorously and pinched his aching nipples in an attempt to cum a fifth time. His arm was tired from the repetitive beating off motion, but he ignored it.
The first quick load he shot in the shower had felt almost clinical, as if it merely satisfied a physical need for his cock and balls to discharge. The second, in bed after eating a late lunch, was more satisfying, and would have been a good send-off for a much needed nap, but Tim had decided to check his email instead of sleeping. The pictures from Ross, documenting Tim’s weekend incarceration, had fueled the third and fourth eruptions, with Tim pumping wildly, his angry red cock engorged and overstimulated, spewing cum in front of his computer while he wished that he was still in captivity in Ross’s dungeon.
Now that Tim could see how he had looked all weekend – encased, sealed, and bound up in several different variations of bondage pig heaven – he wanted more. One photo in particular stayed in his mind as he closed his eyes and pulled on his cock: a view from several feet back showed a door, partially opened to reveal that behind it was a black, cocooned figure hung inside a closet-like area. Tim had spent more than 30 hours bound up in a sleepsack, suspended and locked away, and now the image of how it had looked was fixed in his mind and cock. Still not completely satiated, his cock was painfully hard but refused to cum a fifth time despite Tim’s concentration and energetic pumping. Tim let go of his cock and flopped onto his stomach. “Fuck!”
A few minutes passed, but Tim was still restless. He had a lot of chores to catch up on after 4 days away, but he was too distracted to think about doing anything except jerk off. He had to do it one more time, to feel completely satisfied, so that he could stop obsessing about how Ross had kept him in bondage all weekend. With his cock refusing to relax, Tim jumped out of bed and raided the storage trunk at the bottom of this bed, where he kept all his gear.
A half hour later, Tim sat at his computer browsing the gallery of photos Ross had sent. Sweating his ass off under the thick, tightly stretched rubber of a size-small catsuit (the tightest one he had at his apartment), grinding his butt into the chair as his muscles contracted against the huge plug he had taken up his ass, he pushed at his crotch, massaging his encased cock, as he connected his memories of the weekend with the images on his computer screen. He shifted forward and back on the chair and bounced lightly up and down to leverage his weight on the plug. An impending feeling of orgasm was building, but he was not quite there, when the sound of his phone interrupted the action. The name of Ross's company appeared on his caller ID.
Tim’s voice cracked and he stumbled over his words as he answered. “Hi, um ... I mean, hell-oh, um... Sir.”
“Hi, pig.” Tim squirmed on his plug and pressed his free hand down hard on his cock at the curt sound of assurance and authority in Ross’s insulting greeting. “Doing okay after our adventure this weekend?”
“Yes, Sir. Um... Fine, yes, Sir. Thanks for the pictures, Sir.”
“You’re welcome. What did you do so far today?”
“Just routine stuff, Sir. First I worked out for a long time at the gym.”
“And then what?”
“Came home. Ate a big meal. Checked email. Catching up on chores and stuff right now, Sir.” Tim was mildly annoyed. Under the influence of the feelings of independence produced by being in his own surroundings, he didn’t feel like accounting for every minute that he had spent away from Ross.
“Is that all you’ve done, pig? I thought you said you had ‘important’ things to accomplish today. Sounds like I could have kept you locked up until tonight.”
Ross’s words, combined with the image Tim had on his computer monitor, were bringing Tim closer to an orgasm. Unintentionally silent while he massaged his crotch, Tim let out a groan.
“Are you playing with yourself, pig? How many times has the pig jacked off since it was released this morning?”
Tim felt humiliated. He hated being addressed as ‘pig,’ especially at home on his own phone, and yet his cock hardened more at Ross’s use of the word. “Sir, well... four... well, just about to...almost five times.”
“Get your hand off your cock right now!”
As if Ross were in the room, Tim lifted his hand away from his crotch. He had been just about to cum. “Fu...k I mean, sshh... sure. I mean... um... right, Yes, Sir!”
“Your slave dick needs a major lockup, doesn’t it, pig? Are you the kind of slave who requires constant control, pig?”
Tim hesitated. The words were very familiar, as Ross tended to use them often, but this time, Tim thought, Ross is right. I’m out of control. “Probably, Sir.”
“No doubt it my mind, pig. The new chastity device I ordered may be ready later this week. Perhaps in the meantime we can arrange some form of control later tonight, depending on how much work I get done this afternoon.”
Not sure he had any interest in Ross’s suggestion, Tim doubted that Ross was serious. Ross continued: “For now, I need to concentrate on next weekend. There’s been a change in plans. I may require more of your time than I anticipated, at least 5 days in a row. Can you arrange more days off, to tack some time onto next weekend?”
Tim didn’t know what to say. More time off from work, and he hadn’t even been back there yet! “Sir, I don’t know. I’d have to talk to my boss tomorrow.”
Ross replied quickly. “Can’t you call your office this afternoon? It’s only 3:30.”
Tim wavered. “Sir, I’m not sure. I don’t know if she’s available. I am entitled to more vacation. I guess I could try to call and ask.”
Ross replied: “Good pig. I’ll call you back in 10 minutes. AND NO MORE JERKING OFF!” Tim heard the phone click as Ross disconnected.
Tim held the phone at his face and stared at it, as if he could see Ross in it. Fuck. He felt like he was back under Ross’s control already. How had that happened? Now he wished he hadn’t even answered the phone, and yet his cock was aching with stiffness. Ross was such a demanding fucker! Tim turned off the phone and put it down. He scanned the pictures on his computer again, looking at how Ross had treated him for 4 days. He pressed down hard, crushing his rubberized crotch. “Fuck. I do want more!” He picked up the phone again, hesitated a few seconds, and then quickly made a phone call to his office.
Hours later, tangled up on top of his bed covers, Tim woke from a deep sleep with a start. It was dark. He checked the clock: 7:00 PM. It was the noise that woke him: Why was his alarm sounding? He reached toward his night stand and turned it off. He was so tired and groggy. The last thing he remembered was jerking off... for the fifth or sixth time? He wasn’t sure. At least his horniness was gone now. He clenched his asshole – it felt clean, empty and sore from the big plug, no longer in place, that he had used to make himself cum. He felt cool air in his crotch and ass crack, where he had left his catsuit unzipped. He was soaked with sweat under the rubber elsewhere and felt slightly uncomfortable, but the discomfort was not enough to motivate him to get up. He felt so lazy. He closed his eyes. What a relief not to be thinking about Ross! Wait a minute.... There was something he was supposed to do with Ross... tonight? That second phone call from Ross! When was that? He tried to think, but before he could recall anything specific, drowsiness enveloped him again, and a deep and satisfying sleep set in.
Tim woke unwillingly, barely aware of his surroundings, a second time. Now a light was on, and Ross was standing over his bed. Tim closed his eyes against the brightness. He felt the weight of Ross’s body and the bed covers being yanked. Barely functional, Tim hardly understood Ross’s words.
“You’re snoring like a pig!” Sleepily, reluctantly, Tim opened his mouth at the feeling of pressure against his lips and teeth. A rubber piss gag was suddenly buckled roughly and tightly in place, creating immediate discomfort as the wide tube was forced into Tim’s mouth.
Unthinking, Tim started to object, but the only noise that came out of his mouth was unintelligible: “AAHHH!”
“Yes, much better. That should stifle your snoring, at least a little.”
Ross worked quickly as Tim came gradually to semi-consciousness. Before Tim knew what hit him, he had been gagged and hooded and was cooperating without question as he stood in front of Ross and extended his arms into the sleeves of a heavy leather straitjacket. Like a dazed sleepwalker unable to resist, Tim became even more compliant as Ross turned him this way and that, jerked and pushed him from side to side, and pulled, yanked, and tugged as he buckled, fastened and locked the straps that trapped Tim inside the snug-fitting jacket. At that moment, Tim didn’t care what Ross did, as long as he finished soon and let him go back to bed. Over the rubber hood, Ross fitted a leather hood that connected to the thick, sturdy collar of the straitjacket. The leather hood had zippers, laces and straps, and though Ross acted quickly, Tim sensed he spared no energy in making sure it was applied as tightly as possible. Both hoods had eye holes, which gave Tim limited vision, and mouth holes, where the outer ring of the gag, held fast underneath and sealed against Tim’s lips, protruded outside.
Now becoming fully awake, Tim noticed that his breathing seemed limited, and he began to appreciate the degree of the restraint. Trying to adjust to the pressure of the tight restriction, Tim inhaled and exhaled, noisily and deeply, though the wide tube. He was beginning to feel uncomfortable and claustrophobic. Fuck. He cursed himself. Why had he ever given Ross a key to his apartment? How could he have let Ross rig him up in this straitjacket so abruptly and thoroughly?
Tim was aware that Ross was talking, but Tim could hardly process the words. The anxiety and excitement caused by the physical sensations of intense restraint were interfering with his ability to concentrate, and it was difficult to hear anything external within the tight hoods. Continuing to try to adjust, Tim concentrated on his breathing. Aware that he was sweating and his heart was pounding, he found himself reflexively trying to twist his arms and squirm against the binding leather. All he could hear was the creaking sound of leather as he twisted and squirmed in a futile effort to feel comfortable. Everything was so goddamned tight! He wanted out! He snorted through the gag, and thought he heard Ross laugh.
Tim took another series of deep breaths and peered through the eye holes of the hoods. Ross was sitting on the bed with a sadistically happy expression on his face. Exuding confidence and playful masculinity, he looked handsome and strapping, freshly showered and dressed as though for a casual night out. “Rubber pigs always need an inescapable layer of leather on top of their rubber, to keep them secure, don’t they, pig?”
Tim shook his head emphatically in the negative and tried to protest. “Uh-uh! Uh-uh!” He wanted out of the straitjacket. He tried say OUT, OUT, but the noises that Ross heard sounded more like barks than words. Tim quieted himself and waited expectantly for a response from Ross. Please let me out of this, Tim thought.
“Your protests are not very convincing,” Ross chuckled authoritatively. “A bondage slave’s cock will always give him away!”
With the tight fastenings, stiff leather, and position of his bound arms inhibiting him, Tim tried to look down, having to bend at his waist and knees to see the front of his body. The ass/crotch zipper of his catsuit was still open, and his erect cock was sticking out prominently between the binding crotch straps of the straitjacket. Tim could feel his cock rising, hardening even more with the knowledge that Ross was watching it. Fuck!
Ross smiled. “See what happens to pigs who are compulsive masturbators? Now come closer to the bed and turn around. I brought a present, a new toy for you, pig. Did you clean yourself out thoroughly, as I instructed?”
Tim didn’t remember being instructed, but he knew he was empty and clean. “Ethir,” he responded hesitantly. He wasn’t in the mood to have anything shoved up his ass.
In one hand Ross held a long, strange dildo that looked to Tim as though it was shaped to be anatomically correct, and, in his other hand, a contraption attached to it. Tim didn’t recognize the device as anything he had ever seen before. And, in his current mood, he didn't like the looks of it.
The dildo was fastened to one end of a steel bar. The other end of the bar appeared to be welded to the center of a second bar, which had cuffs attached to it at either end. Tim moved toward Ross and reluctantly turned around. “Spread your legs!” The next few minutes passed slowly, as Tim, tensing and sweating under the rubber inside the leather straitjacket and hood, surrendered to Ross’s application of the new device: Tim’s ankles were locked into the cuffs, secured to the spreader bar that fixed his legs in place about 2 feet apart. The second bar, which Tim soon discovered was adjustable, extended from the center of the spreader bar straight up between Tim’s outstretched legs and ended at the base of the dildo, which was bolted to it. Ross inserted the lubricated tip, and the first half of the dildo slid in easily, but its length, deep penetration, and increasing diameter quickly became apparent to Tim as Ross continued pushing firmly on the flared base at the bottom.
Automatically, Tim straightened up and tried to move forward to resist any further insertion, but he felt Ross slap his ass, still covered by the catsuit though his crack was exposed.
“Stay still, pig!” Tim felt Ross’s strong hands guiding him back into position. Awkward and uncomfortable, hot and perspiring, Tim stood still, moved forward and back, and turned this way and that, at Ross’s command as Ross worked on administering the new device. Nearly finished, Ross adjusted the center bar, extending it upward. Tim groaned and wiggled his rubber-socked feet, then pushed himself up on his toes in an effort to mitigate the penetration.
“Very good, pig. Get up there as high as you can on your little rubber tippy toes.”
Tim strained higher, trying not to tip forward, but soon realized that Ross was using the height to further lengthen the bar, pushing the dildo up inside him as far as possible. Tim’s spread legs shook, his feet trembled, and his bound upper body listed forward as he tried to keep his balance. Under the hoods, Tim grunted with the effort and moaned at the sensation of the dildo inching upward, probing far inside and stretching his sensitive hole. His anal muscles contracted reflexively, trying to expel the invader, and his moans changed, becoming repetitive and high-pitched.
“Okay, you can quit squealing and relax now, pig. And stop acting so refined, like you’re not used to having your ass plugged!”
Tim silenced himself, holding his breath as he started to lower his heels. He hesitated and jerked at the intense sensation, until gentle but steady pressure from Ross’s hands pushed him down until his feet were flat. Tim sank as low as possible onto the device, finally fully impaled by it, and emitted a loud moan. Though the stretching and stimulation of his butt hole were overwhelming, the feeling of the broad flange at the wide base of the dildo gave him some measure of comfort, as it indicated that neither the dildo nor its supporting bar could fuck him any deeper. His rock hard cock was throbbing and twitching. It felt like his prostate was going to explode.
“Good job. Now don’t move a muscle, pig!”
Tim rested his feet and tried to keep his legs from shaking as he realized Ross was kneeling in front of him. He felt painful stretching and pinching of his cock and balls. Next, he responded to a strong downward pull on his balls by bending his knees ever so slightly, but the bar that impaled him on the dildo, extended and locked in place, prevented any appreciable movement. His cock, balls, and ass were on fire, and the excruciating urge to cum continued.
Ross stood up. “Perfect. It’s definitely you! Now let’s see you walk.”
Tim stared through the eye holes of his hoods in astonishment and disbelief. He mustered all of the mouth coordination the gag would allow to try to make himself understood: “U-C-K O-O!”
Ross laughed and pulled Tim forward. “You are the one who is fucked, pig!”
Tim stumbled awkwardly, afraid he would lose balance. To his surprise, however, he found that he could “walk.” Slowly, with effort, he was able to rock from side to side and advance his feet forward, with a gait that was somewhere between a shuffle and a waddle. Unexpectedly, the position that the device forced him to maintain, though awkward, felt stable and balanced as he stood and moved forward. However, the fucking sensation that resulted was almost totally overpowering. In rhythmic bursts, his asshole, prostate, and cock seemed to be contracting in uncontrollable spasms, so that Tim felt his muscles squeezing the dildo as though it were a real cock he was trying to milk. His own rigid cock bobbed, twitched, and arched upward in front of him, in resistance to the snug cock strap and ball stretcher harness, pulled down tightly by bindings that connected it to the spreader bar below.
“Okay, that’s good. Stop there, next to your bed.” Grateful to stop, Tim stood still. “Now, let’s see if you can flop onto your bed and then get yourself up.”
Confused by Ross’s request, Tim thought he had misunderstood. How could he do that? He couldn’t bend his legs. And his arms and hands were useless, trapped helplessly in the tight straitjacket. “Thir?”
“This way, pig.” Ross turned Tim, until the backs of Tim’s legs were against the side of the bed.
Standing to one side, Ross gave Tim a gentle push and guided him back, until Tim dropped onto his bed, with his splayed legs extended over the side. The restraints held tightly, though Tim felt the dildo shift inside uncomfortably. He squirmed backward, further onto his bed, to ease the pressure on the center bar, and found that the position was bearable.
“Good. Get up, now, without my help.”
By shifting from side to side and rocking forward, Tim was able to comply, though the sensations resulting from the pressure and slight movement of the restraining device that impaled him were not enjoyable. Ross made Tim repeat the whole process, two more times without assistance, and Tim hoped Ross was enjoying what seemed to Tim to be a pointless exercise in discomfort.
After achieving a standing position a third time, Tim looked expectantly at Ross, and saw him checking his watch. Tim hoped the session was drawing to a close. He was eager to be released from the dildo perch and get out of the straitjacket.
Ross talked quickly, and Tim strained to hear. “Come with me, and hurry it up.” Tim moved forward reluctantly. Where was Ross taking him? “It’s getting late. Brad’s probably already at the restaurant.” Tim was confused. What did Brad have to do with this? With the enclosure of the hoods, creaking of leather, and effort required to walk, Tim thought he must have misheard. After slowly ambling forward a few steps, Tim stopped and suddenly cried out as he felt a sharp, painful sting on his cock.
Ross was holding a small whip, up level with Tim’s face. “Faster!” Tim tried to comply, speeding up his clumsy duck walk, but it was difficult. Ross whipped and taunted him as they walked to the kitchen. “Weebles wobble but they don’t fall down!”
At Ross’s command, Tim stood still. Ross had stopped him in front of the kitchen counter, where the console for Tim’s phone system was stationed. Ross pushed the phone keys to dial a number. As the cell phone in Ross’s pocket started ringing, Tim and Ross could also hear the rings on the speaker of Tim’s phone. Ross hit the disconnect key. “Now let me see you hit the redial key using the tube in your mouth.” A nervous feeling came over Tim and his legs shook as he leaned forward, his straitjacketed arms against the counter. He touched the key with the tube. The redial function worked immediately, and Ross’s cell phone rang as before. Ross pushed the release key to disconnect. “Good, pig.”
Next, Ross pointed near the phone, where, on the counter next to it, Tim saw a plastic gallon jug, yellow liquid visible inside it. The lid on top, sealed with duct tape, had a wide straw coming out of it that appeared to extend down inside to the bottom of the jug. Tim was accustomed to (and disliked) Ross’s habit of saving piss for him, but this was the first time that a piss jug had made its way to Tim’s apartment.
“Here’s the next test. Let me see if that gag allows you to sip through the straw.”
Tim’s anxiety was turning to anger. He stood still for a few seconds, silently refusing to comply, until a squeal of pain escaped from his mouth. The whip flicked sharply and unmercifully on his balls and cock, still inflexibly stiff despite his objections to the situation. Ross refused to stop whipping until Tim leaned forward, over the counter, seeking the straw by extending his tongue through the tube of the rubber piss gag. With much effort, by trapping the straw with his tongue against the top of the tube and drawing air in, Tim was able to create enough suction to get a mouthful of Ross’s piss. His hard cock jabbed the cabinet under the counter, and Tim swallowed noisily, attempting to clear his mouth. The piss was cold and sour, and it seemed to coat his tongue. Under the hood, he felt his head shake as his facial muscles contorted in an uncontrollable grimace.
Tim straightened up, and Ross looked at him with reserved approval. “Good. Now over to the door.”
Tim followed Ross reluctantly to the front door of his apartment. The vexation building within Tim was almost completely suppressing the acute sensations in his ass and cock. “This is the last test. Let me see you open the door by leaning on the handle.” Motionless and feeling puzzled, Tim stared through the eye holes of the hoods until he saw Ross raise the penis whip threateningly. Suddenly acting quickly to avoid the sting of the whip, Tim discovered that, by bending at the waist and angling his upper body to the right, he was able to push on the chrome lever with his elbow until it released. The door opened slightly, and Ross promptly closed it.
Tim had an adrenaline rush and tried to fight the anxious feeling that was overtaking him. His legs still felt wobbly, and he was afraid to know Ross’s intentions with these odd, seemingly unrelated tasks. Breathing heavily through the tube gag and trying to shift his arms to alleviate the tight bindings of the straitjacket, Tim suddenly realized that Ross was talking again, in a cold, businesslike tone that increased Tim’s anxiety.
“I’ve been thinking you need additional bondage time, between visits to me. This should be really good training for you. Being trapped in restraints in your own apartment, with all your familiar things of no use to you, could be quite interesting, perhaps a new twist for a jaded bondage pig like you.” In spite of Tim’s nervousness, Tim felt his cock pulsate at the meaning in Ross’s words and the certainty with which he said them. Momentarily distracted by the throbbing of his cock, Tim hoped it was not visible, because he knew Ross would interpret it as some kind of signal of acceptance. Some words and phrases penetrated Tim’s consciousness: “... good preparation for this coming weekend.” Tim squirmed silently. “... maybe every night this week.” Zoning out again, Tim couldn’t, or didn’t want, to comprehend what Ross was saying. A sentence or two later, he forced himself to focus on the words: “... going to leave now, but I’ll back tomorrow morning, in time to release you to go to work.”
Tomorrow morning! Tim raised his voice through the gag. “Uh-uh!” “Uh-uh!” Tim twisted his torso, trying to move his arms, irrationally struggling and attempting to make Ross understand his objections as he continued to protest through the gag. “Uh-uh!” “Uh-uh!”
Ross’s next comment had a much more serious tone: “I’ll drag you out in the hallway and leave you there if you don’t stop your whining and shut the fuck up right now!”
Tim stopped himself from squirming and tried to calm down. His heart was pounding and his mind was racing. How could he convince Ross not to leave? Maybe begging would work. He did his best to enunciate.
“HEESTHIR?”
“P-U-L-EE-STHIR?”
“THIR... P-E-E-E-SE!”
Ross laughed. “Your reluctance is convincing me that this is definitely the right thing for you. Don’t worry. You’ll survive. This will be excellent training. Make sure that jug is empty by the morning, and don’t spill any. You should be able to pee into the toilet if your greedy slave dick ever goes down.”
Tim bent slightly forward, to look down, and felt the pressure of the dildo deep inside. His hard cock, bigger and stiffer than he had ever seen it, extended straight out, and a thick glob of precum hung off its tip. It felt like the dildo was pushing the cum out, like some kind of mechanical prod used at a stud farm.
Ross smiled. “Like I said before, a bondage slave’s cock always gives him away.”
Tim moaned quietly. The subtle change in position caused by leaning forward made him feel like he was about to shoot, and he had the urge to struggle inside the straitjacket to increase the sensation. With blood pounding in his temples, his head felt like it was being squeezed by the hoods. He straightened up, trying to relieve the pressure of the multiple restraints, and took a deep breath.
Ross continued with his explanations: “Stop fretting, pig. You're not in any danger. You can’t sit down with that impaler locked in place, but you can shuffle around your apartment and lie in bed. I’ve unplugged your TV, just to make sure there’s nothing to distract you. I'm leaving the lights on, so you don't fall down in the dark.” Ross put his hand on the door lever. “Use the redial to get my attention only if there’s a real crisis. You’ll be very sorry if you use it foolishly. If there’s an emergency, you can always leave your apartment and waddle out into the hallway for help. That would certainly give your neighbors in the building something to talk about!”
Still taking it all in, Tim felt desperate. How had everything happened so quickly? Trying to process what Ross said and believe that it was true, Tim grunted dumbly, too shocked to react otherwise, when Ross smacked his butt and wished him a good night. “Have fun. See you sometime tomorrow, pig!” The door opened and closed, and Ross was gone.