By Immobilesub
Adam’s legs were getting sore. Actually, it was more his calves and feet that were feeling most under pressure. Worse than that, it wasn’t as if he didn’t know how long he’d been stuck there – he knew exactly how long it had been. Six hours, and twenty-eight minutes give or take a minute or two. He’d had other things to concentrate on at first, so he wasn’t sure of the precise time at which this marathon had started.
By his reckoning, that meant another hour and a half, if he was lucky, before an end might be in sight. Ninety minutes wouldn’t be that bad, not compared to what he’d been through already. No problem at all; piece of cake; walk in the park. Walking! Ha! That was funny; that’s exactly what he couldn’t do. Even though his legs ached as though he’d been walking all day, he’d not in fact taken a single, untrammelled step since he got here nearly two days earlier.
Catching sight of the clock again he sighed loudly, suddenly irritated by his predicament; anxious to ease the almost searing aching of his leg muscles, and frustrated at being so simply and yet effectively held in a position which offered him so little opportunity to escape. The clock, the fucking clock! Without that, he would’ve been able to control the frustration, or the more and more frequent fits of struggling he felt compelled to go through. But its presence, perfectly centred above the door and directly square onto his view of vision irked him more than anything else he was enduring.
It was the way in which he couldn’t evade it. As he hung his head, panting, recovering after each desperate struggle, it was still there, with its incessant ticking, telling him just how little time had passed.
As the day had begun, the sunlight had shone almost straight in through the windows making the room seem light and airy. Morning gave way to afternoon, and as afternoon drifted lazily by outside, inside the room grew shadier and progressively murkier. Now, it was dingy and felt stuffy and small. At first he’d felt more trapped by his bonds, but now as the day wore on, the failing light made the room seem like it was closing in on him, gradually tightening and assuring his confinement.
Still, for all that, he had not given in. He had not broken, not so far, not yet. He still continued to writhe when he could no longer control his angst, when it welled up inside him and made him resist. But it did no good. He was never any freer or better off afterwards. It only made him sweat more and ache more, and – despite his increasing anxiety – progressively hornier.
The room’s stuffiness, which at times now felt as though it might suffocate him at any moment, was not due to the sweat pouring off him. Had he known just how slick with sweat he would get, he may have been less eager to get put into this position. As it was, every drop of sweat he’d worked hard to produce over the last six and a half hours was still with him. Rather, the room was now filled with the heady scent of the rubber that enclosed him, that bound and covered him entirely. That had covered him, from head to toe since he was sealed into it that morning.
Right now, he was, as he had been for six-hours and thirty-seven minutes stood in the middle of a room now drab with the lack of clear light. Stood, upright in its very centre. Nothing else to look at, nothing else around him, just the door through which his jailer had left, the clock above it. And him, stood there, fixed in position.
Rising from the floor-boards immediately below him was a tall, steel pole about three inches in diameter. He had seen it up close earlier on whilst being wrestled into the outer rubber layer; his face pressed hard into the floor. It shone, perfectly polished - he could see the distorted reflection of his rubbered face in it, and that of the man on top of him, pulling at the straps down his back, grunting and shoving him roughly, getting the pinions ratcheted to their optimum tightness.
He could not see it now, but every sinew of muscle he had knew it was still there. He remembered the beat his heart had missed in relief when he saw that it was not the pole itself that was going to be embedded inside him – that would’ve been unmanageable. Or at least, it had seemed unmanageable then. Right now, impaled on the tapered rubber dildo fixed on top of it, inexorably sinking further onto its firm warm girth, he wasn’t so sure that the three inches of the pole itself would be that much trouble in the future.
Each tussle, each tug against his bonds, every time he tried to shift his weight from one foot to the other, only served to make the dildo fuck him more. Slowly moving its head around inside him, pushing against his prostate, tormenting his cock which had for the most part been stood out solidly the entire time. Whenever he struggled particularly hard and fought to ignore the intense working over the dildo gave his ass, he only managed to settle further down onto it whilst it forced stream after beaded stream of precum out of his cock. That was the other scent that filled his senses; the growing pool of his own denied orgasm collecting on the floor in front of him. On the floor in front of him, between him and the door, between him and the clock, between him and his freedom hopefully less than ninety minutes away.
Some time had been spent getting the pole and hole-stretching dildo to the right height before he had been left to it. At first he thought it might not be too bad. His ass was filled, definitely, but his feet were firmly on the floor and, with some luck, he might’ve been able to keep fucking himself with it by rising up onto his toes and down again. But things were not going to turn out that way.
Once seated on the dildo and busy having a first shuffle around inside his rubber layers, he at once almost thought he was going to lose his balance and fall over when his left foot was grabbed and pulled off the floor. For an agonisingly long wait his whole body was held up by his ass and the other foot which began to tremble either thru exertion or fear that he may suddenly plunge full-force onto just the plug and his hole.
The foot was down on the floor again – relief. But just as suddenly unstable again as now the other foot was grabbed and pulled up away from the safety of the sure wooden floor boards. The same process, although this time he was alert enough to what was happening to realise what was now being done to him.
Both ankles were now securely fastened to either end of a metal spreader bar – he judged it to be about a metre in length and wasn’t far wrong. The discomfort this caused was not so much the amount by which they were spread, but rather due to the effect this had on him being able to support his weight thru his feet. Instead of both being flat on the floor either side of the pole, they were now far enough apart to make it possible only to hold himself up on the balls of his feet.
The rubberised ring-gag wedged solidly just behind his teeth only allowed him to voice his surprise and discomfort via a series of guttural, spittled barks. These grunts had been earnest enough, but took on a more urgent note as soon as the bar was lengthened, his legs now seriously spread apart, his toes barely touching the floor at all. It felt as though he were pivoting on just his ass, his feet and legs now slipping one way then the other as he tried in vain to find some better footing, to hold himself steady – anything to relieve the pressure from the rubber that impaled him.
The only help he got from his captor was a brief hand on each shoulder to steady him and keep him facing forward.
Staring out from behind the pinprick holes in the outer hood, he knew the look in his eyes could not be seen, but still he put every ounce of feeling he had into looking straight into his jailor’s eyes. He looked back at his enclosed, sealed and encapsulated prisoner, his hands gently resting on his shoulders holding him steady.
His face was set, a stern, but concentrated look as he held the gaze through the dehumanising rubber form. Then, a smile crept across his face. Broadening by the second, at first Adam thought he was just pleased with his work. But the corners of his mouth turned, making the smile into a malevolent grin. A rising anxiety made Adam jerkily checking his position; pulling and twisting his arms held fast in the rubber, flexing his twice covered feet to gain purchase on the floor, pulling slightly backwards, as much as he could, out of the grip of the man that owned his freedom.
The grin changed instantly to a grimace of force and strength as the steadying effort of his hold on Adam’s shoulders turned into a sudden and effective shove downwards onto the widening plug.
Adam’s eyes widened at the sudden pain of slipping fractionally further down the invading rubber in his ass, yet he gave no sound other than a forced, hot breathed sigh. This first movement downwards was only the first of many to look forward to over the coming hours as he fought to cope with his situation.
As the sweat which has fallen into his eyes as they widened cleared, he now saw only the empty room in front of him. Sure, his feet were now a little closer to being comfortably flat on the floor, a little closer, but he already ached.
Not yet alone with his suffering, he felt his owner’s arms around his waist, his body pressed up against his back holding him tightly. A reassuring, grip, one to see him through the pain ahead. His owner’s mouth at his slender, rubber taut neck, kissing and licking it; his arms now moving up his chest and around his nipples far below, beneath and buried by the thick layers of rubber.
Now his face side by side with his own, whispering to him, telling him how he looked, telling him how hot he looked, taunting him with how much he’d wanted this, torturing him with how tough the day ahead would be.
Holding firm onto his slave’s hard cock with one hand, maintaining the hold around his waist with the other, pressing his own body up close to the warming rubber of his captive’s body from the back, he continued to describe his imprisonment as he slowly and careful stroked his now achingly hard dick.
Slowly. Back. Slowly, forward. Stop. Again, stroking it slowly, tightly gripping it, forcing the drops of precum out and forming the first streams of it falling onto the floor. All the time whispering, talking, describing how horny he was, how horny he would stay, how securely he was held and would be held, how fucked he was, how alone he would be with just the rubber, the thickening plug, and his throbbing aching cock.
And he stopped. He let go of his slave’s dick, and wiped his hand down the rubber chest, making sure to catch his left nipple on the way.
Adam was fixed in position, held on the end of the dildo on the metal pole. His body wrapped tightly in layer after layer of rubber. The first layer was a thin, one-piece suit with an open faced hood which he wore quite often, it slid onto him perfectly with only a thin coating of lube to help out. Over his smooth shaved head he loved the feeling of it when he first put it on, cool and snug.
The second layer had been a real struggle, it would’ve been impossible to get himself into it; a thick rubber suit that enclosed him everywhere – hands, feet, everything up to the neck and finished just below his chin. It clung to him tightly, more so as the heavy duty zip was pulled up the back and padlocked in position. At first breathing took a little getting used to due to the added pressure of this suit on his neck, but he got used it gradually, or when he had other things grabbing his attention.
By themselves, these two suits made it hard to move about. They were a form of bondage that needed no further restraint. The times when he’d been forced into further layers had shown him just how immobile enclosure could be.
The outer hood was next. A large, flapping bulk of rubber that pulled over his head and down over his shoulders and upper chest. With the strait-jacket fitted on top, it ensured a perfect seal over his entire body. A strait-jacket tightened by repeatedly heaving up on the straps, forcing Adam’s own weight to pull them tighter.
The only openings were the zippers at the crotch, leaving his cock, balls and ass free; the gaping mouth hole giving easy access to his wide stretched ring-gagged mouth and the tiny holes at the eyes on his outer hood. Sealed and trapped, he was reduced to the status of a smooth, rubber captive, held fixed on the pole. Held without the chance of escape, but free enough to wriggle and writhe to heighten the suffering caused by his predicament.
In front of him again, Adam saw his owner holding the final piece of his restraint – the tall stiff leather posture collar that would prevent him looking down at his eager, but inaccessible cock. Instead he would have to watch each tiny part of the day measured out on the clock, ticking away his slow but steady progress down onto the plug.
Adam’s legs were getting sore. Actually, it was more his calves and feet that were feeling most under pressure. Worse than that, it wasn’t as if he didn’t know how long he’d been stuck there – he knew exactly how long it had been. Six hours, and twenty-eight minutes give or take a minute or two. He’d had other things to concentrate on at first, so he wasn’t sure of the precise time at which this marathon had started.
By his reckoning, that meant another hour and a half, if he was lucky, before an end might be in sight. Ninety minutes wouldn’t be that bad, not compared to what he’d been through already. No problem at all; piece of cake; walk in the park. Walking! Ha! That was funny; that’s exactly what he couldn’t do. Even though his legs ached as though he’d been walking all day, he’d not in fact taken a single, untrammelled step since he got here nearly two days earlier.
Catching sight of the clock again he sighed loudly, suddenly irritated by his predicament; anxious to ease the almost searing aching of his leg muscles, and frustrated at being so simply and yet effectively held in a position which offered him so little opportunity to escape. The clock, the fucking clock! Without that, he would’ve been able to control the frustration, or the more and more frequent fits of struggling he felt compelled to go through. But its presence, perfectly centred above the door and directly square onto his view of vision irked him more than anything else he was enduring.
It was the way in which he couldn’t evade it. As he hung his head, panting, recovering after each desperate struggle, it was still there, with its incessant ticking, telling him just how little time had passed.
As the day had begun, the sunlight had shone almost straight in through the windows making the room seem light and airy. Morning gave way to afternoon, and as afternoon drifted lazily by outside, inside the room grew shadier and progressively murkier. Now, it was dingy and felt stuffy and small. At first he’d felt more trapped by his bonds, but now as the day wore on, the failing light made the room seem like it was closing in on him, gradually tightening and assuring his confinement.
Still, for all that, he had not given in. He had not broken, not so far, not yet. He still continued to writhe when he could no longer control his angst, when it welled up inside him and made him resist. But it did no good. He was never any freer or better off afterwards. It only made him sweat more and ache more, and – despite his increasing anxiety – progressively hornier.
The room’s stuffiness, which at times now felt as though it might suffocate him at any moment, was not due to the sweat pouring off him. Had he known just how slick with sweat he would get, he may have been less eager to get put into this position. As it was, every drop of sweat he’d worked hard to produce over the last six and a half hours was still with him. Rather, the room was now filled with the heady scent of the rubber that enclosed him, that bound and covered him entirely. That had covered him, from head to toe since he was sealed into it that morning.
Right now, he was, as he had been for six-hours and thirty-seven minutes stood in the middle of a room now drab with the lack of clear light. Stood, upright in its very centre. Nothing else to look at, nothing else around him, just the door through which his jailer had left, the clock above it. And him, stood there, fixed in position.
Rising from the floor-boards immediately below him was a tall, steel pole about three inches in diameter. He had seen it up close earlier on whilst being wrestled into the outer rubber layer; his face pressed hard into the floor. It shone, perfectly polished - he could see the distorted reflection of his rubbered face in it, and that of the man on top of him, pulling at the straps down his back, grunting and shoving him roughly, getting the pinions ratcheted to their optimum tightness.
He could not see it now, but every sinew of muscle he had knew it was still there. He remembered the beat his heart had missed in relief when he saw that it was not the pole itself that was going to be embedded inside him – that would’ve been unmanageable. Or at least, it had seemed unmanageable then. Right now, impaled on the tapered rubber dildo fixed on top of it, inexorably sinking further onto its firm warm girth, he wasn’t so sure that the three inches of the pole itself would be that much trouble in the future.
Each tussle, each tug against his bonds, every time he tried to shift his weight from one foot to the other, only served to make the dildo fuck him more. Slowly moving its head around inside him, pushing against his prostate, tormenting his cock which had for the most part been stood out solidly the entire time. Whenever he struggled particularly hard and fought to ignore the intense working over the dildo gave his ass, he only managed to settle further down onto it whilst it forced stream after beaded stream of precum out of his cock. That was the other scent that filled his senses; the growing pool of his own denied orgasm collecting on the floor in front of him. On the floor in front of him, between him and the door, between him and the clock, between him and his freedom hopefully less than ninety minutes away.
Some time had been spent getting the pole and hole-stretching dildo to the right height before he had been left to it. At first he thought it might not be too bad. His ass was filled, definitely, but his feet were firmly on the floor and, with some luck, he might’ve been able to keep fucking himself with it by rising up onto his toes and down again. But things were not going to turn out that way.
Once seated on the dildo and busy having a first shuffle around inside his rubber layers, he at once almost thought he was going to lose his balance and fall over when his left foot was grabbed and pulled off the floor. For an agonisingly long wait his whole body was held up by his ass and the other foot which began to tremble either thru exertion or fear that he may suddenly plunge full-force onto just the plug and his hole.
The foot was down on the floor again – relief. But just as suddenly unstable again as now the other foot was grabbed and pulled up away from the safety of the sure wooden floor boards. The same process, although this time he was alert enough to what was happening to realise what was now being done to him.
Both ankles were now securely fastened to either end of a metal spreader bar – he judged it to be about a metre in length and wasn’t far wrong. The discomfort this caused was not so much the amount by which they were spread, but rather due to the effect this had on him being able to support his weight thru his feet. Instead of both being flat on the floor either side of the pole, they were now far enough apart to make it possible only to hold himself up on the balls of his feet.
The rubberised ring-gag wedged solidly just behind his teeth only allowed him to voice his surprise and discomfort via a series of guttural, spittled barks. These grunts had been earnest enough, but took on a more urgent note as soon as the bar was lengthened, his legs now seriously spread apart, his toes barely touching the floor at all. It felt as though he were pivoting on just his ass, his feet and legs now slipping one way then the other as he tried in vain to find some better footing, to hold himself steady – anything to relieve the pressure from the rubber that impaled him.
The only help he got from his captor was a brief hand on each shoulder to steady him and keep him facing forward.
Staring out from behind the pinprick holes in the outer hood, he knew the look in his eyes could not be seen, but still he put every ounce of feeling he had into looking straight into his jailor’s eyes. He looked back at his enclosed, sealed and encapsulated prisoner, his hands gently resting on his shoulders holding him steady.
His face was set, a stern, but concentrated look as he held the gaze through the dehumanising rubber form. Then, a smile crept across his face. Broadening by the second, at first Adam thought he was just pleased with his work. But the corners of his mouth turned, making the smile into a malevolent grin. A rising anxiety made Adam jerkily checking his position; pulling and twisting his arms held fast in the rubber, flexing his twice covered feet to gain purchase on the floor, pulling slightly backwards, as much as he could, out of the grip of the man that owned his freedom.
The grin changed instantly to a grimace of force and strength as the steadying effort of his hold on Adam’s shoulders turned into a sudden and effective shove downwards onto the widening plug.
Adam’s eyes widened at the sudden pain of slipping fractionally further down the invading rubber in his ass, yet he gave no sound other than a forced, hot breathed sigh. This first movement downwards was only the first of many to look forward to over the coming hours as he fought to cope with his situation.
As the sweat which has fallen into his eyes as they widened cleared, he now saw only the empty room in front of him. Sure, his feet were now a little closer to being comfortably flat on the floor, a little closer, but he already ached.
Not yet alone with his suffering, he felt his owner’s arms around his waist, his body pressed up against his back holding him tightly. A reassuring, grip, one to see him through the pain ahead. His owner’s mouth at his slender, rubber taut neck, kissing and licking it; his arms now moving up his chest and around his nipples far below, beneath and buried by the thick layers of rubber.
Now his face side by side with his own, whispering to him, telling him how he looked, telling him how hot he looked, taunting him with how much he’d wanted this, torturing him with how tough the day ahead would be.
Holding firm onto his slave’s hard cock with one hand, maintaining the hold around his waist with the other, pressing his own body up close to the warming rubber of his captive’s body from the back, he continued to describe his imprisonment as he slowly and careful stroked his now achingly hard dick.
Slowly. Back. Slowly, forward. Stop. Again, stroking it slowly, tightly gripping it, forcing the drops of precum out and forming the first streams of it falling onto the floor. All the time whispering, talking, describing how horny he was, how horny he would stay, how securely he was held and would be held, how fucked he was, how alone he would be with just the rubber, the thickening plug, and his throbbing aching cock.
And he stopped. He let go of his slave’s dick, and wiped his hand down the rubber chest, making sure to catch his left nipple on the way.
Adam was fixed in position, held on the end of the dildo on the metal pole. His body wrapped tightly in layer after layer of rubber. The first layer was a thin, one-piece suit with an open faced hood which he wore quite often, it slid onto him perfectly with only a thin coating of lube to help out. Over his smooth shaved head he loved the feeling of it when he first put it on, cool and snug.
The second layer had been a real struggle, it would’ve been impossible to get himself into it; a thick rubber suit that enclosed him everywhere – hands, feet, everything up to the neck and finished just below his chin. It clung to him tightly, more so as the heavy duty zip was pulled up the back and padlocked in position. At first breathing took a little getting used to due to the added pressure of this suit on his neck, but he got used it gradually, or when he had other things grabbing his attention.
By themselves, these two suits made it hard to move about. They were a form of bondage that needed no further restraint. The times when he’d been forced into further layers had shown him just how immobile enclosure could be.
The outer hood was next. A large, flapping bulk of rubber that pulled over his head and down over his shoulders and upper chest. With the strait-jacket fitted on top, it ensured a perfect seal over his entire body. A strait-jacket tightened by repeatedly heaving up on the straps, forcing Adam’s own weight to pull them tighter.
The only openings were the zippers at the crotch, leaving his cock, balls and ass free; the gaping mouth hole giving easy access to his wide stretched ring-gagged mouth and the tiny holes at the eyes on his outer hood. Sealed and trapped, he was reduced to the status of a smooth, rubber captive, held fixed on the pole. Held without the chance of escape, but free enough to wriggle and writhe to heighten the suffering caused by his predicament.
In front of him again, Adam saw his owner holding the final piece of his restraint – the tall stiff leather posture collar that would prevent him looking down at his eager, but inaccessible cock. Instead he would have to watch each tiny part of the day measured out on the clock, ticking away his slow but steady progress down onto the plug.