Waiting for Ross #19
Surveying the audience from the stage behind the podium where he stood, Tim inhaled slowly and held his breath as he paused in his speech. Aware of the moderate restriction across his chest, easing as he exhaled, Tim looked down at his notes to rearrange the order of the papers in his hands. He was at the halfway point in his presentation. Despite his exhaustion and lack of time to prepare, it had gone smoothly up until now. An assembly of faces, familiar and strange, looked up at him from the seats in the audience. Tim could sense the expectation in the air. The large gathering of about 250 coworkers studied Tim as he arranged his notes and clicked the mouse of the laptop to move to the next slide on the large projection screen behind him. His boss, Judy, stared at him from the front row.
Disregarding the stiffness in his lower back and muscle fatigue in his legs, reminders that he had spent much of the night and early morning in a standing position, Tim shifted his feet and lowered his head, adjusting his gaze toward his notes to set them on the podium. The slight change in posture caused his unbuttoned wool suit jacket to separate, revealing the area just below his waist, which caught his eye. Tim felt his countenance freeze as he noticed it. Smack dab in the center of his crotch, a prominent wet spot had formed on the dark wool of his trousers. Tim clamped his lips tightly together in an effort to avoid showing a visible reaction. He quickly pulled closed the jacket of his pinstripe suit, buttoned it, and moved closer to the podium. Tim doubted that the stain was visible.
Nevertheless, flustered, he felt his face redden and perspiration run down his temple and over his cheek. Now afraid to look up, Tim cursed himself inwardly for getting into this situation: Fuck! The latex catsuit under his clothes was leaking through the codpiece!
Tired from lack of sleep, Tim’s concentration faltered. He fumbled again with his notes, but before he could continue with his speech, one page of the sheaf of papers stuck to his hand, and the others slid from the slanted top of the podium onto the floor. Double fuck! Quickly bending to retrieve his notes, Tim tried not to react to the simultaneous sensations: stricture across his hips, over his pelvic bones, as he felt the presence of the steel belt around his lower waist; probing pressure inside his ass, near his prostate, as he felt the dildo plug shift deep inside him; stabbing discomfort and a burning feeling around his cock, at its tip, as he felt it react to the stimulation of the butt plug; and shifting liquid in multiple places, as he felt the sweat lubricate his body under the skintight rubber hidden beneath his clothes. Momentarily confused by the conflicting impressions of concealment and display, Tim felt as if the hidden kinkiness under his clothes were suddenly visible to the audience. The idea of Ross, reacting to Tim’s predicament, entered Tim’s mind, and Tim instantly regretted the thought as his cock responded. The sensation it created was incredibly distracting as it tried to enlarge in the tight space prescribed by the steel chastity device, in which it was trapped low between his legs and locked in place under a steel crotch shield. The efforts of Tim’s imprisoned cock to harden seemed to revive the coating of Ben-Gay that had been applied prior to its confinement, and the stinging sensation made Tim’s eyes tear as he scrambled to retrieve his speech from the floor of the stage.
Struggling to organize the papers as he squatted, Tim tried to ignore the myriad sensations obscured by his clothes: the chastity device with its belt and shields (front and rear); the prodding of the dildo; the fiery tingling of his cock; the sensuality of the secret catsuit, with its encasing skintight fit. Aware of the sweat that had accumulated under the rubber socks within his shoes, Tim straightened up, looked out over the audience, and continued his speech. Only seconds had passed since he had stopped, but to Tim the entire process seemed endless. As each word passed through his lips, Tim willed himself to continue, refusing to pay attention to the heat emanating from under the collar of his starched cotton shirt, the trickling sweat as it collected between his pectorals, and the leaking perspiration as it dripped from under the cuffs of his shirt. His notes, soaked with sweat from his hands, stuck together as he proceeded, but Tim succeeded in completing the presentation without losing his place a second time.
After Tim made his concluding remarks and thanked his coworkers, they clapped loudly. Before leaving the auditorium, some of them came up on stage individually to congratulate him. Gradually, Tim became reassured that his secret was still intact. Apparently oblivious to his embarrassment and discomfort, the members of the audience praising his talk seemed totally unaware that under his pinstripe, charcoal suit, Tim’s body was sealed neck-to-wrist-to-toe in rubber, and his crotch and well-plugged ass were secured by a steel chastity device, all of which were zipped and fastened in place with locks, the keys to which were not in Tim’s possession.
At the end of the line of well wishers, Tim’s boss, Judy, approached. “Excellent presentation, Tim. Congratulations! The information was organized in an interesting way, and you did a really good job in communicating what you needed to get across. It seemed almost totally spontaneous, even with your notes.”
Tim held back a laugh. Spontaneous! With his speech over and the tension subsiding, the humor of the situation was dawning on Tim. He smiled. “Thanks, Judy.” Even though his mood was lightening, Tim was anxious to get down off the stage and into the restroom, now that everyone but Judy had gone. Yet, he was trapped, encased in sweaty rubber and clothed in warm wool, with no choice other than standing in place, sweltering and perspiring, listening to her compliments until she was finished.
“Are you all right, Tim? You look flushed.” Tim resisted the urge to step back as Judy placed her hand on his forehead. “You’re perspiring. Any you’re very warm!”
In the two years that Tim had worked for Judy, his opinion of her maternal attitude toward him had vacillated wildly, from sincere appreciation to scorn. At the moment, however, he was just embarrassed. Judy continued. “You feel like you have a fever! Maybe you have the flu.”
Tim reacted hesitantly. “I do feel tired. Could be the flu I guess. But I’ll be fine. Just need to walk around outside. It’s hot in here.” Tim picked up his papers from the podium as he studied Judy’s facial expression. She was single at the moment, between boyfriends, and Tim knew from past experience that she could be insufferable when she had no man in her life on whom she could unleash her mothering. Tim wanted her to leave, yet Judy persisted. She covered Tim’s right hand with her own. “You’re perspiring profusely. I think you should be home in bed. You probably need to rest.”
Pulling his hand out from under hers, Tim considered Judy’s suggestion. The idea of going home had its appeal, though he was behind in his work. He felt dazed from stress and lack of sleep. His mouth was dry and scratchy. “Maybe I will go home, if that’s okay with you, Judy.”
Judy replied, “Yes. The presentation was a success. Even if you weren’t sick, I’d say ‘take the afternoon off.’ I have a lunch meeting, or I’d offer to drive you home myself.”
“That’s okay. I’ll be fine to drive home.”
Judy asked, “You’re still dating Ross, aren’t you?”
Tim was taken aback. He hated the small-world effect that had entered his life, intruding on him weeks ago when he, Ross, and Judy discovered that Judy and Ross knew each other through business dealings.
“Yes, we’re still . . . ‘dating.’” If you only knew, Tim thought.
“Does Ross know you’re sick? If you’d like I can call him. You need someone to take care of you. Give you TLC. Lots of liquids. Maybe some chicken soup.”
Tim suppressed a smile. He could just imagine what kind of soup Ross would feed him! Tim knew that Judy had been envious of his relationship with Brad, and he knew what she thought of Ross, both professionally (“smart, tough”) and personally (“hunky”). He also knew that Judy was intrigued by the idea of Ross and Tim instead of Brad and Tim. He imagined that Judy assumed she had it all figured out – who did what to whom – and was titillated at the thought of them together in bed. As Tim fleetingly considered this notion, he realized that he could not remember an occasion when Ross had allowed him to sleep in bed with him. That knowledge made his dick twitch uncomfortably, which renewed the burning sensation. Returning to the moment, Tim shook his head. “That’s okay. I’ll see him later. But, thanks. Like I said, I’m fine. I can make it home and take care of myself.” As Tim backed away from Judy, he thought he heard one of his shoes squish. Suddenly, he was aware of the scent of latex.
With a doubtful look on her face, Judy responded slowly. “Okay, but be careful. You’re not yourself. I’m worried about you. Are you getting enough sleep? You look awfully tired.” Tim stood still and waited. He was reluctant to move, afraid that the sweat within his rubber undercoat would leak further, and he had no intention of continuing to answer Judy’s questions. They seemed to be in a stalemate. Silent for a few seconds, apparently still not inclined to leave, Judy finally said, “All right.
I’m going to be late for my meeting. Let me know later how you’re feeling. I’ll call you at home.”
“Thanks, Judy.” With relief, Tim watched Judy, her cell phone almost immediately at her ear, as she finally walked away. She was a great friend and a terrific boss, but he was glad to be rid of her. He was certain that she would be so busy all afternoon she’d never give him a second thought.
Minutes later, after blotting some sweat with paper towels and washing his hands and face in the restroom, Tim attended to loose ends on his desk, cooled off outside, and then got into his car to leave work. Driving home about 45 minutes after his encounter with Judy, Tim found himself reconstructing parts of the morning in his mind. Ross had supervised everything that had happened before work, even taking the time to follow Tim to his apartment to oversee the selection of suit and tie after Ross had finished locking down what would be underneath Tim’s street clothes. In retrospect, Tim wondered if Ross had suspected he might consider destroying the catsuit to remove it and avoid wearing it to work. In actuality, Tim had been so nervous and rushed to get to work, to prepare his presentation, that he had barely had time to consider the ramifications of Ross’s actions. And after Ross’s tough demeanor the night before, Tim, rejecting any thoughts of questioning Ross’s intentions, had been totally submissive. Now, sweating even with his suit jacket removed and squirming uncomfortably in the driver’s seat of his car, Tim was preoccupied by the dildo plug on which he was forced to sit. Earlier, Ross had cheerfully inserted it through the anal opening of the new chastity device, covered the base with the anal shield, and locked it in place. Presently, in an effort to pass gas around it, Tim leaned to one side in his seat and strained to relax his asshole, which wanted to grip the dildo tightly. Tim felt a fart escape around it.
Tim’s thoughts traveled further back in time, to the hours he had spent double-sleepsacked and standing in the cell at the foot of the bed where Ross slept. Long after Ross had been snoring contentedly, Tim’s unobtrusive wiggling and silent straining eventually paid off. Clamping down hard on his gag, Tim had stifled his own agonized groans on finally succeeding in making himself cum. Soon after, however, the upright position had become much more demanding. Inside his hot, tight cocoon, which had been zipped, laced, strapped, and fastened to a degree of rigid mummification Tim had rarely experienced before, Tim became wretchedly uncomfortable. Afraid to make a peep, anxious with anticipation, hopeful that Ross would wake early and free him, Tim had sweated and squirmed quietly, his full bladder encouraging him to piss intermittently into the tube, the mouth end of which he had to suck constantly to get the flow going, to swallow it down, while Ross, oblivious to Tim’s hope of early release, slept soundly, through until the morning. Miserable at the time as the interminable night and early morning dragged on, shifting around on his tightly bound feet second by second, leaning from side to side against the bars of his cell, unable to think beyond the physical sensations of discomfort, Tim had suffered in silence.
Thinking back on it as he drove home, Tim realized that the night had been no bondage fantasy. The ordeal had been all too real: Ross’s idea of punishment. It had been no picnic, and Tim was convinced that if he had contradicted Ross’s warning to keep quiet, Ross would have come up with something even more difficult. Now, reliving it as he drove home, Tim was getting horny. Ross had balls! The arrogant fucker had deprived him of sleep on a week night, left him standing, mummified in a cage all fucking night, and then sent him to work locked in rubber and chastity under his clothes. Ross’s dominance and gall amazed Tim, and, in retrospect, excited him as much as the physical sensations of tight mummification. Unexpectedly, Tim felt a wave of submissive lust wash over him. The hellish night had been torture, and now Tim wanted more! He savored the memory of the suffering and his ultimate acceptance of it, the way he had stood, tightly mummified and caged, forced to tolerate the discomfort as he watched Ross sleep comfortably, and the potency of its overall effect, emphasizing his role as Ross’s rubber encasement slave. Abruptly back in the present moment, Tim hit the break quickly to avoid rear-ending the car in front of his, to stop at a red light. “Fuck! What’s wrong with me?” Suddenly aware of the pounding within his rubber-encased chest, Tim felt the beat, beat, beat of his heart, as if it were calling his Master’s name over and over again: “Ross . . . , Ross . . . , Ross . . . ” “Fuck,” Tim said to himself, “I need to snap out of it!”
As Tim neared home, however, thoughts of Ross continued. He wondered if Ross had taken pictures of him, layered and sacked, imprisoned in the cage. He had the urge to jerk off to the memory (and maybe the images) of it, as he usually did when Ross released him after a bondage session, but that would be impossible today. In spite of the wave of horniness, Tim knew he needed sleep, and he also knew he would miss his customary prelude to almost every nap he took: Wacking his ever-hard, greedy cock until it gave up yet another load of cum would almost always send him off to la-la land.
Approaching his apartment, Tim recounted what he could remember of Ross’s comments during application of the chastity device: The black, plastic-coated steel penis tube, seemingly too small for Tim’s hardening cock until Ross coated it with Ben-Gay, while Tim cursed silently and fidgeted (“Hold still, pig, or I’ll use it to lube the dildo too!” Ross had said); the polished stainless steel belt lined with neoprene that tightly encircled Tim’s waist just above the hips (“Made to your measurements and smooth enough to wear under your new rubber underwear, pig”); the crotch shield overlaying and securing the front of the device (“perfect fit, pig!”); the rear of the belt, a steel band between Tim’s ass cheeks, against the crack of his ass, with a hole for the anus, which Ross had quickly plugged and shielded with a separate lock (“ . . . totally dependent on your Master to take a shit”); and the locking mechanisms, with stainless steel shackles (“ . . . impossible for you to escape, even with bolt cutters”). Tim tried to remember the exact words of Ross’s final comment: “All locked up, pig. Now you’ll be sealed and under my control, as you should be, even when you’re at work. No more jacking off for the pig. From now on, you cum only when I decide you’ve earned it!”
Tim squirmed against the seat belt and rocked in the driver’s seat. “Fuck,” Tim thought, “I need to jerk off already!” Tim’s cock contracted within its prison and sent a stinging sensation through his crotch.
At home, Tim’s nap was elusive. After stripping to his rubberskin and eating lunch, he tossed and turned on top of his bed and, when sleep wouldn’t come, got up and studied himself in the mirror.
The catsuit was new, a “present” from Ross, who had bought it, he implied, because he had the idea it would work well on top of the new chastity device. Tim removed the catsuit’s codpiece to examine the chastity device, twisted backward to view in the mirror the small padlock securing the zippers of the catsuit, and generally succeeded in making himself even more horny and restless. The chastity device looked awesome, like some sort of sleek space-age metal jock, and, while snug, it was actually not that uncomfortable, especially now that the Ben-Gay had lost its effect. The dildo plug, too, was tolerable, as it was smaller than the huge butt plug Tim had been forced to accommodate overnight. The new catsuit, which Ross had called “underwear,” was tight and shiny. Tim loved it.
Remaining preoccupied with what had happened the night before, Tim checked his email, to look for pictures, but there was nothing from Ross. Wishing he was one of the victims pictured, he browsed the rubber bondage web sites that he usually visited, but without being able to pump his cock and bring himself off, they provided no relief. Back in bed and still sleepless, Tim began to feel consumed by horniness. He wanted to jerk off badly. If his fucking dick wasn’t all locked up, he would jack off into a rubber hood and then sleep with his head encased in it. But Ross held the key to his dick. Tim could not get Ross off his mind.
Haunted by Ross and with a nap still evading him, Tim wondered what Ross had in mind for tonight. In view of Tim’s last two days of consecutive workouts at the gym, Ross had said Tim was to skip exercise, go home to his own apartment after work, rest, and wait for him. Tim considered his options: Ross had no knowledge of his early departure from work at lunchtime. Tim entertained the idea of phoning him, to let him know, but decided against it. “If I were in my right mind,” Tim thought, “I’d be enjoying the free time.” Instead of taking advantage of his independence, however, Tim felt unable to focus on anything except anticipating Ross’s arrival. He envisioned himself – sealed, bound, and gagged – at the door, waiting, as Ross entered. Searching for reasons, Tim contemplated his own mind-set: Is the chastity device already producing the result that Ross intended? Or, am I just delirious from lack of sleep? There were a million things to which Tim needed to attend, grocery shopping, phone calls, and more, and yet all he could think about was Ross. Tim had to clear his head somehow!
As Tim mulled over the possible explanations for his obsessive mood, the sound of the phone interrupted his reverie. The caller ID showed Judy’s cell phone number.
“Hello?”
“How are you feeling, Tim? Did I wake you?”
Tim hesitated. Pretending he had been sleeping might discourage Judy from staying on the phone. He cupped his free hand over his imprisoned crotch as he responded. “I feel better, I think, but I guess I was sort of drifting off when the phone rang.”
“Sleep is probably the best thing for you. Turn of your phones so no one wakes you. Don’t think about things here. And take a sick day tomorrow if you still don’t feel well. Don’t even worry about calling in.”
Tim tried to sound tired. “Thanks, Judy.”
“Take care.”
“Bye.”
The brief phone call served temporarily to interrupt Tim’s thoughts of Ross, and he started to feel more relaxed. The afternoon began to pass slowly, as Tim dozed, unsettled, and hovered on the edge of consciousness, where dreams form and recede quickly, before the mind can imprint them.
Luxuriating in his tight rubber, Tim slept spasmodically and dreamed repeatedly about Ross. Late in the afternoon, as Tim returned to full consciousness, his horniness seemed overpowering. After having slept fitfully for a few hours, Tim’s craving had morphed into a full-blown attack of bondage hunger, somehow tainted with a lingering doubt that Tim had been unappreciative of Ross in one way or another. Seeking reassurance, Tim picked up his phone to dial Ross’s cell phone number, but did not follow through. “What’s the point of interrupting him at work?” Tim thought.
Still uneasy, Tim tried to remember his dreams, but the specifics were lost to him, and he couldn’t recall one that would have produced the feeling of remorse he was experiencing. Eventually, he got up from bed, drank some juice, pissed through the chastity device, and considered the time: 5:25 PM.
Ross had told him he would come around 7:00, but he was notorious for being late, especially involving events related to freeing Tim from any form of restraint. Tim was uncertain of Ross’s plans, other than unlocking the plug up Tim’s ass, so that Tim could take a shit. He knew that he would definitely see Ross tonight, at the very least for that reason. But even more likely, Ross would not miss an opportunity to exert further control over Tim, probably through bondage. And Tim was definitely in the mood to be controlled. Overwhelmed by his persistent horniness now that he had rested, Tim wanted to take matters into his own hands. He knew Ross would relish the sight of a sealed and bound rubber pig, waiting for its Master, and Tim thought it would be an excellent way to show his appreciation. But to impress Ross, the seal needed to be complete, head to toe, and the bondage, real, inescapable. Abruptly, Tim decided to get to work, to ensure he would meet the 7:00 deadline. A concrete plan was forming in his mind.
Tim raided his gear. Selecting a hood, he buried his face in it and inhaled the intoxicating rubber aroma, but then quickly discarded it as he decided on a different course of action. He picked up a ball-gag head harness and strapped it on as tightly as possible. Savoring the extremity of the sensation, with the heavy fastenings forcing the huge black rubber ball far back into his widely gagged mouth, Tim emitted muffled groans, barely audible to himself as the tightness of the harness forced his jaws to grip the large ball, around which he began to drool. He fingered his nipples through the skintight latex of his rubber underwear.
“Ah . . . uh, uh.” Tim could barely grunt, and he delighted in the extremity of the gagged feeling.
With saliva dribbling onto his chin, he tested his ability to breathe as he pinched his nipples.
Next, Tim examined his Extreme Rubber Encapsulator Suit. Rubbing his gagged face into it to sniff it, Tim knew the suit would be difficult to get into on his own. But, he also knew it would be worth the trouble – Ross liked the look of the Encapsulator Suit and, in fact, had forced Tim to stay in it once for 48 hot hours. Providing total enclosure, with its attached hood, mitts, and socks, Tim knew the Encapsulator Suit would fit well over top of the “rubber underwear” already locked in place, and that, with the exception of the pin hole eyes, nose holes, and mouth opening, it would seal his body totally. Tim proceeded with the outer encasement enthusiastically.
About a half hour later, studying his reflection in the mirror, Tim admired the outcome of his efforts to encase himself and polish the end result: the high luster shine of the exterior latex; the total encapsulation of his body from head to toe, with his invisible eyes peering through the small pin holes of the heavy, form-fitting Encapsulator Hood; the black ball, glistening with saliva, visible at the mouth opening of the hood, which appeared to form a tight seal over it. Tim inhaled around the ball, attempting to suck and swallow. He flexed his biceps and pectorals to stretch the rubber and experience the powerful envelopment of the Encapsulator Suit, its heavy weight latex and inside reinforcement combining with the rubber catsuit under it to create a natural vacuum. Tim felt totally sealed and packaged. The rubber encasements held everything firmly in place. He was gagged, hooded, plugged, cock-locked and sealed, all heavily encased and loving his rubberized state of being, and he wished Ross were present to see it. Bending his knees with frustration at his cock’s futile attempt to grow straight and erect, Tim groaned into the gag, straightened up, and thrust forward, to squeeze the plug that had been locked up his ass all day. Tim wanted Ross to come soon. His entire being seemed focused on it. He wanted Ross to bind and seal him permanently, take him away to his dungeon, and keep him there forever!
Tim checked the clock: 6:45. In his state of rubber ecstasy, he had not forgotten about the final touches that he had planned: binding himself using leather – a locking posture collar and wrist restraints, four thick straps, and four small padlocks. Simple, yet effective and intense, it was a form of self-bondage he had used many times before, in the past, mostly when Brad had been out of town, but without the locks. First, after matching keys to padlocks, Tim went to the kitchen and used scotch tape to fix the keys to the refrigerator door, where Ross would easily see them. Next, he laid out the implements of his self-imposed torment in the bathroom, below the full length mirror, where he sat cross-legged on the floor to proceed. It was a self-bondage position he had never been able to make himself stay in more than three or four minutes, for longer than it took to cum, always releasing himself immediately after, but he knew cumming would not be an option tonight. Neither would release, for that matter, once he closed the final padlock, if he was correct in his thinking about how the restraints would work. With his rubber encasement, and particularly with his fingers encased in rubber mittens, wiggling his arms into place and fastening the final buckles would be challenging. He had 15 minutes until Ross was due.
Tim encircled his neck with the lockable collar, buckling it tightly as he positioned the D ring centrally below his chin, and used the first padlock to secure the collar’s buckle. Still sitting on the floor, Tim banded his right ankle within the loop of one belt, pulled it in, to his thigh, and buckled the strong strap around the base of his upper leg, effectively binding his ankle to his butt, and then repeated this procedure on his left leg. With each leg completely bent and joined to itself, ankle to thigh, forcing his knees to his chest, Tim took a third belt, already fastened and doubled over on itself, and threaded it between his folded legs horizontally, under the knees, until equal loops of the belt extended out from each side, with its buckle centered on the underside of his knees. Tim readjusted the ankle-thigh straps, to tighten them further, pressing his legs firmly together and fixing the horizontal belt in place on the underside of his knees, and then used a fourth belt around his ankles to fasten each to the other. Squirming with effort, Tim put his left arm down, inserted his hand upward into the corresponding loop of the horizontal belt, and wiggled his hand and lower arm up through the loop until his elbow stopped his progress. With his free right hand, Tim picked up the wrist restraints, open padlocks attached, transferred them to his left hand, and then wiggled his right arm up through the corresponding loop of the horizontal belt.
Tim checked his progress in the mirror, at the bottom of which his reflection was visible through the pin holes of his hood. He had just enough proximity and mobility of his upper arms and hands to complete the last step, and he felt he had to hurry. Ross could arrive at any moment. Tim felt the adrenaline flooding his system. Grunting and puffing around the ball gag, aware of the accumulating sweat under the two layers of rubber, Tim used the mirror to guide his progress as his rubber mitt-encased hands fumbled with the wrist restraints and padlocks, until he succeeded in fastening and securing them.
Believing he was finished, Tim inhaled deeply, exhaled, and tried to relax. He studied what he could see of himself in the mirror. He wondered if his plan had worked. Flexing and extending his rubberized hands, Tim pulled forcefully at the wrist restraints to test the results of his efforts. The fastenings and locks, which his hands were able to touch but not undo, held securely.
Tim experimented with movement and found the limitations for which he had hoped. Bound into a very tight ball, he could barely move. Restrained ankles to thighs, elbows to knees, and wrists to neck, Tim had succeeded in turning himself into a compact, rubber-encased mass of bound and gagged slavemeat, to be used by Ross as he saw fit. Plugged at both ends as his dick throbbed in its tiny prison, Tim wondered what Ross would think when he found him like this, and how long Ross would taunt him by refusing to release him. The effects of the chastity device and butt plug seemed to be heightened by the tucked, cramped position in which Tim had bound himself. An image came to Tim’s mind, one in which Ross pushed him on his side and used him as bondage furniture, a foot stool on which to rest his feet.
Enjoying his extremely limited mobility, Tim wiggled his butt from side to side and moved cautiously, inching around on the floor. Slow to progress, Tim creped out of the bathroom and onto the carpeted floor, where he squirmed with more confidence. The drawn out process that allowed him to move, wiggling clumsily from side to side to shimmy forward with his full weight on his plugged ass, advanced him ploddingly into his living room and toward the front door of his apartment. Before long, however, Tim’s new confidence, inspiring attempts at quicker movements, caused him to lose his balance and topple helplessly, rolling onto his side, and the full extent of what he had done to himself was apparent. Tim felt completely bound and powerless in the tightly tucked position: body bent at the waist and knees, thighs drawn tightly to his chest, heels pulled close to his buttocks, elbows strapped to the outside of each knee, and wrists yoked to his neck. Tim tried to suppress the natural, panicky instinct he felt rising within himself, the reflexive escape response that his body wanted to mount in reaction to the tight, restrictive position and its inability to break free of it. Giving in briefly to the urge, Tim struggled against the straps and writhed helplessly on the floor within the wedged, tightly compacted position in which the restraints forced his body to stay. Tim had done this to himself before, but he had always been able to release himself immediately at the first hint of distress. Now, Tim pulled at the wrist restraints, ran his mitt-encased hands over the padlocks within their limited reach, and twisted his head to view the keys, taped high at the top of his refrigerator door. All of his efforts confirmed that his plan had worked: He was totally bound and sealed, and helpless to do anything about it. The belts and their buckles, and the zippers of the Encapsulator Suit, were all out of reach of his restrained hands, the ball gag head harness was sealed under his hood, the keys to the locks were inaccessible, and he was trussed tightly, bound into a helpless ball, barely able to move.
Minutes passed, as Tim played the mind game of willing himself to adjust to the tight restriction. The feeling of panic had been unexpected, and he decided that returning to a sitting position would give him a sense of more control. Rolling onto his back, Tim began rocking slowly, stem to stern, back and forth on his spine, until he had enough momentum to propel himself up and forward, into a squatting position. Misjudging his efforts, however, the force he had built up carried him up too quickly, and he was unable to stop on reaching his goal. He lurched, flexing the rubber-encased toes of his tightly bound feet to compensate, but, unable to keep his balance, Tim wobbled, tipped backward, and fell over once again. Tightly gagged and panting, sweating profusely within the sealed layers of rubber, bucking and squirming within the extremely restrictive, tucked position in which he had thoroughly fastened himself, Tim was having second thoughts about what he had done. He took a few deep breaths and attempted to relax. Seconds passed, accumulating into minutes, as he lay on his side. Simultaneously hating and loving his predicament, Tim tried to convince himself that his fate was sealed. There was nothing he could do but wait for Ross.
More time passed as Tim slowly regained control of his mind. Several minutes later, after an additional failed attempt to right himself, Tim achieved the proper combination of motion and balance as he rocked upward into place. The upright, sitting position was definitely better, though difficult to maintain if he tried to move at more than a snail’s pace. Squinting through the pin holes of his hood, Tim surveyed what he could see of his apartment. It was dusk on a summer evening, and his apartment suddenly seemed hot and dark. The only light came from Tim’s bathroom. Tim suddenly fathomed the full degree of his incapacity, as he realized his inability to turn on additional lights.
With his tightly bound legs and arms, everything in his apartment above 18 inches from the floor was out of reach. Tim had succeeded in making himself almost absolutely helpless. Trapped in the confining, tucked position, Tim was glad that he would not be alone for long. The bright digits of the microwave clock were visible: 7:42 PM. Tim was surprised so much time had passed. Ross was already nearly 45 minutes late. But Tim was certain Ross would come in the next hour. He would just have to wait.
Tim shifted his attention to the spot where Ross would appear whenever he arrived, and that’s when Tim saw it: an envelope had been pushed under his front door. Almost immediately, Tim felt his heart pounding wildly in his chest, against his knees. Blood pumped in his temples, against the tight encasement of the rubber hood. An unwanted adrenaline rush overwhelmed Tim’s system as he felt a horrible sense of nervousness settle over him, and the heat and sweat of rubber encasement suddenly seemed intolerable. With the restriction of the ball gag and tight posture collar, his breathing felt labored. The tightness and extreme restriction of the position in which he was bound now began to feel unbearable.
It took Tim almost a half hour. As though he had been transformed into a sloth, with tedious and slow movements requiring major effort, Tim struggled to move himself over to the envelope, roll onto his side and pick it up in one hand, right himself, and then wiggle his way to his bathroom, where there was light. Seeing his reflection in the mirror reinforced just how tightly he was bound. Tearing the envelope open with difficulty using his closely joined mitt-covered hands, Tim noticed two small keys fall onto the floor as he struggled to extract the contents of the envelope. Holding it in front of him with one hand, he was barely able to read the scrawled, handwritten note that had been inside:
pig,
Heard from Judy that u have the flu. Here are keys to ur underwear and ass plug. Call me when u are better.
Ross # 20
Unable to turn off his libido, Ross found himself smiling while driving home from Tim’s apartment. He was amused by the recollections of his conversation with Judy: the pretense that Tim was his boyfriend (as in equal partner), rather than simply his bondage pig (a rubber-encased, imprisoned thing that Ross controlled for his own pleasure). Judy had been chattering, going on and on, praising Tim’s work, especially his presentation at the company conference.
Judy said that, watching Tim give his speech, she had the impression he was focusing on every aspect of the project and considering details of every question. Focused indeed. If she only knew that details like a full rubber suit, butt-plug, and chastity, all locked in place under his clothes, were keeping him on topic. Ross was convinced that in addition to Tim’s tight, muscle-toned, flexible-gymnast body and stamina, it was Tim’s sharp mind that made him such a good bondage pig. Tim could play mind games with himself, focusing on the torment at hand, but then reach a state of acceptance, knowing that he was getting exactly what he needed: prolonged, heavy, immobile bondage, and total rubber encasement, with no choice but to endure and wait . . . wait for Ross. So far, Tim had handled pretty well Ross’s plan to steadily increase the intensity and duration of the rubber-sealed restraint and isolating confinement that Ross required.
That was the problem. Ross had definite plans to encase and bind his pig for the night. But now his pig, er……Tim, ill with flu according to Judy, was getting some much needed rest at home. Tim’s illness explained why Ross had not heard from Tim all day. Reluctant to disturb or wake up the sick pig if he were asleep, Ross had even slipped an envelope under Tim’s apartment door, to give him keys to his anal plug and rubber underwear in case they caused problems. But Ross was still in the mood for some play –– perhaps he just needed a temporary pig for the night.
At home, dinner and a nice glass of wine did nothing to take Ross’s mind off his original plans for the evening. For the past week, except for allowing Tim to work for three of those days, Ross had enjoyed almost unlimited access to him, and he had gotten used to it. Ross’s cock, accustomed to being fed constantly by thoughts of Tim’s encased and bound form locked away in the dungeon below, now felt deprived. Ross sensed a feeling of emptiness hanging over the house. Tim should be sealed, bound, and in storage for the night by now, so that Ross’s cock could pulse with the knowledge that his pig would be sweating and squirming in discomfort until morning. The pig would have to make up for that another time, Ross guessed.
Ross considered his options: Brad was out of town on business, and Ross wasn’t in the mood to contact any of the other pigs he knew would gladly serve him for the night. Even within his small circle of intense players, none of the bottoms were as Master-centered and slave-oriented as Tim, and Ross wasn’t in the mood for a known quantity as a substitute. Restless and not ready for sleep, aware that he had nothing urgent scheduled at work the following morning, Ross decided to see who was out and about. He dressed simply in a black T, tight denim, and boots. Always a magnet for men (and women, for that matter), he didn't want to draw attention to himself; rather, he preferred to eye the possibilities inconspicuously.
Ordinarily 10:00 would have been too early for anyone interesting to be at the local leather bar, but this was a weeknight, and if guys were out on the prowl, they would be out early.
*******************
The bartender was the first to react. In a bar full of guys in T-shirts and jeans, the worn green flight suit stood out. The guy wearing it looked around the room, went directly to the bar, ordered a beer, and then just stood slightly to the side quietly surveying the room.
Ross looked him over. Sure the flight suit stood out, but there was something else. This was no military guy. Whatever was under that suit was black – and now that the light was right – shiny.
Rubber.
Ross had his mark.
Ross never cruised. Knowing he always got what he wanted, he was direct. Ross motioned to the guy to approach, and he immediately walked in Ross’ direction.
“Interesting suit.”
“Hi. My name’s Nick. Yeah, flight suits are comfortable.”
“I mean the rubber under it.”
The stranger grinned. “You noticed?”
“Yes, I did. I like guys in rubber. What else are you into?”
Trying for nonchalance in the face of the incredibly hot, masculine guy before him, Nick eyed Ross. Nick felt the sweaty rubber gripping his own cock and balls, thought for just a moment, and replied, “Tight, immobile bondage.”
Ross gave a quick, matter-of-fact response. “I can arrange that. How’d you get here?”
“Cab from the hotel.” Ross’s look drew out a further answer. “In town for business, a conference.
Came by train. Always travel with some gear……never know when I might get a chance to use it. I have to come back in two weeks for a longer trip and thought I’d see if there were any bondage opportunities here.”
Ross smiled. “I can show you some opportunities……you up for play tonight?”
Incredulous, Nick answered without hesitating. “Sure.”
*****************
Driving back to his place Ross planned what to do with his find. Tight, immobile bondage was what Nick wanted and what he would get.
But not in the dungeon. Ross wasn’t ready to introduce this stranger to his sanctuary. Besides, it wasn’t intended for one night players. The dungeon was for Tim, and a few other select bottoms who had earned bondage pig status.
Nick was horny. His hard dick was proof of that. They had walked to the hot guy’s truck, where his hands were cuffed behind his back and, once sitting in the passenger seat, shackles placed around his boots. Then, surprisingly, a rubber hood had been pulled quickly over his head, and he was gagged to top it off. This guy meant business! He hadn’t even offered to tell Nick his name! “Relax, the windows are tinted” was all he heard after the door closed. His dick was pushing hard against the rubber. Sure this was what he wanted, but who was this guy? What had he gotten himself into?
****************
Once back at his house, Ross decided not to stand on ceremony. He threw an extra mattress on the garage floor, in a work area normally reserved for John, and told Nick to walk straight ahead six steps. Ross enjoyed the clanking sound of the shackles. He uncuffed Nick, left his feet shackled, and told him to sit on the mattress.
“You are going to sit still with your eyes closed. I don’t want to hear a word from you while I change your hood and gag.”
Nick did as he was told. The hood was replaced with one with eyes and he was re-gagged. “Your dick is still hard. I like that. Since you want immobile, I want you to see your immobility.”
Nick watched him approach with what looked like a solid steel rod. Closer up he could see that it was actually four steel bars linked and hinged at the collar. Ross swivelled them open at the collar and closed the longest around his neck, the next two folded closed around his wrists, and finally –– after removing the shackles –– the last two were closed around the ankles of his boots. Ross then inserted a rod and a padlock locking them all together.
“You wanted immobile, so see how you like this” Ross said abruptly before walking out of Nick’s sight.
Nick’s back ached almost immediately from the awkward sitting position. His wrists were uncomfortable from the solid steel pressing into them. He was glad he had thought to wear his neoprene gloves. At least they provided some cushioning. Thinking to himself, he wondered, Who is this guy? What did I get myself into? My dick is hard. Why do I let it get me into these situations? His aching back focused him on the present. He realized that if he rolled onto his side, he would only have to deal with the ache of his wrists.
Nick flopped over and could not help squirming as he felt the warmth of his sweat squish around inside the latex suit. He wanted to squirm and rub his dick inside the codpiece, but, folded the way he was, he could not get the right angle. Finally, he just lay there. And ached. And sweated. And loved it.
From his den inside the house, Ross watched the garage on his video monitor as Nick rolled onto his side. He heard a few mumbled grunts through the gag but no sounds of panic. This one was doing OK. Not like Tim – Ross could have left his pig that way all night without a second thought – but this guy’s tentative compliance was fun. As Ross watched Nick squirm, he remembered how Tim had quietly endured several long nights in a similar predicament. Ross extracted and stroked his cock, imagining that instead of being home in his own apartment sick with the flu, Tim was bound, encased, and locked away in Ross’s dungeon. Ross felt like he was eating dessert without having had the main course: a pig in storage. A side dish of Brad, taking Ross’s cock into one of his holes, would have made it a perfect night. The idea of enjoying Nick while Tim sweated it out in isolation below brought Ross to a quick orgasm, discharging his horniness with a few strong, satisfying pumps of his hand. As the surges subsided, Ross heard Nick’s grunts increasing – just like his pig: trying to squirm his way to getting himself off. Ross hastily wiped off his cock, put it away, and headed to the garage to take care of Nick.
Nick moved his head as Ross came into sight. “Immobile enough for you?”
“eth er”
“What was that? I can’t understand you.”
“ETH …… ER”
“Wrong. You're squirming way too much. You need something different. Here's the scoop. I am going to release you. If you stay hard you get more bondage. Go soft, and I know you were just another pretend bondage pig and we are done for the night.”
Nick’s dick was rock hard –– almost pushing out through the top of the codpiece. He watched as the steel bars came off. He wanted out……but his dick just stayed hard. What was it about bondage –– the combination of rubber, sweat, and gear –– that got him going so?
“All free. Let’s unsnap the cover and see what the bondage indicator says.” As Ross unsnapped the codpiece Nick’s dick pushed right out. “Well, well. It wants more.”
“unh, unh.. O Ther,” Nick responded. But he made no real effort to move.
“Here’s the plan. Since you clearly want more and want immobile, I am going to add a straightjacket and give you a chance to sleep a bit. Then I will get you back to your hotel. Agreed?”
“Eth Er”
“Since your dick is hard I will take that as a ‘yes.’”
Ross put Nick’s arms into a leather straight jacket, one that was custom made with the smooth side in, to slide better against the rubber. Next, Ross added a spreader between Nick’s legs and then he proceeded to rope him down. He propped Nick’s head up just enough to allow him the ability to swallow. Then, for good measure, he replaced the rubber pecker gag with a wider but less deep ball gag.
On the one hand, Nick’s back didn’t ache any longer –– on the other, as he tried to wriggle around, he realized he really was immobile. Beyond moving his shoulders a bit from side to side there was not much he could do but a grunt. And when he felt Ross playing with his balls and dick, that’s just what he started doing.
“Keep still. I’m just making sure that every part of you is immobile.”
Nick tried to arch his back as something ice cold hit his cock. “Unhhhh... mmmpppphhhhhh.”
“Just softening your dick a bit so we can keep it from moving. Once I tie your balls off I’m done and you can nap.”
With that Ross loomed back over Nick’s field of vision. “Now, you are immobile. Enjoy.”
The lights went out. Nick squirmed and wriggled but really could not budge. Moving anything but his shoulders made him feel a tug on balls. He could feel his dick trying to get hard and pressing against something. He just kept going over in mind a series of thoughts: this feels great, how did I get myself into this, I’m so horny, I don’t even know this guys name, I want to cum, this feels great, how did I get myself into this...”
The night was passing. Nick knew that. He could feel the sweat pooling in the small of his back and periodically he would start counting his swallows. Beyond that he simply concentrated on withstanding it, quietly suffering as he enjoyed, and regretted, the torment.
******************
Hours later, early in the morning, Nick felt Ross working his balls again. He squirmed a bit and mumbled into the gag. Enough was enough.
He felt the ropes being untied and the ability to actually move his arms and legs again. Finally, he felt the gag being unbuckled. He could speak.
In spite of himself his first words were, “That was great, but I really need to get back to my hotel.”
Ross said he figured as much, threw him the flight suit, and told him to get dressed.
That was when Nick noticed that his cock and balls were locked up in a heavy plastic cage.
“Hey, what’s this? –– I really need to get going.”
“I like control. Think of it as a souvenir, something to keep your mind on how you spent the night. I’ll drop you at your hotel now. We’ll go in together. After I see you go up to your room, I’ll leave a package at the front desk. You are free to pick it up immediately, but if you’re a real bondage pig, you will wait until tonight to get it, when you return from your meetings and go up to your room.”
Succumbing to Ross’s hot presence and authoritative manner, and still horny, Nick let the night’s experience of good, sweaty bondage determine his answer. Smiling, he said “OK.”
***************
Up in his room, Nick was feeling refreshed after a shower and some coffee, but thoughts of how he had spent the night were working on his imprisoned cock. Minuted later, traveling downward, he noticed his reflection in the shiny brass door of the elevator and was glad that the plastic cage was undetectable under his khakis. On one hand, it would be kind of fun wearing a chastity device for a day. On the other hand, he wanted the assurance of being able to remove it if needed. He stopped at the desk and picked up his envelope. He could feel the key inside. Instead of proceeding to the conference, he returned to his room and ripped the envelope open.
He was ready to undo the damn thing and jerk off over the experience.
He pulled a note out –– but there was no key. Just a quarter.
There must be some mistake. He called the front desk to see if there was another package. No, just the one he had picked up. Nick was mentally kicking himself. Getting tied and locked up by a guy he didn’t know, and now this. He’d have to break it……but that might hurt…… he might cut himself……but he wanted out…… how could he be so stupid…… but the bondage had been good…… argh – I can’t even get hard in this thing!
Calming down a bit, Nick read the note.
“I didn’t say the package would include the key! You said you were coming back to town in two weeks. I think you will enjoy meeting my pig. Two weeks from tonight is coin night at the bar. Buy yourself a beer. I will be there at 10:00. Don’t bother to show up unless you keep the device intact.”
*************
As Ross began the short drive home, his cell phone started ringing, and Tim’s number appeared on the display. Ross was relieved to see that it was Tim calling. He missed having total control of his pig!
Ross answered, but instead of Tim’s voice, he heard muffled, frantic groans. Before Ross had a chance to respond, the connection went dead. Ross quickly called Tim back, but the voice mail system intervened after two rings. Tim did not answer.
Concerned by what he had heard, Ross made a quick U turn and headed in the direction of Tim’s apartment.
Waiting for Ross Returns #21
The purple head of Tim’s cock throbbed as he squeezed it. His right arm shook as he pounded his meat harder. Tim’s neck and shoulder were stiff from the repetitive motion. The cum/piss channel inside the shaft of his swollen, red dick burned as he pulled relentlessly, unable to stop the masturbatory action evoked by the images on his computer. Consumed by horniness and his unfettered ability to satisfy it, Tim didn’t care if he dislocated his shoulder or ripped his cock off, as long as he came one more time.
Sitting naked at his computer, aware of feeling chilled but choosing to ignore the odd sensation of rubber-free skin open to the air, Tim continued the jack-off frenzy as he studied the photos displayed on the computer monitor. Knowing that he was the anonymous-looking, hooded rubber slave pictured, Tim matched the images with the corresponding text and his own memories of each situation. Awestruck, Tim kneaded his cock as he studied the aborted “hog blog” Ross had made him begin and the photos Ross had just posted at the web site documenting Tim’s 10 day incarceration.
Earlier today, as Ross had driven Tim home to his own apartment, finally ending Tim’s imprisonment, Tim had thought he had never wanted anything more in his life than to be free forever of the captivity of Ross’s relentless rubber encasement, bondage, and control. Now, barely a few hours later, Tim hated himself for his reaction to the photos of the extreme restraint Ross had made him endure. His hard, overworked cock pulsated with excitement. Fuck! It was a cycle Tim had repeated before: Hating Ross for enforcing the inescapability of his captivity while it was happening, vowing never to see him again after it was over, and then getting so excited by pictures and memories afterward that he was eager for more. Tim promised himself that this time would be different. Ten days spent encapsulated in rubber, severely bound and locked in confinement had been too extreme. Tim would never let it happen again. Determined to get past his horniness, Tim felt certain that cumming one more time would cure him forever.
Tim alternately pumped his sore cock, pinched his nipples, and clicked through the perverted galleries showing Ross’s depraved exploitation of the captive rubber pig. The pictures were posted in five separate galleries; his cock erupting with thick gobs of pent-up cum, Tim had barely viewed galleries I and II before shooting his wad four times in succession. Galleries III and IV had prompted the fifth orgasm. Now that Tim, pumping wildly but unable to cum again so soon, had finally viewed Gallery V, he realized the pictures were posted in chronologic order. Trying to reconstruct the general sequence of events in his own mind, Tim felt confused. What happened during the first few days triggered vivid memories, some of which were described in the hog blog, but the predicaments making up the rest of Tim’s imprisonment, after he lost his regular break and blogging privileges, were indistinguishable in his mind, where they merged together into a huge, dark time block of immobilizing, sensory-depriving rubber encasement and isolating confinement. By the end of the 10 days he had been almost comatose with exhaustion from suppressing the agonizing desperation for release, and yet now he couldn’t stop his cock from wanting more!
Still determined to cum again, a sixth time, to rid himself of such thoughts, Tim massaged his painfully hard cock and studied one image in which the slave appeared particularly photogenic. From head to toe, the cocooned male form gleamed with the sleek, shiny blackness of impossibly skintight rubber. Tim suddenly realized that in viewing the photo, he was seeing himself from Ross’s point of view, standing over his totally encased rubber pig, sealed in rubber and trussed helplessly, exactly as Ross preferred. The rubber hood gripped so perfectly that Tim’s head looked skull-like, with the visible outline of his compressed ears tightly sealed in place and the only opening a small tube at the mouth, which Tim knew was part of the gag concealed underneath. In contrast to the long lines of the narrow sleepsack, the tightly encased rubber mummy was constricted by a wide, black rubber posture collar and multiple rubber belts encircling the molded cocoon from shoulders to ankles. Even in the picture the tightly fastened rubber straps looked extremely restrictive, and Tim’s cock further solidified as he correlated the image with the physical sensations he remembered. Tim thought about Ross’s distrust of rubber sleepsacks as a sole basis for inescapable bondage: “If the pig squirms vigorously enough, rubber can fail.” The rubber sleepsack in the photo, with its extra thickness and integrated reinforcing straps, was the only one Ross felt confident did not require an outer layer of leather in order to prevent escape. With recall of that knowledge, Tim’s engorged cock stiffened painfully straight as he rubbed his thumb over its inflamed head and pulled at the smoothly shaved root of the tender shaft. Although undetectable in the photo, Tim also knew that he was gagged, butt-plugged, catheterized, and sealed in another layer of rubber under the tight sleepsack.
As he worked his cock, Tim counted the six belts on the sleepsack and examined the wide bondage collar and its D rings, all plainly visible in the picture. Tim’s thoughts, reconstructing his incarceration as a horny memory, returned to the situation depicted. He remembered that Ross had later boasted that he had kept Tim that way for 2½ days. Studying the picture further, Tim knew that the entry into the sleepsack, through a set of rear zippers invisible in the picture, was probably fastened with a padlock. The small crotch level zipper in front, concealed by one of the straps, allowed Ross access to Tim’s urinary catheter, which Ross kept plugged except to drain Tim’s bladder, sometimes into Tim’s mouth, at varying intervals. Ross used the air tube extending from the concealed gag through the mouth hole of the hood for cautious infusions of fluid, water, piss, or Gatorade, to keep Tim hydrated. Careful preparation for 24 hours beforehand with enemas and a liquid diet had ensured that Tim’s ass could remain plugged for the duration of the encasement.
Tim recalled further details. About three or four days into Tim’s 10 days of ‘probation’ in Ross’s dungeon, Ross had changed the rules. After catheterizing Tim’s dick and discontinuing the blogging sessions as punishment for cumming without permission, breaks became fewer, and the time between breaks grew interminably. Afraid to make a peep after the severe punishment Ross had administered early on when Tim made noise without permission, Tim endured the longer stretches of uninterrupted confinement in silence. And Ross rewarded Tim by making them longer and longer, culminating in the 2½ days in the rubber sleepsack. Tim’s familiar mantra entered his head: “Fucking bastard.”
Tim clicked on other thumbnail photos in Gallery V to enlarge them and found that several of them, some with captions, documented his multi-day imprisonment in the rubber sleepsack.
The caption under the photo Tim had been studying read,
“Day 1 – Preparations completed: Tightly hooded, gagged, collared, locked in a sleepsack, sealed in 100% total rubber encasement, arms trapped inside inner sleeves, heavily bound outside with rubber belts from shoulders to ankles. All holes plugged underneath. The pig is in rubber bondage heaven.”
In the next photo, showing another view of the rubber sleepsack, Tim was standing in Ross’s vertical steel cage. The caption read,
“Day 1 – Contemplation: Forced to stand locked in the vertical cage, the pig slave endures in silence (as trained). The slave was left as shown for 12 hours to contemplate its love of rubber encasement.”
The next photo showed Tim, still strapped up tight in the rubber sack but lying inside a horizontal wooden enclosure with one side open to the camera. The caption read,
“Night 1 – Overnight storage: With no letup in the 12+ hours of tight encasement and bindings, the rubber slave has been transferred to a horizontal wooden box for overnight storage. The greedy pig can’t get enough. Sweet rubber dreams, pig.”
Tim thought, “Fucking bastard makes it seem like it was all my idea.” The next photo, without caption, showed the door of the box, closed with latches and padlocks.
Tim quickly read the captions for two more photos:
“Day 2 – Still wallowing in hog heaven in his rubber cocoon without break after 24 hours, the encasement pig is committed to solitary confinement in the isolation chamber, his favorite place to spend a day.”
“Night 2 and Day 3 – Still strapped tightly in his rubber cocoon at 36 hours and counting, the pig wants more, so it is enclosed in an outer leather sleepsack, attached to a hoist, and left suspended and ignored for an additional 24 hours. This pig can’t get enough! OINK!”
Tim studied the last photo showing his own mummified form, helplessly suspended in Ross’s dungeon closet, where Tim had spent up to 36 hours in previous bondage sessions waiting for Ross.
While this session had lasted only 24 hours, it had been excruciating for Tim, and now he better understood why - he had already been in the rubber sleepsack for 1½ days, and then Ross had put the leather one over top and left him that way for 24 hours more! “Fucking bastard. 'OINK' yourself.”
The burning sensation in Tim’s cock increased as Tim struggled to achieve the orgasm he thought would put an end to his interest in Ross forever. He was very close to cumming, as he had been several times before, but each effort, punctuated with ass clenching and pelvic thrusting, ended in frustration. Fuck! He just had to cum one more time.
Tim clicked on a picture he had not previously viewed at the very top of Gallery V. It was a photo of Ross, in full Rubber Master Regalia. Exuding brawn and ego, Ross posed standing with legs parted wide, hands on hips, biceps bulging, and a commanding, arrogant expression on his masculine, chiseled face. A sleeveless rubber tank top, under a rubber vest, tapered down Ross’s torso to a large belt and buckle, below which Ross’s prominent crotch and muscular thighs were encased by rubber jeans. The reflection of the camera flash on the stretched surfaces of the shiny black rubber emphasized the muscularity of Ross’s pectorals and quads. His face was framed top and bottom by a rubber military-style cap and dark goatee. His commanding posture, the tattoo and black band on the left arm, and the high black boots completed the hyper-masculine effect. The setting was his dungeon, with its dark background, a glimpse of a white urinal, and chains hanging from the ceiling.
At his feet, between his spread legs, was the familiar form of the encased slave, strapped up tight in his rubber sleepsack. In chalk-white letters, the word “pig” was visible on the rubber hood over the slave’s forehead. The photo perfectly captured Ross’s superiority, overpowering dominance, and absolute control of the bound rubber slut at his feet.
Tim moaned as he pounded his dick repeatedly.
Minutes later, exasperated that he still hadn’t cum, Tim stopped stroking his cock and took in more details of the photo of Ross and his rubber pig. Tim knew that wannabe rubber slaves, browsing Ross’s rubber site across the country, were probably salivating, groaning, pumping, and shooting cum all over this picture while they wished they were the pig encased and bound at Ross’s feet. Tim had to admit that Ross was devastating. His Rubber God persona, almost too fantastic to be true, was evident, yet Tim knew all too well he was the real thing. Tim wondered how many of the wannabes would be able to deal with the reality of Ross’s requirements: the extended bondage sessions, staying put, comfortable or not, no matter what, until Ross decided otherwise; the isolation and confinement; the unending head to toe rubber encasement; the total control of body and eventually mind, when you reach the stage where you never wanted anything more in your entire life than to be released.
“I’d be crazy to go back for more,” Tim thought, his cock poking up between his legs. Tim suddenly remembered the email from Ross, the one that had started this marathon jack off session. Tim had been so consumed with the galleries that he hadn’t really read the full text. He clicked on the folder and retrieved it:
“pig,
“Go to the URL above to see photos of ur 10-day stay in my dungeon. u hereby have my permission to enjoy them while I am out of town this week.
“I am pleased with the progress u made in these 10 days. u have finally learned to keep quiet, an essential quality if u expect to be my full time encasement pig. From now on, I will count on u to endure captivity in my dungeon in total silence, speaking only at my request, and remaining quiet otherwise, with no pathetic squealing or grunts of objection from ur little mouth, which will be gagged and sealed most of the time. u were very quiet during the ride home earlier today, and I take this as a sign of further compliance. From now on, on the rare occasions when u are in my presence outside the dungeon, such as in the car this afternoon, u will not speak without asking my permission, and u will keep ur head down, concentrating ur gaze at my feet unless I permit u to look up or elsewhere.
“We still need to work on cum training. u are such a bondage pig that ur greedy cock has been able so far to overcome all of the devices I’ve used to try to control it. While I would like to keep u catheterized permanently as one possible solution, in the long term this may not be healthy; plus, I fear the day when u will cum even while catheterized, which also may not be healthy. I am going to look into acquiring electrified shock or spike-lined devices, to deter ur pig’s cock, through use of pain, from seeking enough pleasure to cum while locked up. The goal is to achieve a physical and mental state in which u cum only when I permit it, and to achieve that perfect balance of allowing u to cum often enough to keep u healthy but seldom enough to keep u horny and craving the bondage u were born for.”
Tim grabbed his cock again, now rock hard, and pumped furiously as he continued to read Ross’s message:
“u should expect to have no free weekends from now on. Also, except for this week while I’m out of town, u will be ‘on call’ on weeknights, meaning that u will always be ready to respond to last minute orders from me to clear ur evening. This is part of our plan to continue progress toward 24/7/365 encasement, eventually moving u to full time slavery in my dungeon. I have already dropped hints with ur boss, my good friend Judy, that having u ‘work’ for me may simplify our relationship. I may check in with her this week with a phone call. I’ll be interested to hear from her or u as to whether ur coworkers like ur new ‘do’ – shaved heads are in style these days anyway.”
With his right hand hard at work on his cock, Tim rubbed his left hand over the stubble beginning to grow on his smooth scalp while he read the last paragraph:
“I will return on Friday. Be ready. u should be freshly shaved from head to toe, well cleaned out and corked with a fat butt plug. As soon as u finish work, go home and get encased in ur favorite rubber suit, with that big plug underneath, and wait in ur apartment for me. See u Friday, pig.
-R”
As though Ross were speaking aloud inside Tim’s head, Tim’s cock responded, erupting with an excruciatingly strong, quick orgasm that produced almost no cum. It seemed Tim had wanked himself dry.
An hour later in his bed, Tim’s mental agitation was winning out over the physical exhaustion that should have led to immediate sleep. Thinking about Ross and his staggering presumptions were keeping Tim awake. “Fucking egotistical ballsy bastard,” Tim said aloud. The 10-day stay in Ross’s dungeon had been really tough. Ross had been relentless with the tight bondage and solitary confinement. “Fucking bastard.” There had been countless times when Tim, alone for hours in Ross’s dungeon, had thought he was losing his mind, about to go crazy while waiting for Ross to give him some relief. And now Ross wanted him to live like that. “Not in this life,” Tim thought. Ross couldn’t be for real. But, just in case, Tim resolved to limit his time in Ross’s dungeon to what Tim wanted.
He had to overcome his reluctance to speak up and tell Ross that the 24/7 notion was unrealistic. Yes, at first he had wanted it, such a horny idea, but after the 10 day preview, now he wasn’t so sure. An arrangement made up of occasional weekends, maybe even some weeknights, would be enough. Tim would keep his job and his own apartment. And his hair!
While Tim lay in bed, eyes closed, trying to formulate his response to Ross’s email message, his mind, alert and active, insisted on reprocessing the events of the last 10 days. The galleries flashed in his head, showing hugely enlarged photos of the humiliated rubber pig, with their crude captions suggesting he was practically begging for more. The image of Rubber Master Ross towered over him, and the words in Ross’s email message, which it seemed Tim had memorized instantly, were recited automatically: “… part of our plan to continue progress toward 24/7/365 encasement… full time slavery in my dungeon.” Tim snorted, “NOT!” Ross couldn’t be serious. But Tim’s cock, hard again, was rigid against his stomach. “…deter your pig’s cock, through use of pain, from seeking enough pleasure to cum while locked up… keep you horny and craving the bondage you were born for.”
About to cum a seventh time since arriving home just hours earlier, Tim twisted in bed and groaned loudly as the painful orgasm took hold. Pinching his nipples, stretching out his legs, flexing his feet and pointing his toes, Tim enjoyed it to the fullest extent possible while he rolled from side to side and the spasms ran their course.
Minutes later, as he recovered from cumming, Tim began to feel totally relaxed, his cock finally satisfied. His anxiety about Ross dissipated, eased by the thought that he had all week to compose a reply to Ross’s ridiculous message. Convincing himself that Ross had been joshing, deciding to think about it later in the week, Tim fell into a deep sleep.
Waiting for Ross returns (continued) #22
Focusing instead on the sensations of his pulsating cock, Tim ignored the other parts of his body that were stiff and sore – mostly his neck, but also his right shoulder and arm, buttocks, thighs, and asshole. Three days of jerking off 5-10 times every 24 hours had taken a toll on Tim’s masturbation muscles!
Seated at his desk, Tim pushed forward in the chair. It was just past 8:30 PM. He had been home for 15 minutes. Mail unread, laundry everywhere, dishes in the kitchen sink: Tim was oblivious to the waiting chores in his apartment as he sat in front of his computer. Today, jerking off in a stall of the restroom at work, he had cum only twice since leaving his apartment this morning, and the resulting horniness was building up, especially now that he was finally home, all alone with his hard dick. Dropping it for a moment, Tim paused to roll his head from side to side as he massaged his neck. Absentmindedly, he rubbed his hand against the stubble over his scalp. His cock throbbed at the reminder of his shaved head.
Riveted to his computer for the third night in a row, Tim was no longer mesmerized by the array of images depicting his recent rubber imprisonment in Ross’s dungeon. Yes, the photos of the rubberized victim, always severely bound and encased head to toe, still produced unending hard-ons. And no, he hadn’t lost interest in studying every detail, at which he marveled when contemplating the fetishism that addicted him to Ross. In fact, earlier tonight, anxious to get home to browse the galleries for the 100th time, he had rushed through his after-work visit to the gym and subsequent dinner with his parents. A similar state of affairs had also occurred the night before, when he had hit the gym in an exercise fury and then shortened his dinner with Brad, who had annoyed Tim with teasing remarks about his ‘hot new do’ and questions about Ross.
“Fuck,” Tim said aloud. Tim struggled to clear his mind of memories of Brad’s probing comments and the look on his mother’s face as she tried not to stare at his baldness. And, he did not want to think about how difficult it had been this week to concentrate on his responsibilities at work. The 7-day absence, followed by showing up with a shaved head, had elicited unwanted notice by his coworkers, and his boss Judy had been very quiet toward him. Plus, he had been spending a lot of time in the men’s room, where he worked hard to satisfy his perpetually hard cock, instead of in his office, where he should have worked hard to get his assignments done.
Tim tried to snap out of his reverie. His pectoral and ass muscles, hurting from the quick, heavy weightlifting of the preceding days, ached as he stretched and shifted in his chair.
Momentarily diverting his eyes from the rubber-hooded slave on his computer monitor, Tim looked down at the part of his body that usually controlled his thoughts: Demanding his attention, Tim’s cock rose up from the open zipper of his pants; it pumped independently, living its own life, eagerly seeking direct stimulation, telling Tim it was time again to charm the snake. With a mixture of disgust and horniness, Tim closed his hand around his sore, painfully stiff cock and squeezed. It looked and felt like the biggest boner he had ever experienced.
While Tim had not grown tired of viewing the pictures that documented his 10 days of service as Ross’s rubberpig, he had found that the continual self manipulation and beating off of the last 3 days satisfied him only briefly each time; 20-30 minutes post orgasm, his cock was always ready for more. In other words, Tim was dying of horniness. The constant pounding and repeated tossing off had become poor substitutes for the rubber-sealed bondage and control Ross had obliged Tim to endure.
Furious at Ross initially when released, now, after only 3 days of freedom, Tim wanted to go back to the real thing. Wanking at galleries was not enough. His plans and efforts to move beyond the compulsion for rubber enslavement that Ross had activated were failing. The exhilarating freedom and sense of survival following his 10-day ordeal were fading in the heat of his current desires. His huff over Ross’s audacity, treating Tim for 10 days like some kind of rubber bondage robot, had passed. Imagining he was back in Ross’s dungeon – helplessly bound, gagged, sealed and locked away in a desolate purgatory of waiting for Ross – Tim pumped furiously until his cock exploded, erupting with enough cum to land on the keyboard, coat his hand, and stain his jeans.
An hour later, Tim was back at it, sitting naked at his desk and choking the chicken. So soon after cumming, however, there was less urgency to satisfy his cock as quickly. Rocking in place gingerly in the chair to grind the largest butt plug he owned deeper into his ass, Tim enjoyed riding the gentle wave of horniness enveloping him. The plug, being too big for regular wear, under normal circumstances would have resulted in instant orgasm upon insertion. With Tim’s current state of sexual overdrive, however, the super-sized discomfort merely engorged Tim’s dancing cock, which felt to Tim like it was directly connected to the plug underneath.
Tim jiggled his ass on the huge plug, and his smooth cock bounced up, full and hard, over top of the thick rubber stretcher squeezing his shaved balls. The weights attached to his nipple clamps bobbed.
Having been merciless with plugging himself at both ends, Tim sucked the saliva awkwardly to the back of his throat and swallowed hard to avoid drooling around the oversized gag he had strapped in place. Playing with his cock intermittently, Tim browsed the pictures and tried to ignore the nagging concern that entered his mind now that he was no longer totally consumed by horniness: He hadn’t heard from Ross since Sunday. Tim had been in such a snit when Ross drove him home that Tim hadn’t even tried to find out why Ross would be out of town or where he was going.
Aware that his use of the same ISP as Ross allowed him to check the status of messages, Tim clicked on his SENT folder and checked the two email messages, one sent last night and the other this morning. The system showed that Ross had opened both, and yet Tim had received no response. Tim reread the messages:
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Sir,
Thanks for the email message with instructions and photos. Sorry I did not respond sooner. Hope your trip is going well. Also left a message on your cell phone.
Tim
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Sir,
Getting ready for work this morning and just thought I’d touch base. Have been enjoying the photos! (Oink) Hope to hear from you soon.
Tim
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Tim wondered why Ross would read the messages but not respond. He composed a third message and clicked SEND:
Sir,
Your pig is out of its mind with horniness and wishes it were sealed in rubber bondage in Your dungeon all week, left to squirm and sweat while waiting for You to return. Can’t wait until the weekend!
pig
Tim’s cock, at full hardness, was leaking – precum or old cum? – Tim had been masturbating so much he could no longer distinguish between the two. He returned his gaze to the gallery. Taking in the full extent of activities and time span represented by all of the photos that were posted, Tim was impressed with how closely Ross had monitored Tim’s progress during the 10-day ordeal. While he had been encased and sealed up, bound tight and squirming in discomfort, unable to see or hear external stimuli, isolated and locked away, Tim had often regretted the situation bitterly, feeling angry and abandoned; thinking Ross was unreasonable; fretting that he would overheat, dehydrate, suffocate, or be permanently damaged. And yet it seemed obvious from the photos that Ross would never have let such things happen. It was clear that Ross, or one of his friends, had been closely caring for and watching over Tim the entire time. Ross had taken their shared rubber bondage fantasies to new levels – fuck, he had even surpassed them – in what now, in retrospect, appeared to be a realistic and safe manner! As hellish as the extreme, prolonged bondage had seemed to Tim at the time, Tim had to admit to himself that he felt fine and healthy; the only aftereffect was unrelenting horniness, leading him to want more! A sense of ungratefulness, unaccompanied by feelings of guilt, descended over Tim. He wished Ross would respond to his messages.
Scanning the photos for the umpteenth time, Tim’s attention was drawn to a file he had not noticed before, posted next to the gallery photos. Was the file, named “rubberpig in storage,” new? Or, had he simply overlooked it before, in a frenzy of horniness? His cock bobbing with excitement, Tim clicked quickly to open it, which activated the video player on his computer.
He would have gasped if his mouth were not stuffed full and stretched wide by the huge gag. Beating his cock while he squirmed on the massive plug and moaned around the gag, Tim watched the movie play on his computer monitor: A slim, muscular male, his appealing body totally encased in a skintight rubber catsuit, stood submissively at attention, with his head bowed in a slave-like pose.
The camera panned into close-ups of a spreader bar locked between his ankles, a harness restraining his hands behind and high on his back, and a view of his head, sealed tightly inside a rubber hood with no openings except a tube at the mouth. The camera lingered for a few seconds at the mouth; with the audio, Tim could hear air enter and exit through the tube. Then the camera faded out of focus, transitioning to a scene that showed a zipper opened at the crotch of the slave’s catsuit, where it exposed a chastity device. The next few scenes, all focusing on similar frontal views, had obviously been skillfully edited to show the change from removal of the chastity device to the installation of a spike-lined pouch over the slave’s rapidly expanding cock and balls. Panning close-ups front and rear visually communicated that straps around the waist, through the ass crack, and over top of the butt-plugged hole were fastened tightly, trapping the slave’s compressed cock and balls within the encasement of the spiked jock before the catsuit was again zipped closed.
A pause in the sequence showed the slave flexing his knees, with accompanying audio indicating panting and moaning muffled by the rubber hood. The slave’s discomfort in adjusting to his new jock was obvious. Watching the video, Tim moaned through his own gag in enjoyment of the rubber victim’s torment.
Fading in and out from one shot to the next to signify sequential steps, the video then proceeded to document removal of the outer restraints and addition of a second layer of black latex, which enclosed the slave in a tightly molded rubber sleepsack, eventually sealed from head to toe with zippers and straps.
Tim continued stroking his cock as the video progressed forward to a point when the slave’s metamorphosis was complete: The tightly-muscled, rubber-catsuited male standing upright at the start of the video had been transformed into a prone, hogtied rubber mummy; supplementing the mummifying encasement of the rubber sack, the knees were bent and legs pulled back by straps connecting the slave’s restrained ankles to the top of his head, where a harness was fastened over the rubber hood and a thick collar encircled his neck. For about 20 seconds or longer, the camera remained still, capturing the squirming slave’s humiliating attempts to wiggle free from the arched position and shift the weight of his body off his crotch. With the time devoted to the scene, it seemed apparent that the cameraman was enjoying this particular sequence. As the picture finally started to dissolve, the struggling slave had managed to lean partially to one side, where he remained still, apparently resting; with a whoosh of air audible on the video, he appeared to sigh as deeply as the restraints and breathing tube allowed, as though in a state of acceptance of his uncomfortable predicament.
Whacking himself furiously, riding the butt plug, on the verge of cumming, Tim thought the movie was over, but the picture came back into view: The camera fade-in revealed that the hogtied rubber mummy had been transferred intact to the inside of a horizontal wooden box. Pulling back to show a lateral view of the open container, the camera then zoomed in on attachment points where the slave was immobilized by tethers to the front, top, and bottom sides of the box, the floor space of which allowed just enough room for him to rest on his stomach, on which he was trapped rigidly in place in the hogtie position. The last scene showed an anonymous, gloved hand closing the box, with the hogtied mummy inside disappearing from view. The camera zoomed back slightly, showing the gloved hand inserting padlocks into latches, and then the camera backed away further, giving a wider view of Ross’s dungeon. The video ended with the box in the distance as the dungeon light was turned off.
His right hand busily pumping, on the brink of allowing the meat-pounding to pass the point of no return, Tim reacted with a startle response as the noise of the telephone on his desk interrupted his wild masturbation. The caller ID showed Ross’s cell phone number. Tim let go of his cock and pulled madly at the straps and gag to get it out in time to answer the phone. Choking on the pooled saliva and sputtering into the phone, Tim cleared his throat and said, “Hello… um, Sir.”
Ross responded: “Hi, pig. What’s all that choking and coughing? Are you sick?”
“No, Sir. Um… My mouth was full when the phone rang.”
Ross chuckled and said, “Well, coincidentally, just before I called I was thinking of your mouth, as I aimed my cock at the toilet and took a long, noisy piss.”
Remaining silent, Tim felt his face coloring with humiliation. Tim was embarrassed to hear Ross talk about him like he was a toilet, and yet he knew that his cock fed on the idea of the control it represented. He stroked it, smeared precum over its head and then sucked the rest off his thumb as he heard Ross’s authoritative voice continue in his ear.
“What were you drinking, pig – your own piss, since you are temporarily deprived of mine?”
Tim was getting annoyed. He took his thumb out of his mouth and spoke up: “No, Sir. Um… I wasn’t drinking anything.”
As though sensing and enjoying Tim’s discomfiture, Ross sounded amused and playful. “Well, if not piss, then what was your mouth full of, pig?”
Tim hesitated. He was embarrassed to admit that he had gagged himself, and yet he knew Ross had a way of interrogating him about details, penetrating his thoughts, and exerting control whenever Tim tried to hide something. Tim cleared his throat again, swallowed and sighed. “I had a big gag in my mouth, Sir. I was so horny I put it in myself.”
Tim heard Ross’s deep, masculine voice take on an encouraging tone. “Excellent. Glad to hear it. My pig should be gagged as often and long as possible. Is there any other gear in place on my cute pig’s humpy little slave body?”
Tim smiled. Ross rarely complimented him on anything. Hearing Ross say “my cute pig” and admit he regarded Tim as “humpy” instantly extinguished Tim’s irritation.
Tim answered freely, almost proudly: “A huge butt plug, a ball stretcher, and nipple clamps.”
Ross suddenly barked through the phone in an imposing voice, “Hands off your cock, pig!”
Startled by the change in tone, Tim quickly let go of his cock, but then laughed at himself. “I really miss you, Sir.”
“How many times have you jerked off so far this week?”
“I don’t know. A lot. I lost track.”
“Sounds like you’ve had far too much freedom, pig. I thought you needed time this week to ponder your place in my life, but now I see I underestimated your interest in being my pig. Maybe I’ll have to devise a way to keep you busy the next 2 days.”
Tim wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that. “I was just looking at the pictures and thinking about you. That’s all.”
Ross’s voice became even deeper, taking on an intensely sexual emphasis. “Yes, so it seems. I just read your latest email. I am glad to hear you’re looking forward to being under my control this weekend, but I wish I had known before I left town that you wanted to stay in my dungeon while I’m gone. It could have definitely been arranged. You’d be bound, sealed in gear, plugged, tubed and under control right now, waiting for me for days, all locked up and alone, well on your way to becoming the 24/7 encasement pig I want full time for my dungeon. A week sealed, bound, and all alone in my dungeon with me out of town would have been excellent training for you.”
Afraid it would explode on its own, Tim stared at his cock and stifled a moan. Yet, intruding on his horniness, a nagging doubt entered his mind. “Sir, would that be realistic? Safe?”
Ross gave an amused snort. “Absolutely. I have very effective methods of monitoring you, and friends who would be glad to ‘baby sit’ without you even knowing about it until they alter your restraints, feed you, or piss into your mouth at my instruction. And remote systems are in place, monitoring and surveillance, alarm and sprinkler systems, other setups and arrangements. You’d be very secure and protected, with everything under my control, even when I’m miles away. And if anything did go wrong, you’d be rescued. I take very good care of my possessions, especially my rubber toys, and that’s what you’d be.”
Ross’s voice and words sounded so assuring. Tim wanted to jerk off badly. Tim asked, “But is it reasonable to be tied up all the time?”
Ross explained. “Not without close supervision. Right now, you’re still in a training phase, requiring some form of bondage and encasement in rubber 99.9 percent of the time, but that doesn’t mean you won’t exercise and be kept healthy and clean. Later on, the conditions of your captivity may change somewhat. You’ll have chores and duties to attend to as my slave. No one can live tied up 100% of the time forever, even a bondage pig like you. While I’m still breaking you in, though, the solitude and bondage will be extreme at times, very challenging physically and emotionally, but you already know that and keep coming back for more, bondage pig that you are. It’s not bondage until you want out. And I’ll give you plenty of wanting out!”
Tim could no longer resist. He grabbed his cock and pumped. Practically groaning as he said it, Tim blurted out, “Sir, I want to be your pig, and I’m gonna cum!”
“If you cum, I’ll hang up!”
Tim stopped himself just in time. Trying to catch his breath, he attempted to remedy the situation. He panted into the phone and said breathlessly, “Okay. I stopped. Sorry. I promise not to unless you say I can. I do want to be your pig, though.”
Ross taunted Tim: “Then why are you expressing doubts? And why are you being disrespectful, talking on the phone to me without being encased in rubber?”
Dying of horniness but disconcerted by Ross’s comment, Tim squeezed his cock. “Sir?”
Adopting a serious tone, Ross started giving orders. “Put down the phone, strap the gag back in place, take off the nipple clamps, then pick up the phone, and grunt once.”
Tim complied quickly, trying to ignore the fire ignited in his pecs and hastily inserting the huge gag and pulling the straps tight. He picked up the phone and put the receiver against the gag. “Mmph.”
“Outstanding, pig. Oink once for ‘yes’ and twice for ‘no.’ Understand?”
“Mmph.”
“We’ve had a nice little chat tonight, but you’ll find that such opportunities will be rare in the future. I prefer to hear you communicate in pig mode only, with oinks, and only then when I give permission. Is your digital camera operational, pig?”
Tim had to think about it for a few seconds before responding positively. “Mmph.”
“Good. I want lots of pictures of you while I’m away. Listen carefully. After I hang up, set up the tripod and use the camera’s timer, the self-portrait feature to take a photo of yourself as you are now. Then, leave the gag, stretcher, and plug in place, and get yourself all situated in your catsuit, the one from London with the hood and gloves attached. When you are finished suiting up, take another photo showing yourself in rubber, and then send both photos to me by 10:30. I’ll call you after I get the pix. You should remain encased, waiting by the phone for me. I expect you to pick up on the first ring and give me an oink. Don’t disappoint me, pig.”
Tim grunted into the phone, but Ross did not respond; he had disconnected.
Twenty-three minutes later, Tim sat at his desk, trying to focus on the computer keyboard through the pinhole eyes of the catsuit’s hood. With the combination of the lube he had used to get the catsuit on quickly and the sweat that had already started to accumulate under it, Tim’s slimy, gloved fingers, glistening with slickness, kept hitting the wrong keys. He fumbled madly, cursing himself for taking Ross so seriously. Yet, he met the deadline, sending the email with its attachments at 10:29. The phone rang soon after.
“Mmph.”
“That’s much better, pig. I want you in total rubber encasement, with no skin showing, whenever you read my email or take a phone call from me while I’m away this week. While you were suiting up, I’ve been composing some messages for you. I will send the first one shortly after I hang up. Each will have a unique subject line indicating exactly what time you are to open it, which I expect you to do at the appointed hour and minute, no earlier and no later. You will be required to follow all instructions in each message in order to earn the privilege of being under my control this coming weekend. If you screw up, the weekend plans are off. Now let me hear an oink indicating you heard me before I hang up.”
Tim had heard, but he wasn’t sure he completely understood. “Mmph.”
“Night, pig.”
Tim felt a mixture of relief and disappointment. Part of him wanted the sound of Ross’s voice in his ear to continue. On the other hand, though, the conversation and the hurried efforts to get the catsuit on, photograph himself and send the pictures, all had exhausted him, and he was looking forward to taking everything off, especially the plug and gag, so that he could jerk off and go to bed.
As he started to unzip the catsuit, Tim tried to remember what Ross had said: “… want you in total rubber encasement… whenever you read my email or take a phone call from me…” Ross had said there would an email soon after he hung up.
Tim groaned into the gag. Silently, he said to himself, “Okay, I’ll wait until I read the email.” Feeling silly, Tim re-closed the zipper, signed on to his email quickly and checked his inbox. There was one message from Ross, and the subject line read, “10:50.”
Impatient and feeling foolish, Tim waited for 5 minutes until the exact time of 10:50, and then opened the message.
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pig,
I’ve designed a nice little series of exercises to keep u busy tonight, and perhaps tomorrow night too.
To reiterate the ground rules, u must open each message exactly at the assigned time – our use of the same email service provider allows me to track this. If u fail, plans for the weekend are off. Each message u receive from me will include a specific instruction to photograph urself while performing or after following a certain directive.
The catsuit u are wearing now is ur base layer; it will stay in place all night, with ur ass plugged and mouth gagged as they should still be now. When a message instructs u to add more rubber, the additional piece should stay in place in successive photos unless I tell u otherwise. I envision encasing u in at least two or three more suits, a larger catsuit plus wet and dry suits, building the layers of latex as the night goes on. u might be instructed to add ur posture collar, a second or third hood, ur rubber muzzle, rubber body harness, thick latex gloves, rubber waist cincher – hell, u could end up with all ur gear in place by morning! I might have u photograph urself while u assume a particular position, open crotch/ass zippers to show the plug is still in place, or some other task suitable for a rubber pig.
For each task, unless I specify a different time frame in the message, u must respond within 5 minutes with the required photo proving u have followed orders.
As I said, this exercise is designed to keep u busy tonight, under my control while I’m away, like u said u wanted. u should count on staying alert, signed on to your computer and on the lookout all night for new messages while u are between photo sessions. I used the automatic send feature to schedule the times when my messages will be sent by the system, so that the computer is programmed to transmit them all by itself while I relax comfortably or sleep in bed.
I will check ur responses carefully tonight and tomorrow morning, to ensure u have followed each instruction promptly, filling my inbox with photos of ur rubber adventures right through the night.
Time for u to get started, pig. Strap ur rubber head harness on over ur hood and gag; then do a full frontal shot and send it to my inbox by 11:00.
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Tim groaned loudly through the gag. “Fucking bastard,” he thought. Tim checked the time; he had less than 5 minutes to look for the harness, strap in on, and then complete the task of taking and sending the picture. Nervous and sweaty, about to enter into personality disorder mode, Tim felt ambivalent about what to do next. One of his multiple personalities wanted to lead him away from Ross, putting an end to the entire Ross scenario, present and future. This part of Tim reasoned that, while it had been fun for a few months to dissociate and spend all his “free” time tied up and encased in a hot rubberman’s basement, he should now return to the real world, a ‘normal’ life of work, family, friends, and relationships where he was an equal. He should turn off his computer, divest himself of the fetish apparel, and go to sleep like a ‘regular’ person who has to wake up early for work the next day.
The other part of Tim’s dual identity, the inherent rubberpig inhabiting his mind and connecting his psyche directly to his surging cock, wanted to lead him further into Ross, past the point of no return, where Ross’s desire for 100% control would be fully realized.
Tim considered what that would mean tonight: Staying awake all night, sealing himself under layer after layer of rubber, and documenting the process with photos – all while Ross slept comfortably. Tim thought, “I’d have to be crazy with horniness to go along with that.”
An image flashed into Tim’s mind: Tim pictured himself as had been months ago, before Ross – he was Brad’s partner, surrounded by friends and family who doted on them, building his career and their network of friends and interests, enjoying the essence of open gay life. As that image faded, a second one came into focus: Tim pictured himself as he had been last week, a rubber prisoner in a basement – he was Ross’s pig, the gagged, plugged, jock-spiked, latex-sealed rubber mummy in the video, sleepsacked and hogtied, boxed and abandoned, left to squirm in the dark discomfort of rubber isolation and immobility, a human rubberworm.
Tim realized the contrast of the two images symbolized his impending choice, and his indecision. He squeezed his latex-gloved right hand over his rubber-encased crotch. He pressed down hard, squashing his enlarging cock with his palm. Trapped at an awkward angle and compressed uncomfortably inside the tight latex of the rubber catsuit, Tim’s cock stiffened further, in apparent enjoyment of Tim’s torment. The root of his being, the cause of all his rubber troubles and source of all his rubber passion, it pulsed against Tim’s palm with each heart beat, reminding him that seconds were passing, and time was running out...
Surveying the audience from the stage behind the podium where he stood, Tim inhaled slowly and held his breath as he paused in his speech. Aware of the moderate restriction across his chest, easing as he exhaled, Tim looked down at his notes to rearrange the order of the papers in his hands. He was at the halfway point in his presentation. Despite his exhaustion and lack of time to prepare, it had gone smoothly up until now. An assembly of faces, familiar and strange, looked up at him from the seats in the audience. Tim could sense the expectation in the air. The large gathering of about 250 coworkers studied Tim as he arranged his notes and clicked the mouse of the laptop to move to the next slide on the large projection screen behind him. His boss, Judy, stared at him from the front row.
Disregarding the stiffness in his lower back and muscle fatigue in his legs, reminders that he had spent much of the night and early morning in a standing position, Tim shifted his feet and lowered his head, adjusting his gaze toward his notes to set them on the podium. The slight change in posture caused his unbuttoned wool suit jacket to separate, revealing the area just below his waist, which caught his eye. Tim felt his countenance freeze as he noticed it. Smack dab in the center of his crotch, a prominent wet spot had formed on the dark wool of his trousers. Tim clamped his lips tightly together in an effort to avoid showing a visible reaction. He quickly pulled closed the jacket of his pinstripe suit, buttoned it, and moved closer to the podium. Tim doubted that the stain was visible.
Nevertheless, flustered, he felt his face redden and perspiration run down his temple and over his cheek. Now afraid to look up, Tim cursed himself inwardly for getting into this situation: Fuck! The latex catsuit under his clothes was leaking through the codpiece!
Tired from lack of sleep, Tim’s concentration faltered. He fumbled again with his notes, but before he could continue with his speech, one page of the sheaf of papers stuck to his hand, and the others slid from the slanted top of the podium onto the floor. Double fuck! Quickly bending to retrieve his notes, Tim tried not to react to the simultaneous sensations: stricture across his hips, over his pelvic bones, as he felt the presence of the steel belt around his lower waist; probing pressure inside his ass, near his prostate, as he felt the dildo plug shift deep inside him; stabbing discomfort and a burning feeling around his cock, at its tip, as he felt it react to the stimulation of the butt plug; and shifting liquid in multiple places, as he felt the sweat lubricate his body under the skintight rubber hidden beneath his clothes. Momentarily confused by the conflicting impressions of concealment and display, Tim felt as if the hidden kinkiness under his clothes were suddenly visible to the audience. The idea of Ross, reacting to Tim’s predicament, entered Tim’s mind, and Tim instantly regretted the thought as his cock responded. The sensation it created was incredibly distracting as it tried to enlarge in the tight space prescribed by the steel chastity device, in which it was trapped low between his legs and locked in place under a steel crotch shield. The efforts of Tim’s imprisoned cock to harden seemed to revive the coating of Ben-Gay that had been applied prior to its confinement, and the stinging sensation made Tim’s eyes tear as he scrambled to retrieve his speech from the floor of the stage.
Struggling to organize the papers as he squatted, Tim tried to ignore the myriad sensations obscured by his clothes: the chastity device with its belt and shields (front and rear); the prodding of the dildo; the fiery tingling of his cock; the sensuality of the secret catsuit, with its encasing skintight fit. Aware of the sweat that had accumulated under the rubber socks within his shoes, Tim straightened up, looked out over the audience, and continued his speech. Only seconds had passed since he had stopped, but to Tim the entire process seemed endless. As each word passed through his lips, Tim willed himself to continue, refusing to pay attention to the heat emanating from under the collar of his starched cotton shirt, the trickling sweat as it collected between his pectorals, and the leaking perspiration as it dripped from under the cuffs of his shirt. His notes, soaked with sweat from his hands, stuck together as he proceeded, but Tim succeeded in completing the presentation without losing his place a second time.
After Tim made his concluding remarks and thanked his coworkers, they clapped loudly. Before leaving the auditorium, some of them came up on stage individually to congratulate him. Gradually, Tim became reassured that his secret was still intact. Apparently oblivious to his embarrassment and discomfort, the members of the audience praising his talk seemed totally unaware that under his pinstripe, charcoal suit, Tim’s body was sealed neck-to-wrist-to-toe in rubber, and his crotch and well-plugged ass were secured by a steel chastity device, all of which were zipped and fastened in place with locks, the keys to which were not in Tim’s possession.
At the end of the line of well wishers, Tim’s boss, Judy, approached. “Excellent presentation, Tim. Congratulations! The information was organized in an interesting way, and you did a really good job in communicating what you needed to get across. It seemed almost totally spontaneous, even with your notes.”
Tim held back a laugh. Spontaneous! With his speech over and the tension subsiding, the humor of the situation was dawning on Tim. He smiled. “Thanks, Judy.” Even though his mood was lightening, Tim was anxious to get down off the stage and into the restroom, now that everyone but Judy had gone. Yet, he was trapped, encased in sweaty rubber and clothed in warm wool, with no choice other than standing in place, sweltering and perspiring, listening to her compliments until she was finished.
“Are you all right, Tim? You look flushed.” Tim resisted the urge to step back as Judy placed her hand on his forehead. “You’re perspiring. Any you’re very warm!”
In the two years that Tim had worked for Judy, his opinion of her maternal attitude toward him had vacillated wildly, from sincere appreciation to scorn. At the moment, however, he was just embarrassed. Judy continued. “You feel like you have a fever! Maybe you have the flu.”
Tim reacted hesitantly. “I do feel tired. Could be the flu I guess. But I’ll be fine. Just need to walk around outside. It’s hot in here.” Tim picked up his papers from the podium as he studied Judy’s facial expression. She was single at the moment, between boyfriends, and Tim knew from past experience that she could be insufferable when she had no man in her life on whom she could unleash her mothering. Tim wanted her to leave, yet Judy persisted. She covered Tim’s right hand with her own. “You’re perspiring profusely. I think you should be home in bed. You probably need to rest.”
Pulling his hand out from under hers, Tim considered Judy’s suggestion. The idea of going home had its appeal, though he was behind in his work. He felt dazed from stress and lack of sleep. His mouth was dry and scratchy. “Maybe I will go home, if that’s okay with you, Judy.”
Judy replied, “Yes. The presentation was a success. Even if you weren’t sick, I’d say ‘take the afternoon off.’ I have a lunch meeting, or I’d offer to drive you home myself.”
“That’s okay. I’ll be fine to drive home.”
Judy asked, “You’re still dating Ross, aren’t you?”
Tim was taken aback. He hated the small-world effect that had entered his life, intruding on him weeks ago when he, Ross, and Judy discovered that Judy and Ross knew each other through business dealings.
“Yes, we’re still . . . ‘dating.’” If you only knew, Tim thought.
“Does Ross know you’re sick? If you’d like I can call him. You need someone to take care of you. Give you TLC. Lots of liquids. Maybe some chicken soup.”
Tim suppressed a smile. He could just imagine what kind of soup Ross would feed him! Tim knew that Judy had been envious of his relationship with Brad, and he knew what she thought of Ross, both professionally (“smart, tough”) and personally (“hunky”). He also knew that Judy was intrigued by the idea of Ross and Tim instead of Brad and Tim. He imagined that Judy assumed she had it all figured out – who did what to whom – and was titillated at the thought of them together in bed. As Tim fleetingly considered this notion, he realized that he could not remember an occasion when Ross had allowed him to sleep in bed with him. That knowledge made his dick twitch uncomfortably, which renewed the burning sensation. Returning to the moment, Tim shook his head. “That’s okay. I’ll see him later. But, thanks. Like I said, I’m fine. I can make it home and take care of myself.” As Tim backed away from Judy, he thought he heard one of his shoes squish. Suddenly, he was aware of the scent of latex.
With a doubtful look on her face, Judy responded slowly. “Okay, but be careful. You’re not yourself. I’m worried about you. Are you getting enough sleep? You look awfully tired.” Tim stood still and waited. He was reluctant to move, afraid that the sweat within his rubber undercoat would leak further, and he had no intention of continuing to answer Judy’s questions. They seemed to be in a stalemate. Silent for a few seconds, apparently still not inclined to leave, Judy finally said, “All right.
I’m going to be late for my meeting. Let me know later how you’re feeling. I’ll call you at home.”
“Thanks, Judy.” With relief, Tim watched Judy, her cell phone almost immediately at her ear, as she finally walked away. She was a great friend and a terrific boss, but he was glad to be rid of her. He was certain that she would be so busy all afternoon she’d never give him a second thought.
Minutes later, after blotting some sweat with paper towels and washing his hands and face in the restroom, Tim attended to loose ends on his desk, cooled off outside, and then got into his car to leave work. Driving home about 45 minutes after his encounter with Judy, Tim found himself reconstructing parts of the morning in his mind. Ross had supervised everything that had happened before work, even taking the time to follow Tim to his apartment to oversee the selection of suit and tie after Ross had finished locking down what would be underneath Tim’s street clothes. In retrospect, Tim wondered if Ross had suspected he might consider destroying the catsuit to remove it and avoid wearing it to work. In actuality, Tim had been so nervous and rushed to get to work, to prepare his presentation, that he had barely had time to consider the ramifications of Ross’s actions. And after Ross’s tough demeanor the night before, Tim, rejecting any thoughts of questioning Ross’s intentions, had been totally submissive. Now, sweating even with his suit jacket removed and squirming uncomfortably in the driver’s seat of his car, Tim was preoccupied by the dildo plug on which he was forced to sit. Earlier, Ross had cheerfully inserted it through the anal opening of the new chastity device, covered the base with the anal shield, and locked it in place. Presently, in an effort to pass gas around it, Tim leaned to one side in his seat and strained to relax his asshole, which wanted to grip the dildo tightly. Tim felt a fart escape around it.
Tim’s thoughts traveled further back in time, to the hours he had spent double-sleepsacked and standing in the cell at the foot of the bed where Ross slept. Long after Ross had been snoring contentedly, Tim’s unobtrusive wiggling and silent straining eventually paid off. Clamping down hard on his gag, Tim had stifled his own agonized groans on finally succeeding in making himself cum. Soon after, however, the upright position had become much more demanding. Inside his hot, tight cocoon, which had been zipped, laced, strapped, and fastened to a degree of rigid mummification Tim had rarely experienced before, Tim became wretchedly uncomfortable. Afraid to make a peep, anxious with anticipation, hopeful that Ross would wake early and free him, Tim had sweated and squirmed quietly, his full bladder encouraging him to piss intermittently into the tube, the mouth end of which he had to suck constantly to get the flow going, to swallow it down, while Ross, oblivious to Tim’s hope of early release, slept soundly, through until the morning. Miserable at the time as the interminable night and early morning dragged on, shifting around on his tightly bound feet second by second, leaning from side to side against the bars of his cell, unable to think beyond the physical sensations of discomfort, Tim had suffered in silence.
Thinking back on it as he drove home, Tim realized that the night had been no bondage fantasy. The ordeal had been all too real: Ross’s idea of punishment. It had been no picnic, and Tim was convinced that if he had contradicted Ross’s warning to keep quiet, Ross would have come up with something even more difficult. Now, reliving it as he drove home, Tim was getting horny. Ross had balls! The arrogant fucker had deprived him of sleep on a week night, left him standing, mummified in a cage all fucking night, and then sent him to work locked in rubber and chastity under his clothes. Ross’s dominance and gall amazed Tim, and, in retrospect, excited him as much as the physical sensations of tight mummification. Unexpectedly, Tim felt a wave of submissive lust wash over him. The hellish night had been torture, and now Tim wanted more! He savored the memory of the suffering and his ultimate acceptance of it, the way he had stood, tightly mummified and caged, forced to tolerate the discomfort as he watched Ross sleep comfortably, and the potency of its overall effect, emphasizing his role as Ross’s rubber encasement slave. Abruptly back in the present moment, Tim hit the break quickly to avoid rear-ending the car in front of his, to stop at a red light. “Fuck! What’s wrong with me?” Suddenly aware of the pounding within his rubber-encased chest, Tim felt the beat, beat, beat of his heart, as if it were calling his Master’s name over and over again: “Ross . . . , Ross . . . , Ross . . . ” “Fuck,” Tim said to himself, “I need to snap out of it!”
As Tim neared home, however, thoughts of Ross continued. He wondered if Ross had taken pictures of him, layered and sacked, imprisoned in the cage. He had the urge to jerk off to the memory (and maybe the images) of it, as he usually did when Ross released him after a bondage session, but that would be impossible today. In spite of the wave of horniness, Tim knew he needed sleep, and he also knew he would miss his customary prelude to almost every nap he took: Wacking his ever-hard, greedy cock until it gave up yet another load of cum would almost always send him off to la-la land.
Approaching his apartment, Tim recounted what he could remember of Ross’s comments during application of the chastity device: The black, plastic-coated steel penis tube, seemingly too small for Tim’s hardening cock until Ross coated it with Ben-Gay, while Tim cursed silently and fidgeted (“Hold still, pig, or I’ll use it to lube the dildo too!” Ross had said); the polished stainless steel belt lined with neoprene that tightly encircled Tim’s waist just above the hips (“Made to your measurements and smooth enough to wear under your new rubber underwear, pig”); the crotch shield overlaying and securing the front of the device (“perfect fit, pig!”); the rear of the belt, a steel band between Tim’s ass cheeks, against the crack of his ass, with a hole for the anus, which Ross had quickly plugged and shielded with a separate lock (“ . . . totally dependent on your Master to take a shit”); and the locking mechanisms, with stainless steel shackles (“ . . . impossible for you to escape, even with bolt cutters”). Tim tried to remember the exact words of Ross’s final comment: “All locked up, pig. Now you’ll be sealed and under my control, as you should be, even when you’re at work. No more jacking off for the pig. From now on, you cum only when I decide you’ve earned it!”
Tim squirmed against the seat belt and rocked in the driver’s seat. “Fuck,” Tim thought, “I need to jerk off already!” Tim’s cock contracted within its prison and sent a stinging sensation through his crotch.
At home, Tim’s nap was elusive. After stripping to his rubberskin and eating lunch, he tossed and turned on top of his bed and, when sleep wouldn’t come, got up and studied himself in the mirror.
The catsuit was new, a “present” from Ross, who had bought it, he implied, because he had the idea it would work well on top of the new chastity device. Tim removed the catsuit’s codpiece to examine the chastity device, twisted backward to view in the mirror the small padlock securing the zippers of the catsuit, and generally succeeded in making himself even more horny and restless. The chastity device looked awesome, like some sort of sleek space-age metal jock, and, while snug, it was actually not that uncomfortable, especially now that the Ben-Gay had lost its effect. The dildo plug, too, was tolerable, as it was smaller than the huge butt plug Tim had been forced to accommodate overnight. The new catsuit, which Ross had called “underwear,” was tight and shiny. Tim loved it.
Remaining preoccupied with what had happened the night before, Tim checked his email, to look for pictures, but there was nothing from Ross. Wishing he was one of the victims pictured, he browsed the rubber bondage web sites that he usually visited, but without being able to pump his cock and bring himself off, they provided no relief. Back in bed and still sleepless, Tim began to feel consumed by horniness. He wanted to jerk off badly. If his fucking dick wasn’t all locked up, he would jack off into a rubber hood and then sleep with his head encased in it. But Ross held the key to his dick. Tim could not get Ross off his mind.
Haunted by Ross and with a nap still evading him, Tim wondered what Ross had in mind for tonight. In view of Tim’s last two days of consecutive workouts at the gym, Ross had said Tim was to skip exercise, go home to his own apartment after work, rest, and wait for him. Tim considered his options: Ross had no knowledge of his early departure from work at lunchtime. Tim entertained the idea of phoning him, to let him know, but decided against it. “If I were in my right mind,” Tim thought, “I’d be enjoying the free time.” Instead of taking advantage of his independence, however, Tim felt unable to focus on anything except anticipating Ross’s arrival. He envisioned himself – sealed, bound, and gagged – at the door, waiting, as Ross entered. Searching for reasons, Tim contemplated his own mind-set: Is the chastity device already producing the result that Ross intended? Or, am I just delirious from lack of sleep? There were a million things to which Tim needed to attend, grocery shopping, phone calls, and more, and yet all he could think about was Ross. Tim had to clear his head somehow!
As Tim mulled over the possible explanations for his obsessive mood, the sound of the phone interrupted his reverie. The caller ID showed Judy’s cell phone number.
“Hello?”
“How are you feeling, Tim? Did I wake you?”
Tim hesitated. Pretending he had been sleeping might discourage Judy from staying on the phone. He cupped his free hand over his imprisoned crotch as he responded. “I feel better, I think, but I guess I was sort of drifting off when the phone rang.”
“Sleep is probably the best thing for you. Turn of your phones so no one wakes you. Don’t think about things here. And take a sick day tomorrow if you still don’t feel well. Don’t even worry about calling in.”
Tim tried to sound tired. “Thanks, Judy.”
“Take care.”
“Bye.”
The brief phone call served temporarily to interrupt Tim’s thoughts of Ross, and he started to feel more relaxed. The afternoon began to pass slowly, as Tim dozed, unsettled, and hovered on the edge of consciousness, where dreams form and recede quickly, before the mind can imprint them.
Luxuriating in his tight rubber, Tim slept spasmodically and dreamed repeatedly about Ross. Late in the afternoon, as Tim returned to full consciousness, his horniness seemed overpowering. After having slept fitfully for a few hours, Tim’s craving had morphed into a full-blown attack of bondage hunger, somehow tainted with a lingering doubt that Tim had been unappreciative of Ross in one way or another. Seeking reassurance, Tim picked up his phone to dial Ross’s cell phone number, but did not follow through. “What’s the point of interrupting him at work?” Tim thought.
Still uneasy, Tim tried to remember his dreams, but the specifics were lost to him, and he couldn’t recall one that would have produced the feeling of remorse he was experiencing. Eventually, he got up from bed, drank some juice, pissed through the chastity device, and considered the time: 5:25 PM.
Ross had told him he would come around 7:00, but he was notorious for being late, especially involving events related to freeing Tim from any form of restraint. Tim was uncertain of Ross’s plans, other than unlocking the plug up Tim’s ass, so that Tim could take a shit. He knew that he would definitely see Ross tonight, at the very least for that reason. But even more likely, Ross would not miss an opportunity to exert further control over Tim, probably through bondage. And Tim was definitely in the mood to be controlled. Overwhelmed by his persistent horniness now that he had rested, Tim wanted to take matters into his own hands. He knew Ross would relish the sight of a sealed and bound rubber pig, waiting for its Master, and Tim thought it would be an excellent way to show his appreciation. But to impress Ross, the seal needed to be complete, head to toe, and the bondage, real, inescapable. Abruptly, Tim decided to get to work, to ensure he would meet the 7:00 deadline. A concrete plan was forming in his mind.
Tim raided his gear. Selecting a hood, he buried his face in it and inhaled the intoxicating rubber aroma, but then quickly discarded it as he decided on a different course of action. He picked up a ball-gag head harness and strapped it on as tightly as possible. Savoring the extremity of the sensation, with the heavy fastenings forcing the huge black rubber ball far back into his widely gagged mouth, Tim emitted muffled groans, barely audible to himself as the tightness of the harness forced his jaws to grip the large ball, around which he began to drool. He fingered his nipples through the skintight latex of his rubber underwear.
“Ah . . . uh, uh.” Tim could barely grunt, and he delighted in the extremity of the gagged feeling.
With saliva dribbling onto his chin, he tested his ability to breathe as he pinched his nipples.
Next, Tim examined his Extreme Rubber Encapsulator Suit. Rubbing his gagged face into it to sniff it, Tim knew the suit would be difficult to get into on his own. But, he also knew it would be worth the trouble – Ross liked the look of the Encapsulator Suit and, in fact, had forced Tim to stay in it once for 48 hot hours. Providing total enclosure, with its attached hood, mitts, and socks, Tim knew the Encapsulator Suit would fit well over top of the “rubber underwear” already locked in place, and that, with the exception of the pin hole eyes, nose holes, and mouth opening, it would seal his body totally. Tim proceeded with the outer encasement enthusiastically.
About a half hour later, studying his reflection in the mirror, Tim admired the outcome of his efforts to encase himself and polish the end result: the high luster shine of the exterior latex; the total encapsulation of his body from head to toe, with his invisible eyes peering through the small pin holes of the heavy, form-fitting Encapsulator Hood; the black ball, glistening with saliva, visible at the mouth opening of the hood, which appeared to form a tight seal over it. Tim inhaled around the ball, attempting to suck and swallow. He flexed his biceps and pectorals to stretch the rubber and experience the powerful envelopment of the Encapsulator Suit, its heavy weight latex and inside reinforcement combining with the rubber catsuit under it to create a natural vacuum. Tim felt totally sealed and packaged. The rubber encasements held everything firmly in place. He was gagged, hooded, plugged, cock-locked and sealed, all heavily encased and loving his rubberized state of being, and he wished Ross were present to see it. Bending his knees with frustration at his cock’s futile attempt to grow straight and erect, Tim groaned into the gag, straightened up, and thrust forward, to squeeze the plug that had been locked up his ass all day. Tim wanted Ross to come soon. His entire being seemed focused on it. He wanted Ross to bind and seal him permanently, take him away to his dungeon, and keep him there forever!
Tim checked the clock: 6:45. In his state of rubber ecstasy, he had not forgotten about the final touches that he had planned: binding himself using leather – a locking posture collar and wrist restraints, four thick straps, and four small padlocks. Simple, yet effective and intense, it was a form of self-bondage he had used many times before, in the past, mostly when Brad had been out of town, but without the locks. First, after matching keys to padlocks, Tim went to the kitchen and used scotch tape to fix the keys to the refrigerator door, where Ross would easily see them. Next, he laid out the implements of his self-imposed torment in the bathroom, below the full length mirror, where he sat cross-legged on the floor to proceed. It was a self-bondage position he had never been able to make himself stay in more than three or four minutes, for longer than it took to cum, always releasing himself immediately after, but he knew cumming would not be an option tonight. Neither would release, for that matter, once he closed the final padlock, if he was correct in his thinking about how the restraints would work. With his rubber encasement, and particularly with his fingers encased in rubber mittens, wiggling his arms into place and fastening the final buckles would be challenging. He had 15 minutes until Ross was due.
Tim encircled his neck with the lockable collar, buckling it tightly as he positioned the D ring centrally below his chin, and used the first padlock to secure the collar’s buckle. Still sitting on the floor, Tim banded his right ankle within the loop of one belt, pulled it in, to his thigh, and buckled the strong strap around the base of his upper leg, effectively binding his ankle to his butt, and then repeated this procedure on his left leg. With each leg completely bent and joined to itself, ankle to thigh, forcing his knees to his chest, Tim took a third belt, already fastened and doubled over on itself, and threaded it between his folded legs horizontally, under the knees, until equal loops of the belt extended out from each side, with its buckle centered on the underside of his knees. Tim readjusted the ankle-thigh straps, to tighten them further, pressing his legs firmly together and fixing the horizontal belt in place on the underside of his knees, and then used a fourth belt around his ankles to fasten each to the other. Squirming with effort, Tim put his left arm down, inserted his hand upward into the corresponding loop of the horizontal belt, and wiggled his hand and lower arm up through the loop until his elbow stopped his progress. With his free right hand, Tim picked up the wrist restraints, open padlocks attached, transferred them to his left hand, and then wiggled his right arm up through the corresponding loop of the horizontal belt.
Tim checked his progress in the mirror, at the bottom of which his reflection was visible through the pin holes of his hood. He had just enough proximity and mobility of his upper arms and hands to complete the last step, and he felt he had to hurry. Ross could arrive at any moment. Tim felt the adrenaline flooding his system. Grunting and puffing around the ball gag, aware of the accumulating sweat under the two layers of rubber, Tim used the mirror to guide his progress as his rubber mitt-encased hands fumbled with the wrist restraints and padlocks, until he succeeded in fastening and securing them.
Believing he was finished, Tim inhaled deeply, exhaled, and tried to relax. He studied what he could see of himself in the mirror. He wondered if his plan had worked. Flexing and extending his rubberized hands, Tim pulled forcefully at the wrist restraints to test the results of his efforts. The fastenings and locks, which his hands were able to touch but not undo, held securely.
Tim experimented with movement and found the limitations for which he had hoped. Bound into a very tight ball, he could barely move. Restrained ankles to thighs, elbows to knees, and wrists to neck, Tim had succeeded in turning himself into a compact, rubber-encased mass of bound and gagged slavemeat, to be used by Ross as he saw fit. Plugged at both ends as his dick throbbed in its tiny prison, Tim wondered what Ross would think when he found him like this, and how long Ross would taunt him by refusing to release him. The effects of the chastity device and butt plug seemed to be heightened by the tucked, cramped position in which Tim had bound himself. An image came to Tim’s mind, one in which Ross pushed him on his side and used him as bondage furniture, a foot stool on which to rest his feet.
Enjoying his extremely limited mobility, Tim wiggled his butt from side to side and moved cautiously, inching around on the floor. Slow to progress, Tim creped out of the bathroom and onto the carpeted floor, where he squirmed with more confidence. The drawn out process that allowed him to move, wiggling clumsily from side to side to shimmy forward with his full weight on his plugged ass, advanced him ploddingly into his living room and toward the front door of his apartment. Before long, however, Tim’s new confidence, inspiring attempts at quicker movements, caused him to lose his balance and topple helplessly, rolling onto his side, and the full extent of what he had done to himself was apparent. Tim felt completely bound and powerless in the tightly tucked position: body bent at the waist and knees, thighs drawn tightly to his chest, heels pulled close to his buttocks, elbows strapped to the outside of each knee, and wrists yoked to his neck. Tim tried to suppress the natural, panicky instinct he felt rising within himself, the reflexive escape response that his body wanted to mount in reaction to the tight, restrictive position and its inability to break free of it. Giving in briefly to the urge, Tim struggled against the straps and writhed helplessly on the floor within the wedged, tightly compacted position in which the restraints forced his body to stay. Tim had done this to himself before, but he had always been able to release himself immediately at the first hint of distress. Now, Tim pulled at the wrist restraints, ran his mitt-encased hands over the padlocks within their limited reach, and twisted his head to view the keys, taped high at the top of his refrigerator door. All of his efforts confirmed that his plan had worked: He was totally bound and sealed, and helpless to do anything about it. The belts and their buckles, and the zippers of the Encapsulator Suit, were all out of reach of his restrained hands, the ball gag head harness was sealed under his hood, the keys to the locks were inaccessible, and he was trussed tightly, bound into a helpless ball, barely able to move.
Minutes passed, as Tim played the mind game of willing himself to adjust to the tight restriction. The feeling of panic had been unexpected, and he decided that returning to a sitting position would give him a sense of more control. Rolling onto his back, Tim began rocking slowly, stem to stern, back and forth on his spine, until he had enough momentum to propel himself up and forward, into a squatting position. Misjudging his efforts, however, the force he had built up carried him up too quickly, and he was unable to stop on reaching his goal. He lurched, flexing the rubber-encased toes of his tightly bound feet to compensate, but, unable to keep his balance, Tim wobbled, tipped backward, and fell over once again. Tightly gagged and panting, sweating profusely within the sealed layers of rubber, bucking and squirming within the extremely restrictive, tucked position in which he had thoroughly fastened himself, Tim was having second thoughts about what he had done. He took a few deep breaths and attempted to relax. Seconds passed, accumulating into minutes, as he lay on his side. Simultaneously hating and loving his predicament, Tim tried to convince himself that his fate was sealed. There was nothing he could do but wait for Ross.
More time passed as Tim slowly regained control of his mind. Several minutes later, after an additional failed attempt to right himself, Tim achieved the proper combination of motion and balance as he rocked upward into place. The upright, sitting position was definitely better, though difficult to maintain if he tried to move at more than a snail’s pace. Squinting through the pin holes of his hood, Tim surveyed what he could see of his apartment. It was dusk on a summer evening, and his apartment suddenly seemed hot and dark. The only light came from Tim’s bathroom. Tim suddenly fathomed the full degree of his incapacity, as he realized his inability to turn on additional lights.
With his tightly bound legs and arms, everything in his apartment above 18 inches from the floor was out of reach. Tim had succeeded in making himself almost absolutely helpless. Trapped in the confining, tucked position, Tim was glad that he would not be alone for long. The bright digits of the microwave clock were visible: 7:42 PM. Tim was surprised so much time had passed. Ross was already nearly 45 minutes late. But Tim was certain Ross would come in the next hour. He would just have to wait.
Tim shifted his attention to the spot where Ross would appear whenever he arrived, and that’s when Tim saw it: an envelope had been pushed under his front door. Almost immediately, Tim felt his heart pounding wildly in his chest, against his knees. Blood pumped in his temples, against the tight encasement of the rubber hood. An unwanted adrenaline rush overwhelmed Tim’s system as he felt a horrible sense of nervousness settle over him, and the heat and sweat of rubber encasement suddenly seemed intolerable. With the restriction of the ball gag and tight posture collar, his breathing felt labored. The tightness and extreme restriction of the position in which he was bound now began to feel unbearable.
It took Tim almost a half hour. As though he had been transformed into a sloth, with tedious and slow movements requiring major effort, Tim struggled to move himself over to the envelope, roll onto his side and pick it up in one hand, right himself, and then wiggle his way to his bathroom, where there was light. Seeing his reflection in the mirror reinforced just how tightly he was bound. Tearing the envelope open with difficulty using his closely joined mitt-covered hands, Tim noticed two small keys fall onto the floor as he struggled to extract the contents of the envelope. Holding it in front of him with one hand, he was barely able to read the scrawled, handwritten note that had been inside:
pig,
Heard from Judy that u have the flu. Here are keys to ur underwear and ass plug. Call me when u are better.
Ross # 20
Unable to turn off his libido, Ross found himself smiling while driving home from Tim’s apartment. He was amused by the recollections of his conversation with Judy: the pretense that Tim was his boyfriend (as in equal partner), rather than simply his bondage pig (a rubber-encased, imprisoned thing that Ross controlled for his own pleasure). Judy had been chattering, going on and on, praising Tim’s work, especially his presentation at the company conference.
Judy said that, watching Tim give his speech, she had the impression he was focusing on every aspect of the project and considering details of every question. Focused indeed. If she only knew that details like a full rubber suit, butt-plug, and chastity, all locked in place under his clothes, were keeping him on topic. Ross was convinced that in addition to Tim’s tight, muscle-toned, flexible-gymnast body and stamina, it was Tim’s sharp mind that made him such a good bondage pig. Tim could play mind games with himself, focusing on the torment at hand, but then reach a state of acceptance, knowing that he was getting exactly what he needed: prolonged, heavy, immobile bondage, and total rubber encasement, with no choice but to endure and wait . . . wait for Ross. So far, Tim had handled pretty well Ross’s plan to steadily increase the intensity and duration of the rubber-sealed restraint and isolating confinement that Ross required.
That was the problem. Ross had definite plans to encase and bind his pig for the night. But now his pig, er……Tim, ill with flu according to Judy, was getting some much needed rest at home. Tim’s illness explained why Ross had not heard from Tim all day. Reluctant to disturb or wake up the sick pig if he were asleep, Ross had even slipped an envelope under Tim’s apartment door, to give him keys to his anal plug and rubber underwear in case they caused problems. But Ross was still in the mood for some play –– perhaps he just needed a temporary pig for the night.
At home, dinner and a nice glass of wine did nothing to take Ross’s mind off his original plans for the evening. For the past week, except for allowing Tim to work for three of those days, Ross had enjoyed almost unlimited access to him, and he had gotten used to it. Ross’s cock, accustomed to being fed constantly by thoughts of Tim’s encased and bound form locked away in the dungeon below, now felt deprived. Ross sensed a feeling of emptiness hanging over the house. Tim should be sealed, bound, and in storage for the night by now, so that Ross’s cock could pulse with the knowledge that his pig would be sweating and squirming in discomfort until morning. The pig would have to make up for that another time, Ross guessed.
Ross considered his options: Brad was out of town on business, and Ross wasn’t in the mood to contact any of the other pigs he knew would gladly serve him for the night. Even within his small circle of intense players, none of the bottoms were as Master-centered and slave-oriented as Tim, and Ross wasn’t in the mood for a known quantity as a substitute. Restless and not ready for sleep, aware that he had nothing urgent scheduled at work the following morning, Ross decided to see who was out and about. He dressed simply in a black T, tight denim, and boots. Always a magnet for men (and women, for that matter), he didn't want to draw attention to himself; rather, he preferred to eye the possibilities inconspicuously.
Ordinarily 10:00 would have been too early for anyone interesting to be at the local leather bar, but this was a weeknight, and if guys were out on the prowl, they would be out early.
*******************
The bartender was the first to react. In a bar full of guys in T-shirts and jeans, the worn green flight suit stood out. The guy wearing it looked around the room, went directly to the bar, ordered a beer, and then just stood slightly to the side quietly surveying the room.
Ross looked him over. Sure the flight suit stood out, but there was something else. This was no military guy. Whatever was under that suit was black – and now that the light was right – shiny.
Rubber.
Ross had his mark.
Ross never cruised. Knowing he always got what he wanted, he was direct. Ross motioned to the guy to approach, and he immediately walked in Ross’ direction.
“Interesting suit.”
“Hi. My name’s Nick. Yeah, flight suits are comfortable.”
“I mean the rubber under it.”
The stranger grinned. “You noticed?”
“Yes, I did. I like guys in rubber. What else are you into?”
Trying for nonchalance in the face of the incredibly hot, masculine guy before him, Nick eyed Ross. Nick felt the sweaty rubber gripping his own cock and balls, thought for just a moment, and replied, “Tight, immobile bondage.”
Ross gave a quick, matter-of-fact response. “I can arrange that. How’d you get here?”
“Cab from the hotel.” Ross’s look drew out a further answer. “In town for business, a conference.
Came by train. Always travel with some gear……never know when I might get a chance to use it. I have to come back in two weeks for a longer trip and thought I’d see if there were any bondage opportunities here.”
Ross smiled. “I can show you some opportunities……you up for play tonight?”
Incredulous, Nick answered without hesitating. “Sure.”
*****************
Driving back to his place Ross planned what to do with his find. Tight, immobile bondage was what Nick wanted and what he would get.
But not in the dungeon. Ross wasn’t ready to introduce this stranger to his sanctuary. Besides, it wasn’t intended for one night players. The dungeon was for Tim, and a few other select bottoms who had earned bondage pig status.
Nick was horny. His hard dick was proof of that. They had walked to the hot guy’s truck, where his hands were cuffed behind his back and, once sitting in the passenger seat, shackles placed around his boots. Then, surprisingly, a rubber hood had been pulled quickly over his head, and he was gagged to top it off. This guy meant business! He hadn’t even offered to tell Nick his name! “Relax, the windows are tinted” was all he heard after the door closed. His dick was pushing hard against the rubber. Sure this was what he wanted, but who was this guy? What had he gotten himself into?
****************
Once back at his house, Ross decided not to stand on ceremony. He threw an extra mattress on the garage floor, in a work area normally reserved for John, and told Nick to walk straight ahead six steps. Ross enjoyed the clanking sound of the shackles. He uncuffed Nick, left his feet shackled, and told him to sit on the mattress.
“You are going to sit still with your eyes closed. I don’t want to hear a word from you while I change your hood and gag.”
Nick did as he was told. The hood was replaced with one with eyes and he was re-gagged. “Your dick is still hard. I like that. Since you want immobile, I want you to see your immobility.”
Nick watched him approach with what looked like a solid steel rod. Closer up he could see that it was actually four steel bars linked and hinged at the collar. Ross swivelled them open at the collar and closed the longest around his neck, the next two folded closed around his wrists, and finally –– after removing the shackles –– the last two were closed around the ankles of his boots. Ross then inserted a rod and a padlock locking them all together.
“You wanted immobile, so see how you like this” Ross said abruptly before walking out of Nick’s sight.
Nick’s back ached almost immediately from the awkward sitting position. His wrists were uncomfortable from the solid steel pressing into them. He was glad he had thought to wear his neoprene gloves. At least they provided some cushioning. Thinking to himself, he wondered, Who is this guy? What did I get myself into? My dick is hard. Why do I let it get me into these situations? His aching back focused him on the present. He realized that if he rolled onto his side, he would only have to deal with the ache of his wrists.
Nick flopped over and could not help squirming as he felt the warmth of his sweat squish around inside the latex suit. He wanted to squirm and rub his dick inside the codpiece, but, folded the way he was, he could not get the right angle. Finally, he just lay there. And ached. And sweated. And loved it.
From his den inside the house, Ross watched the garage on his video monitor as Nick rolled onto his side. He heard a few mumbled grunts through the gag but no sounds of panic. This one was doing OK. Not like Tim – Ross could have left his pig that way all night without a second thought – but this guy’s tentative compliance was fun. As Ross watched Nick squirm, he remembered how Tim had quietly endured several long nights in a similar predicament. Ross extracted and stroked his cock, imagining that instead of being home in his own apartment sick with the flu, Tim was bound, encased, and locked away in Ross’s dungeon. Ross felt like he was eating dessert without having had the main course: a pig in storage. A side dish of Brad, taking Ross’s cock into one of his holes, would have made it a perfect night. The idea of enjoying Nick while Tim sweated it out in isolation below brought Ross to a quick orgasm, discharging his horniness with a few strong, satisfying pumps of his hand. As the surges subsided, Ross heard Nick’s grunts increasing – just like his pig: trying to squirm his way to getting himself off. Ross hastily wiped off his cock, put it away, and headed to the garage to take care of Nick.
Nick moved his head as Ross came into sight. “Immobile enough for you?”
“eth er”
“What was that? I can’t understand you.”
“ETH …… ER”
“Wrong. You're squirming way too much. You need something different. Here's the scoop. I am going to release you. If you stay hard you get more bondage. Go soft, and I know you were just another pretend bondage pig and we are done for the night.”
Nick’s dick was rock hard –– almost pushing out through the top of the codpiece. He watched as the steel bars came off. He wanted out……but his dick just stayed hard. What was it about bondage –– the combination of rubber, sweat, and gear –– that got him going so?
“All free. Let’s unsnap the cover and see what the bondage indicator says.” As Ross unsnapped the codpiece Nick’s dick pushed right out. “Well, well. It wants more.”
“unh, unh.. O Ther,” Nick responded. But he made no real effort to move.
“Here’s the plan. Since you clearly want more and want immobile, I am going to add a straightjacket and give you a chance to sleep a bit. Then I will get you back to your hotel. Agreed?”
“Eth Er”
“Since your dick is hard I will take that as a ‘yes.’”
Ross put Nick’s arms into a leather straight jacket, one that was custom made with the smooth side in, to slide better against the rubber. Next, Ross added a spreader between Nick’s legs and then he proceeded to rope him down. He propped Nick’s head up just enough to allow him the ability to swallow. Then, for good measure, he replaced the rubber pecker gag with a wider but less deep ball gag.
On the one hand, Nick’s back didn’t ache any longer –– on the other, as he tried to wriggle around, he realized he really was immobile. Beyond moving his shoulders a bit from side to side there was not much he could do but a grunt. And when he felt Ross playing with his balls and dick, that’s just what he started doing.
“Keep still. I’m just making sure that every part of you is immobile.”
Nick tried to arch his back as something ice cold hit his cock. “Unhhhh... mmmpppphhhhhh.”
“Just softening your dick a bit so we can keep it from moving. Once I tie your balls off I’m done and you can nap.”
With that Ross loomed back over Nick’s field of vision. “Now, you are immobile. Enjoy.”
The lights went out. Nick squirmed and wriggled but really could not budge. Moving anything but his shoulders made him feel a tug on balls. He could feel his dick trying to get hard and pressing against something. He just kept going over in mind a series of thoughts: this feels great, how did I get myself into this, I’m so horny, I don’t even know this guys name, I want to cum, this feels great, how did I get myself into this...”
The night was passing. Nick knew that. He could feel the sweat pooling in the small of his back and periodically he would start counting his swallows. Beyond that he simply concentrated on withstanding it, quietly suffering as he enjoyed, and regretted, the torment.
******************
Hours later, early in the morning, Nick felt Ross working his balls again. He squirmed a bit and mumbled into the gag. Enough was enough.
He felt the ropes being untied and the ability to actually move his arms and legs again. Finally, he felt the gag being unbuckled. He could speak.
In spite of himself his first words were, “That was great, but I really need to get back to my hotel.”
Ross said he figured as much, threw him the flight suit, and told him to get dressed.
That was when Nick noticed that his cock and balls were locked up in a heavy plastic cage.
“Hey, what’s this? –– I really need to get going.”
“I like control. Think of it as a souvenir, something to keep your mind on how you spent the night. I’ll drop you at your hotel now. We’ll go in together. After I see you go up to your room, I’ll leave a package at the front desk. You are free to pick it up immediately, but if you’re a real bondage pig, you will wait until tonight to get it, when you return from your meetings and go up to your room.”
Succumbing to Ross’s hot presence and authoritative manner, and still horny, Nick let the night’s experience of good, sweaty bondage determine his answer. Smiling, he said “OK.”
***************
Up in his room, Nick was feeling refreshed after a shower and some coffee, but thoughts of how he had spent the night were working on his imprisoned cock. Minuted later, traveling downward, he noticed his reflection in the shiny brass door of the elevator and was glad that the plastic cage was undetectable under his khakis. On one hand, it would be kind of fun wearing a chastity device for a day. On the other hand, he wanted the assurance of being able to remove it if needed. He stopped at the desk and picked up his envelope. He could feel the key inside. Instead of proceeding to the conference, he returned to his room and ripped the envelope open.
He was ready to undo the damn thing and jerk off over the experience.
He pulled a note out –– but there was no key. Just a quarter.
There must be some mistake. He called the front desk to see if there was another package. No, just the one he had picked up. Nick was mentally kicking himself. Getting tied and locked up by a guy he didn’t know, and now this. He’d have to break it……but that might hurt…… he might cut himself……but he wanted out…… how could he be so stupid…… but the bondage had been good…… argh – I can’t even get hard in this thing!
Calming down a bit, Nick read the note.
“I didn’t say the package would include the key! You said you were coming back to town in two weeks. I think you will enjoy meeting my pig. Two weeks from tonight is coin night at the bar. Buy yourself a beer. I will be there at 10:00. Don’t bother to show up unless you keep the device intact.”
*************
As Ross began the short drive home, his cell phone started ringing, and Tim’s number appeared on the display. Ross was relieved to see that it was Tim calling. He missed having total control of his pig!
Ross answered, but instead of Tim’s voice, he heard muffled, frantic groans. Before Ross had a chance to respond, the connection went dead. Ross quickly called Tim back, but the voice mail system intervened after two rings. Tim did not answer.
Concerned by what he had heard, Ross made a quick U turn and headed in the direction of Tim’s apartment.
Waiting for Ross Returns #21
The purple head of Tim’s cock throbbed as he squeezed it. His right arm shook as he pounded his meat harder. Tim’s neck and shoulder were stiff from the repetitive motion. The cum/piss channel inside the shaft of his swollen, red dick burned as he pulled relentlessly, unable to stop the masturbatory action evoked by the images on his computer. Consumed by horniness and his unfettered ability to satisfy it, Tim didn’t care if he dislocated his shoulder or ripped his cock off, as long as he came one more time.
Sitting naked at his computer, aware of feeling chilled but choosing to ignore the odd sensation of rubber-free skin open to the air, Tim continued the jack-off frenzy as he studied the photos displayed on the computer monitor. Knowing that he was the anonymous-looking, hooded rubber slave pictured, Tim matched the images with the corresponding text and his own memories of each situation. Awestruck, Tim kneaded his cock as he studied the aborted “hog blog” Ross had made him begin and the photos Ross had just posted at the web site documenting Tim’s 10 day incarceration.
Earlier today, as Ross had driven Tim home to his own apartment, finally ending Tim’s imprisonment, Tim had thought he had never wanted anything more in his life than to be free forever of the captivity of Ross’s relentless rubber encasement, bondage, and control. Now, barely a few hours later, Tim hated himself for his reaction to the photos of the extreme restraint Ross had made him endure. His hard, overworked cock pulsated with excitement. Fuck! It was a cycle Tim had repeated before: Hating Ross for enforcing the inescapability of his captivity while it was happening, vowing never to see him again after it was over, and then getting so excited by pictures and memories afterward that he was eager for more. Tim promised himself that this time would be different. Ten days spent encapsulated in rubber, severely bound and locked in confinement had been too extreme. Tim would never let it happen again. Determined to get past his horniness, Tim felt certain that cumming one more time would cure him forever.
Tim alternately pumped his sore cock, pinched his nipples, and clicked through the perverted galleries showing Ross’s depraved exploitation of the captive rubber pig. The pictures were posted in five separate galleries; his cock erupting with thick gobs of pent-up cum, Tim had barely viewed galleries I and II before shooting his wad four times in succession. Galleries III and IV had prompted the fifth orgasm. Now that Tim, pumping wildly but unable to cum again so soon, had finally viewed Gallery V, he realized the pictures were posted in chronologic order. Trying to reconstruct the general sequence of events in his own mind, Tim felt confused. What happened during the first few days triggered vivid memories, some of which were described in the hog blog, but the predicaments making up the rest of Tim’s imprisonment, after he lost his regular break and blogging privileges, were indistinguishable in his mind, where they merged together into a huge, dark time block of immobilizing, sensory-depriving rubber encasement and isolating confinement. By the end of the 10 days he had been almost comatose with exhaustion from suppressing the agonizing desperation for release, and yet now he couldn’t stop his cock from wanting more!
Still determined to cum again, a sixth time, to rid himself of such thoughts, Tim massaged his painfully hard cock and studied one image in which the slave appeared particularly photogenic. From head to toe, the cocooned male form gleamed with the sleek, shiny blackness of impossibly skintight rubber. Tim suddenly realized that in viewing the photo, he was seeing himself from Ross’s point of view, standing over his totally encased rubber pig, sealed in rubber and trussed helplessly, exactly as Ross preferred. The rubber hood gripped so perfectly that Tim’s head looked skull-like, with the visible outline of his compressed ears tightly sealed in place and the only opening a small tube at the mouth, which Tim knew was part of the gag concealed underneath. In contrast to the long lines of the narrow sleepsack, the tightly encased rubber mummy was constricted by a wide, black rubber posture collar and multiple rubber belts encircling the molded cocoon from shoulders to ankles. Even in the picture the tightly fastened rubber straps looked extremely restrictive, and Tim’s cock further solidified as he correlated the image with the physical sensations he remembered. Tim thought about Ross’s distrust of rubber sleepsacks as a sole basis for inescapable bondage: “If the pig squirms vigorously enough, rubber can fail.” The rubber sleepsack in the photo, with its extra thickness and integrated reinforcing straps, was the only one Ross felt confident did not require an outer layer of leather in order to prevent escape. With recall of that knowledge, Tim’s engorged cock stiffened painfully straight as he rubbed his thumb over its inflamed head and pulled at the smoothly shaved root of the tender shaft. Although undetectable in the photo, Tim also knew that he was gagged, butt-plugged, catheterized, and sealed in another layer of rubber under the tight sleepsack.
As he worked his cock, Tim counted the six belts on the sleepsack and examined the wide bondage collar and its D rings, all plainly visible in the picture. Tim’s thoughts, reconstructing his incarceration as a horny memory, returned to the situation depicted. He remembered that Ross had later boasted that he had kept Tim that way for 2½ days. Studying the picture further, Tim knew that the entry into the sleepsack, through a set of rear zippers invisible in the picture, was probably fastened with a padlock. The small crotch level zipper in front, concealed by one of the straps, allowed Ross access to Tim’s urinary catheter, which Ross kept plugged except to drain Tim’s bladder, sometimes into Tim’s mouth, at varying intervals. Ross used the air tube extending from the concealed gag through the mouth hole of the hood for cautious infusions of fluid, water, piss, or Gatorade, to keep Tim hydrated. Careful preparation for 24 hours beforehand with enemas and a liquid diet had ensured that Tim’s ass could remain plugged for the duration of the encasement.
Tim recalled further details. About three or four days into Tim’s 10 days of ‘probation’ in Ross’s dungeon, Ross had changed the rules. After catheterizing Tim’s dick and discontinuing the blogging sessions as punishment for cumming without permission, breaks became fewer, and the time between breaks grew interminably. Afraid to make a peep after the severe punishment Ross had administered early on when Tim made noise without permission, Tim endured the longer stretches of uninterrupted confinement in silence. And Ross rewarded Tim by making them longer and longer, culminating in the 2½ days in the rubber sleepsack. Tim’s familiar mantra entered his head: “Fucking bastard.”
Tim clicked on other thumbnail photos in Gallery V to enlarge them and found that several of them, some with captions, documented his multi-day imprisonment in the rubber sleepsack.
The caption under the photo Tim had been studying read,
“Day 1 – Preparations completed: Tightly hooded, gagged, collared, locked in a sleepsack, sealed in 100% total rubber encasement, arms trapped inside inner sleeves, heavily bound outside with rubber belts from shoulders to ankles. All holes plugged underneath. The pig is in rubber bondage heaven.”
In the next photo, showing another view of the rubber sleepsack, Tim was standing in Ross’s vertical steel cage. The caption read,
“Day 1 – Contemplation: Forced to stand locked in the vertical cage, the pig slave endures in silence (as trained). The slave was left as shown for 12 hours to contemplate its love of rubber encasement.”
The next photo showed Tim, still strapped up tight in the rubber sack but lying inside a horizontal wooden enclosure with one side open to the camera. The caption read,
“Night 1 – Overnight storage: With no letup in the 12+ hours of tight encasement and bindings, the rubber slave has been transferred to a horizontal wooden box for overnight storage. The greedy pig can’t get enough. Sweet rubber dreams, pig.”
Tim thought, “Fucking bastard makes it seem like it was all my idea.” The next photo, without caption, showed the door of the box, closed with latches and padlocks.
Tim quickly read the captions for two more photos:
“Day 2 – Still wallowing in hog heaven in his rubber cocoon without break after 24 hours, the encasement pig is committed to solitary confinement in the isolation chamber, his favorite place to spend a day.”
“Night 2 and Day 3 – Still strapped tightly in his rubber cocoon at 36 hours and counting, the pig wants more, so it is enclosed in an outer leather sleepsack, attached to a hoist, and left suspended and ignored for an additional 24 hours. This pig can’t get enough! OINK!”
Tim studied the last photo showing his own mummified form, helplessly suspended in Ross’s dungeon closet, where Tim had spent up to 36 hours in previous bondage sessions waiting for Ross.
While this session had lasted only 24 hours, it had been excruciating for Tim, and now he better understood why - he had already been in the rubber sleepsack for 1½ days, and then Ross had put the leather one over top and left him that way for 24 hours more! “Fucking bastard. 'OINK' yourself.”
The burning sensation in Tim’s cock increased as Tim struggled to achieve the orgasm he thought would put an end to his interest in Ross forever. He was very close to cumming, as he had been several times before, but each effort, punctuated with ass clenching and pelvic thrusting, ended in frustration. Fuck! He just had to cum one more time.
Tim clicked on a picture he had not previously viewed at the very top of Gallery V. It was a photo of Ross, in full Rubber Master Regalia. Exuding brawn and ego, Ross posed standing with legs parted wide, hands on hips, biceps bulging, and a commanding, arrogant expression on his masculine, chiseled face. A sleeveless rubber tank top, under a rubber vest, tapered down Ross’s torso to a large belt and buckle, below which Ross’s prominent crotch and muscular thighs were encased by rubber jeans. The reflection of the camera flash on the stretched surfaces of the shiny black rubber emphasized the muscularity of Ross’s pectorals and quads. His face was framed top and bottom by a rubber military-style cap and dark goatee. His commanding posture, the tattoo and black band on the left arm, and the high black boots completed the hyper-masculine effect. The setting was his dungeon, with its dark background, a glimpse of a white urinal, and chains hanging from the ceiling.
At his feet, between his spread legs, was the familiar form of the encased slave, strapped up tight in his rubber sleepsack. In chalk-white letters, the word “pig” was visible on the rubber hood over the slave’s forehead. The photo perfectly captured Ross’s superiority, overpowering dominance, and absolute control of the bound rubber slut at his feet.
Tim moaned as he pounded his dick repeatedly.
Minutes later, exasperated that he still hadn’t cum, Tim stopped stroking his cock and took in more details of the photo of Ross and his rubber pig. Tim knew that wannabe rubber slaves, browsing Ross’s rubber site across the country, were probably salivating, groaning, pumping, and shooting cum all over this picture while they wished they were the pig encased and bound at Ross’s feet. Tim had to admit that Ross was devastating. His Rubber God persona, almost too fantastic to be true, was evident, yet Tim knew all too well he was the real thing. Tim wondered how many of the wannabes would be able to deal with the reality of Ross’s requirements: the extended bondage sessions, staying put, comfortable or not, no matter what, until Ross decided otherwise; the isolation and confinement; the unending head to toe rubber encasement; the total control of body and eventually mind, when you reach the stage where you never wanted anything more in your entire life than to be released.
“I’d be crazy to go back for more,” Tim thought, his cock poking up between his legs. Tim suddenly remembered the email from Ross, the one that had started this marathon jack off session. Tim had been so consumed with the galleries that he hadn’t really read the full text. He clicked on the folder and retrieved it:
“pig,
“Go to the URL above to see photos of ur 10-day stay in my dungeon. u hereby have my permission to enjoy them while I am out of town this week.
“I am pleased with the progress u made in these 10 days. u have finally learned to keep quiet, an essential quality if u expect to be my full time encasement pig. From now on, I will count on u to endure captivity in my dungeon in total silence, speaking only at my request, and remaining quiet otherwise, with no pathetic squealing or grunts of objection from ur little mouth, which will be gagged and sealed most of the time. u were very quiet during the ride home earlier today, and I take this as a sign of further compliance. From now on, on the rare occasions when u are in my presence outside the dungeon, such as in the car this afternoon, u will not speak without asking my permission, and u will keep ur head down, concentrating ur gaze at my feet unless I permit u to look up or elsewhere.
“We still need to work on cum training. u are such a bondage pig that ur greedy cock has been able so far to overcome all of the devices I’ve used to try to control it. While I would like to keep u catheterized permanently as one possible solution, in the long term this may not be healthy; plus, I fear the day when u will cum even while catheterized, which also may not be healthy. I am going to look into acquiring electrified shock or spike-lined devices, to deter ur pig’s cock, through use of pain, from seeking enough pleasure to cum while locked up. The goal is to achieve a physical and mental state in which u cum only when I permit it, and to achieve that perfect balance of allowing u to cum often enough to keep u healthy but seldom enough to keep u horny and craving the bondage u were born for.”
Tim grabbed his cock again, now rock hard, and pumped furiously as he continued to read Ross’s message:
“u should expect to have no free weekends from now on. Also, except for this week while I’m out of town, u will be ‘on call’ on weeknights, meaning that u will always be ready to respond to last minute orders from me to clear ur evening. This is part of our plan to continue progress toward 24/7/365 encasement, eventually moving u to full time slavery in my dungeon. I have already dropped hints with ur boss, my good friend Judy, that having u ‘work’ for me may simplify our relationship. I may check in with her this week with a phone call. I’ll be interested to hear from her or u as to whether ur coworkers like ur new ‘do’ – shaved heads are in style these days anyway.”
With his right hand hard at work on his cock, Tim rubbed his left hand over the stubble beginning to grow on his smooth scalp while he read the last paragraph:
“I will return on Friday. Be ready. u should be freshly shaved from head to toe, well cleaned out and corked with a fat butt plug. As soon as u finish work, go home and get encased in ur favorite rubber suit, with that big plug underneath, and wait in ur apartment for me. See u Friday, pig.
-R”
As though Ross were speaking aloud inside Tim’s head, Tim’s cock responded, erupting with an excruciatingly strong, quick orgasm that produced almost no cum. It seemed Tim had wanked himself dry.
An hour later in his bed, Tim’s mental agitation was winning out over the physical exhaustion that should have led to immediate sleep. Thinking about Ross and his staggering presumptions were keeping Tim awake. “Fucking egotistical ballsy bastard,” Tim said aloud. The 10-day stay in Ross’s dungeon had been really tough. Ross had been relentless with the tight bondage and solitary confinement. “Fucking bastard.” There had been countless times when Tim, alone for hours in Ross’s dungeon, had thought he was losing his mind, about to go crazy while waiting for Ross to give him some relief. And now Ross wanted him to live like that. “Not in this life,” Tim thought. Ross couldn’t be for real. But, just in case, Tim resolved to limit his time in Ross’s dungeon to what Tim wanted.
He had to overcome his reluctance to speak up and tell Ross that the 24/7 notion was unrealistic. Yes, at first he had wanted it, such a horny idea, but after the 10 day preview, now he wasn’t so sure. An arrangement made up of occasional weekends, maybe even some weeknights, would be enough. Tim would keep his job and his own apartment. And his hair!
While Tim lay in bed, eyes closed, trying to formulate his response to Ross’s email message, his mind, alert and active, insisted on reprocessing the events of the last 10 days. The galleries flashed in his head, showing hugely enlarged photos of the humiliated rubber pig, with their crude captions suggesting he was practically begging for more. The image of Rubber Master Ross towered over him, and the words in Ross’s email message, which it seemed Tim had memorized instantly, were recited automatically: “… part of our plan to continue progress toward 24/7/365 encasement… full time slavery in my dungeon.” Tim snorted, “NOT!” Ross couldn’t be serious. But Tim’s cock, hard again, was rigid against his stomach. “…deter your pig’s cock, through use of pain, from seeking enough pleasure to cum while locked up… keep you horny and craving the bondage you were born for.”
About to cum a seventh time since arriving home just hours earlier, Tim twisted in bed and groaned loudly as the painful orgasm took hold. Pinching his nipples, stretching out his legs, flexing his feet and pointing his toes, Tim enjoyed it to the fullest extent possible while he rolled from side to side and the spasms ran their course.
Minutes later, as he recovered from cumming, Tim began to feel totally relaxed, his cock finally satisfied. His anxiety about Ross dissipated, eased by the thought that he had all week to compose a reply to Ross’s ridiculous message. Convincing himself that Ross had been joshing, deciding to think about it later in the week, Tim fell into a deep sleep.
Waiting for Ross returns (continued) #22
Focusing instead on the sensations of his pulsating cock, Tim ignored the other parts of his body that were stiff and sore – mostly his neck, but also his right shoulder and arm, buttocks, thighs, and asshole. Three days of jerking off 5-10 times every 24 hours had taken a toll on Tim’s masturbation muscles!
Seated at his desk, Tim pushed forward in the chair. It was just past 8:30 PM. He had been home for 15 minutes. Mail unread, laundry everywhere, dishes in the kitchen sink: Tim was oblivious to the waiting chores in his apartment as he sat in front of his computer. Today, jerking off in a stall of the restroom at work, he had cum only twice since leaving his apartment this morning, and the resulting horniness was building up, especially now that he was finally home, all alone with his hard dick. Dropping it for a moment, Tim paused to roll his head from side to side as he massaged his neck. Absentmindedly, he rubbed his hand against the stubble over his scalp. His cock throbbed at the reminder of his shaved head.
Riveted to his computer for the third night in a row, Tim was no longer mesmerized by the array of images depicting his recent rubber imprisonment in Ross’s dungeon. Yes, the photos of the rubberized victim, always severely bound and encased head to toe, still produced unending hard-ons. And no, he hadn’t lost interest in studying every detail, at which he marveled when contemplating the fetishism that addicted him to Ross. In fact, earlier tonight, anxious to get home to browse the galleries for the 100th time, he had rushed through his after-work visit to the gym and subsequent dinner with his parents. A similar state of affairs had also occurred the night before, when he had hit the gym in an exercise fury and then shortened his dinner with Brad, who had annoyed Tim with teasing remarks about his ‘hot new do’ and questions about Ross.
“Fuck,” Tim said aloud. Tim struggled to clear his mind of memories of Brad’s probing comments and the look on his mother’s face as she tried not to stare at his baldness. And, he did not want to think about how difficult it had been this week to concentrate on his responsibilities at work. The 7-day absence, followed by showing up with a shaved head, had elicited unwanted notice by his coworkers, and his boss Judy had been very quiet toward him. Plus, he had been spending a lot of time in the men’s room, where he worked hard to satisfy his perpetually hard cock, instead of in his office, where he should have worked hard to get his assignments done.
Tim tried to snap out of his reverie. His pectoral and ass muscles, hurting from the quick, heavy weightlifting of the preceding days, ached as he stretched and shifted in his chair.
Momentarily diverting his eyes from the rubber-hooded slave on his computer monitor, Tim looked down at the part of his body that usually controlled his thoughts: Demanding his attention, Tim’s cock rose up from the open zipper of his pants; it pumped independently, living its own life, eagerly seeking direct stimulation, telling Tim it was time again to charm the snake. With a mixture of disgust and horniness, Tim closed his hand around his sore, painfully stiff cock and squeezed. It looked and felt like the biggest boner he had ever experienced.
While Tim had not grown tired of viewing the pictures that documented his 10 days of service as Ross’s rubberpig, he had found that the continual self manipulation and beating off of the last 3 days satisfied him only briefly each time; 20-30 minutes post orgasm, his cock was always ready for more. In other words, Tim was dying of horniness. The constant pounding and repeated tossing off had become poor substitutes for the rubber-sealed bondage and control Ross had obliged Tim to endure.
Furious at Ross initially when released, now, after only 3 days of freedom, Tim wanted to go back to the real thing. Wanking at galleries was not enough. His plans and efforts to move beyond the compulsion for rubber enslavement that Ross had activated were failing. The exhilarating freedom and sense of survival following his 10-day ordeal were fading in the heat of his current desires. His huff over Ross’s audacity, treating Tim for 10 days like some kind of rubber bondage robot, had passed. Imagining he was back in Ross’s dungeon – helplessly bound, gagged, sealed and locked away in a desolate purgatory of waiting for Ross – Tim pumped furiously until his cock exploded, erupting with enough cum to land on the keyboard, coat his hand, and stain his jeans.
An hour later, Tim was back at it, sitting naked at his desk and choking the chicken. So soon after cumming, however, there was less urgency to satisfy his cock as quickly. Rocking in place gingerly in the chair to grind the largest butt plug he owned deeper into his ass, Tim enjoyed riding the gentle wave of horniness enveloping him. The plug, being too big for regular wear, under normal circumstances would have resulted in instant orgasm upon insertion. With Tim’s current state of sexual overdrive, however, the super-sized discomfort merely engorged Tim’s dancing cock, which felt to Tim like it was directly connected to the plug underneath.
Tim jiggled his ass on the huge plug, and his smooth cock bounced up, full and hard, over top of the thick rubber stretcher squeezing his shaved balls. The weights attached to his nipple clamps bobbed.
Having been merciless with plugging himself at both ends, Tim sucked the saliva awkwardly to the back of his throat and swallowed hard to avoid drooling around the oversized gag he had strapped in place. Playing with his cock intermittently, Tim browsed the pictures and tried to ignore the nagging concern that entered his mind now that he was no longer totally consumed by horniness: He hadn’t heard from Ross since Sunday. Tim had been in such a snit when Ross drove him home that Tim hadn’t even tried to find out why Ross would be out of town or where he was going.
Aware that his use of the same ISP as Ross allowed him to check the status of messages, Tim clicked on his SENT folder and checked the two email messages, one sent last night and the other this morning. The system showed that Ross had opened both, and yet Tim had received no response. Tim reread the messages:
------------------------
Sir,
Thanks for the email message with instructions and photos. Sorry I did not respond sooner. Hope your trip is going well. Also left a message on your cell phone.
Tim
------------------------
Sir,
Getting ready for work this morning and just thought I’d touch base. Have been enjoying the photos! (Oink) Hope to hear from you soon.
Tim
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Tim wondered why Ross would read the messages but not respond. He composed a third message and clicked SEND:
Sir,
Your pig is out of its mind with horniness and wishes it were sealed in rubber bondage in Your dungeon all week, left to squirm and sweat while waiting for You to return. Can’t wait until the weekend!
pig
Tim’s cock, at full hardness, was leaking – precum or old cum? – Tim had been masturbating so much he could no longer distinguish between the two. He returned his gaze to the gallery. Taking in the full extent of activities and time span represented by all of the photos that were posted, Tim was impressed with how closely Ross had monitored Tim’s progress during the 10-day ordeal. While he had been encased and sealed up, bound tight and squirming in discomfort, unable to see or hear external stimuli, isolated and locked away, Tim had often regretted the situation bitterly, feeling angry and abandoned; thinking Ross was unreasonable; fretting that he would overheat, dehydrate, suffocate, or be permanently damaged. And yet it seemed obvious from the photos that Ross would never have let such things happen. It was clear that Ross, or one of his friends, had been closely caring for and watching over Tim the entire time. Ross had taken their shared rubber bondage fantasies to new levels – fuck, he had even surpassed them – in what now, in retrospect, appeared to be a realistic and safe manner! As hellish as the extreme, prolonged bondage had seemed to Tim at the time, Tim had to admit to himself that he felt fine and healthy; the only aftereffect was unrelenting horniness, leading him to want more! A sense of ungratefulness, unaccompanied by feelings of guilt, descended over Tim. He wished Ross would respond to his messages.
Scanning the photos for the umpteenth time, Tim’s attention was drawn to a file he had not noticed before, posted next to the gallery photos. Was the file, named “rubberpig in storage,” new? Or, had he simply overlooked it before, in a frenzy of horniness? His cock bobbing with excitement, Tim clicked quickly to open it, which activated the video player on his computer.
He would have gasped if his mouth were not stuffed full and stretched wide by the huge gag. Beating his cock while he squirmed on the massive plug and moaned around the gag, Tim watched the movie play on his computer monitor: A slim, muscular male, his appealing body totally encased in a skintight rubber catsuit, stood submissively at attention, with his head bowed in a slave-like pose.
The camera panned into close-ups of a spreader bar locked between his ankles, a harness restraining his hands behind and high on his back, and a view of his head, sealed tightly inside a rubber hood with no openings except a tube at the mouth. The camera lingered for a few seconds at the mouth; with the audio, Tim could hear air enter and exit through the tube. Then the camera faded out of focus, transitioning to a scene that showed a zipper opened at the crotch of the slave’s catsuit, where it exposed a chastity device. The next few scenes, all focusing on similar frontal views, had obviously been skillfully edited to show the change from removal of the chastity device to the installation of a spike-lined pouch over the slave’s rapidly expanding cock and balls. Panning close-ups front and rear visually communicated that straps around the waist, through the ass crack, and over top of the butt-plugged hole were fastened tightly, trapping the slave’s compressed cock and balls within the encasement of the spiked jock before the catsuit was again zipped closed.
A pause in the sequence showed the slave flexing his knees, with accompanying audio indicating panting and moaning muffled by the rubber hood. The slave’s discomfort in adjusting to his new jock was obvious. Watching the video, Tim moaned through his own gag in enjoyment of the rubber victim’s torment.
Fading in and out from one shot to the next to signify sequential steps, the video then proceeded to document removal of the outer restraints and addition of a second layer of black latex, which enclosed the slave in a tightly molded rubber sleepsack, eventually sealed from head to toe with zippers and straps.
Tim continued stroking his cock as the video progressed forward to a point when the slave’s metamorphosis was complete: The tightly-muscled, rubber-catsuited male standing upright at the start of the video had been transformed into a prone, hogtied rubber mummy; supplementing the mummifying encasement of the rubber sack, the knees were bent and legs pulled back by straps connecting the slave’s restrained ankles to the top of his head, where a harness was fastened over the rubber hood and a thick collar encircled his neck. For about 20 seconds or longer, the camera remained still, capturing the squirming slave’s humiliating attempts to wiggle free from the arched position and shift the weight of his body off his crotch. With the time devoted to the scene, it seemed apparent that the cameraman was enjoying this particular sequence. As the picture finally started to dissolve, the struggling slave had managed to lean partially to one side, where he remained still, apparently resting; with a whoosh of air audible on the video, he appeared to sigh as deeply as the restraints and breathing tube allowed, as though in a state of acceptance of his uncomfortable predicament.
Whacking himself furiously, riding the butt plug, on the verge of cumming, Tim thought the movie was over, but the picture came back into view: The camera fade-in revealed that the hogtied rubber mummy had been transferred intact to the inside of a horizontal wooden box. Pulling back to show a lateral view of the open container, the camera then zoomed in on attachment points where the slave was immobilized by tethers to the front, top, and bottom sides of the box, the floor space of which allowed just enough room for him to rest on his stomach, on which he was trapped rigidly in place in the hogtie position. The last scene showed an anonymous, gloved hand closing the box, with the hogtied mummy inside disappearing from view. The camera zoomed back slightly, showing the gloved hand inserting padlocks into latches, and then the camera backed away further, giving a wider view of Ross’s dungeon. The video ended with the box in the distance as the dungeon light was turned off.
His right hand busily pumping, on the brink of allowing the meat-pounding to pass the point of no return, Tim reacted with a startle response as the noise of the telephone on his desk interrupted his wild masturbation. The caller ID showed Ross’s cell phone number. Tim let go of his cock and pulled madly at the straps and gag to get it out in time to answer the phone. Choking on the pooled saliva and sputtering into the phone, Tim cleared his throat and said, “Hello… um, Sir.”
Ross responded: “Hi, pig. What’s all that choking and coughing? Are you sick?”
“No, Sir. Um… My mouth was full when the phone rang.”
Ross chuckled and said, “Well, coincidentally, just before I called I was thinking of your mouth, as I aimed my cock at the toilet and took a long, noisy piss.”
Remaining silent, Tim felt his face coloring with humiliation. Tim was embarrassed to hear Ross talk about him like he was a toilet, and yet he knew that his cock fed on the idea of the control it represented. He stroked it, smeared precum over its head and then sucked the rest off his thumb as he heard Ross’s authoritative voice continue in his ear.
“What were you drinking, pig – your own piss, since you are temporarily deprived of mine?”
Tim was getting annoyed. He took his thumb out of his mouth and spoke up: “No, Sir. Um… I wasn’t drinking anything.”
As though sensing and enjoying Tim’s discomfiture, Ross sounded amused and playful. “Well, if not piss, then what was your mouth full of, pig?”
Tim hesitated. He was embarrassed to admit that he had gagged himself, and yet he knew Ross had a way of interrogating him about details, penetrating his thoughts, and exerting control whenever Tim tried to hide something. Tim cleared his throat again, swallowed and sighed. “I had a big gag in my mouth, Sir. I was so horny I put it in myself.”
Tim heard Ross’s deep, masculine voice take on an encouraging tone. “Excellent. Glad to hear it. My pig should be gagged as often and long as possible. Is there any other gear in place on my cute pig’s humpy little slave body?”
Tim smiled. Ross rarely complimented him on anything. Hearing Ross say “my cute pig” and admit he regarded Tim as “humpy” instantly extinguished Tim’s irritation.
Tim answered freely, almost proudly: “A huge butt plug, a ball stretcher, and nipple clamps.”
Ross suddenly barked through the phone in an imposing voice, “Hands off your cock, pig!”
Startled by the change in tone, Tim quickly let go of his cock, but then laughed at himself. “I really miss you, Sir.”
“How many times have you jerked off so far this week?”
“I don’t know. A lot. I lost track.”
“Sounds like you’ve had far too much freedom, pig. I thought you needed time this week to ponder your place in my life, but now I see I underestimated your interest in being my pig. Maybe I’ll have to devise a way to keep you busy the next 2 days.”
Tim wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that. “I was just looking at the pictures and thinking about you. That’s all.”
Ross’s voice became even deeper, taking on an intensely sexual emphasis. “Yes, so it seems. I just read your latest email. I am glad to hear you’re looking forward to being under my control this weekend, but I wish I had known before I left town that you wanted to stay in my dungeon while I’m gone. It could have definitely been arranged. You’d be bound, sealed in gear, plugged, tubed and under control right now, waiting for me for days, all locked up and alone, well on your way to becoming the 24/7 encasement pig I want full time for my dungeon. A week sealed, bound, and all alone in my dungeon with me out of town would have been excellent training for you.”
Afraid it would explode on its own, Tim stared at his cock and stifled a moan. Yet, intruding on his horniness, a nagging doubt entered his mind. “Sir, would that be realistic? Safe?”
Ross gave an amused snort. “Absolutely. I have very effective methods of monitoring you, and friends who would be glad to ‘baby sit’ without you even knowing about it until they alter your restraints, feed you, or piss into your mouth at my instruction. And remote systems are in place, monitoring and surveillance, alarm and sprinkler systems, other setups and arrangements. You’d be very secure and protected, with everything under my control, even when I’m miles away. And if anything did go wrong, you’d be rescued. I take very good care of my possessions, especially my rubber toys, and that’s what you’d be.”
Ross’s voice and words sounded so assuring. Tim wanted to jerk off badly. Tim asked, “But is it reasonable to be tied up all the time?”
Ross explained. “Not without close supervision. Right now, you’re still in a training phase, requiring some form of bondage and encasement in rubber 99.9 percent of the time, but that doesn’t mean you won’t exercise and be kept healthy and clean. Later on, the conditions of your captivity may change somewhat. You’ll have chores and duties to attend to as my slave. No one can live tied up 100% of the time forever, even a bondage pig like you. While I’m still breaking you in, though, the solitude and bondage will be extreme at times, very challenging physically and emotionally, but you already know that and keep coming back for more, bondage pig that you are. It’s not bondage until you want out. And I’ll give you plenty of wanting out!”
Tim could no longer resist. He grabbed his cock and pumped. Practically groaning as he said it, Tim blurted out, “Sir, I want to be your pig, and I’m gonna cum!”
“If you cum, I’ll hang up!”
Tim stopped himself just in time. Trying to catch his breath, he attempted to remedy the situation. He panted into the phone and said breathlessly, “Okay. I stopped. Sorry. I promise not to unless you say I can. I do want to be your pig, though.”
Ross taunted Tim: “Then why are you expressing doubts? And why are you being disrespectful, talking on the phone to me without being encased in rubber?”
Dying of horniness but disconcerted by Ross’s comment, Tim squeezed his cock. “Sir?”
Adopting a serious tone, Ross started giving orders. “Put down the phone, strap the gag back in place, take off the nipple clamps, then pick up the phone, and grunt once.”
Tim complied quickly, trying to ignore the fire ignited in his pecs and hastily inserting the huge gag and pulling the straps tight. He picked up the phone and put the receiver against the gag. “Mmph.”
“Outstanding, pig. Oink once for ‘yes’ and twice for ‘no.’ Understand?”
“Mmph.”
“We’ve had a nice little chat tonight, but you’ll find that such opportunities will be rare in the future. I prefer to hear you communicate in pig mode only, with oinks, and only then when I give permission. Is your digital camera operational, pig?”
Tim had to think about it for a few seconds before responding positively. “Mmph.”
“Good. I want lots of pictures of you while I’m away. Listen carefully. After I hang up, set up the tripod and use the camera’s timer, the self-portrait feature to take a photo of yourself as you are now. Then, leave the gag, stretcher, and plug in place, and get yourself all situated in your catsuit, the one from London with the hood and gloves attached. When you are finished suiting up, take another photo showing yourself in rubber, and then send both photos to me by 10:30. I’ll call you after I get the pix. You should remain encased, waiting by the phone for me. I expect you to pick up on the first ring and give me an oink. Don’t disappoint me, pig.”
Tim grunted into the phone, but Ross did not respond; he had disconnected.
Twenty-three minutes later, Tim sat at his desk, trying to focus on the computer keyboard through the pinhole eyes of the catsuit’s hood. With the combination of the lube he had used to get the catsuit on quickly and the sweat that had already started to accumulate under it, Tim’s slimy, gloved fingers, glistening with slickness, kept hitting the wrong keys. He fumbled madly, cursing himself for taking Ross so seriously. Yet, he met the deadline, sending the email with its attachments at 10:29. The phone rang soon after.
“Mmph.”
“That’s much better, pig. I want you in total rubber encasement, with no skin showing, whenever you read my email or take a phone call from me while I’m away this week. While you were suiting up, I’ve been composing some messages for you. I will send the first one shortly after I hang up. Each will have a unique subject line indicating exactly what time you are to open it, which I expect you to do at the appointed hour and minute, no earlier and no later. You will be required to follow all instructions in each message in order to earn the privilege of being under my control this coming weekend. If you screw up, the weekend plans are off. Now let me hear an oink indicating you heard me before I hang up.”
Tim had heard, but he wasn’t sure he completely understood. “Mmph.”
“Night, pig.”
Tim felt a mixture of relief and disappointment. Part of him wanted the sound of Ross’s voice in his ear to continue. On the other hand, though, the conversation and the hurried efforts to get the catsuit on, photograph himself and send the pictures, all had exhausted him, and he was looking forward to taking everything off, especially the plug and gag, so that he could jerk off and go to bed.
As he started to unzip the catsuit, Tim tried to remember what Ross had said: “… want you in total rubber encasement… whenever you read my email or take a phone call from me…” Ross had said there would an email soon after he hung up.
Tim groaned into the gag. Silently, he said to himself, “Okay, I’ll wait until I read the email.” Feeling silly, Tim re-closed the zipper, signed on to his email quickly and checked his inbox. There was one message from Ross, and the subject line read, “10:50.”
Impatient and feeling foolish, Tim waited for 5 minutes until the exact time of 10:50, and then opened the message.
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pig,
I’ve designed a nice little series of exercises to keep u busy tonight, and perhaps tomorrow night too.
To reiterate the ground rules, u must open each message exactly at the assigned time – our use of the same email service provider allows me to track this. If u fail, plans for the weekend are off. Each message u receive from me will include a specific instruction to photograph urself while performing or after following a certain directive.
The catsuit u are wearing now is ur base layer; it will stay in place all night, with ur ass plugged and mouth gagged as they should still be now. When a message instructs u to add more rubber, the additional piece should stay in place in successive photos unless I tell u otherwise. I envision encasing u in at least two or three more suits, a larger catsuit plus wet and dry suits, building the layers of latex as the night goes on. u might be instructed to add ur posture collar, a second or third hood, ur rubber muzzle, rubber body harness, thick latex gloves, rubber waist cincher – hell, u could end up with all ur gear in place by morning! I might have u photograph urself while u assume a particular position, open crotch/ass zippers to show the plug is still in place, or some other task suitable for a rubber pig.
For each task, unless I specify a different time frame in the message, u must respond within 5 minutes with the required photo proving u have followed orders.
As I said, this exercise is designed to keep u busy tonight, under my control while I’m away, like u said u wanted. u should count on staying alert, signed on to your computer and on the lookout all night for new messages while u are between photo sessions. I used the automatic send feature to schedule the times when my messages will be sent by the system, so that the computer is programmed to transmit them all by itself while I relax comfortably or sleep in bed.
I will check ur responses carefully tonight and tomorrow morning, to ensure u have followed each instruction promptly, filling my inbox with photos of ur rubber adventures right through the night.
Time for u to get started, pig. Strap ur rubber head harness on over ur hood and gag; then do a full frontal shot and send it to my inbox by 11:00.
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Tim groaned loudly through the gag. “Fucking bastard,” he thought. Tim checked the time; he had less than 5 minutes to look for the harness, strap in on, and then complete the task of taking and sending the picture. Nervous and sweaty, about to enter into personality disorder mode, Tim felt ambivalent about what to do next. One of his multiple personalities wanted to lead him away from Ross, putting an end to the entire Ross scenario, present and future. This part of Tim reasoned that, while it had been fun for a few months to dissociate and spend all his “free” time tied up and encased in a hot rubberman’s basement, he should now return to the real world, a ‘normal’ life of work, family, friends, and relationships where he was an equal. He should turn off his computer, divest himself of the fetish apparel, and go to sleep like a ‘regular’ person who has to wake up early for work the next day.
The other part of Tim’s dual identity, the inherent rubberpig inhabiting his mind and connecting his psyche directly to his surging cock, wanted to lead him further into Ross, past the point of no return, where Ross’s desire for 100% control would be fully realized.
Tim considered what that would mean tonight: Staying awake all night, sealing himself under layer after layer of rubber, and documenting the process with photos – all while Ross slept comfortably. Tim thought, “I’d have to be crazy with horniness to go along with that.”
An image flashed into Tim’s mind: Tim pictured himself as had been months ago, before Ross – he was Brad’s partner, surrounded by friends and family who doted on them, building his career and their network of friends and interests, enjoying the essence of open gay life. As that image faded, a second one came into focus: Tim pictured himself as he had been last week, a rubber prisoner in a basement – he was Ross’s pig, the gagged, plugged, jock-spiked, latex-sealed rubber mummy in the video, sleepsacked and hogtied, boxed and abandoned, left to squirm in the dark discomfort of rubber isolation and immobility, a human rubberworm.
Tim realized the contrast of the two images symbolized his impending choice, and his indecision. He squeezed his latex-gloved right hand over his rubber-encased crotch. He pressed down hard, squashing his enlarging cock with his palm. Trapped at an awkward angle and compressed uncomfortably inside the tight latex of the rubber catsuit, Tim’s cock stiffened further, in apparent enjoyment of Tim’s torment. The root of his being, the cause of all his rubber troubles and source of all his rubber passion, it pulsed against Tim’s palm with each heart beat, reminding him that seconds were passing, and time was running out...