Waiting for Ross - it continues

Author: eckie
Title: Waiting for Ross - it continues
Date: 09 August 2003

Written by <a href="mailto:escapeproof@aol.com" ><font size=-1 face="Arial, Helv" color=#ffcc66>rubrstories</font></a>

Comfortably submerged in the folds of his waterbed, naked and pleasantly horny under the bedclothes, Ross dozed lazily in a half sleep despite the morning sunlight beginning to edge its way around the window shades of his bedroom. He was aware of the increasing pressure in his bladder and the growing need of his semi-erect cock, persistent in its demand for relief. For a moment, he wished he had Brad bound next to him in bed rather than in the dungeon downstairs. He could use him as human furniture, a rubber pillow for his head or feet. He pictured peeling the rubber hood away from Brad’s pretty face to force him to service cock, drink piss, and worship muscles. Ross’s cock grew larger at the thought of making Brad use his tongue to wash his hairy balls. He absentmindedly rubbed the fur on his chest as he shifted the pillows to angle his head upward. Untangling himself from the sheets, he flexed and stretched his substantial muscles, slightly sore from the previous day’s workout, until his limbs were wide apart in a spreadeagle position. Aware of the masculine odor rising from his own body, Ross wished he had a bound slave in bed ready to sniff his musk, service his feet, and lick his armpits. He liked having two slaves waiting in his dungeon, but he was definitely feeling the need for a third to tend to his immediate needs. He reached toward the night stand for the remote control and sat up slowly to survey the video monitor. Both slaves appeared still and quiet. He switched the display from split screen to one view that focused on Brad.

During the night, concerned about Brad’s experience level and ability to deal with the intense encasement, Ross had monitored Brad closely at first. Thinking of Brad as a relative novice, Ross had worried that the situation might be too extreme: the combination of multiple head to toe rubber layers, the skintight catsuit plus a very thick, close-fitting sleepsack compressing Brad’s body and sealing him completely, with the only breach in the rubber being the tube through the gag; rubber encasement that was not only inescapable but also punishing in its tightness and strict confinement. In fact, the rubber stretched so tightly over Brad’s muscular form that the constriction kept his body fairly rigid even when he squirmed vigorously. Viewed on the video monitor during the night, Brad’s attempts at movement had made Ross think of a giant, muscular, shiny-black snake with skin so stiff and tight that it could hardly slither. Drifting off to sleep in the early morning hours, Ross had been thoroughly entertained by the attempts of the well-proportioned, sausage-like form, struggling to bend, twist, and roll on the dungeon floor.

It hadn’t taken very long for Ross to notice a pattern. When Ross got up to his bedroom shortly after leaving Brad post-orgasm in the dungeon, he had turned on the monitor and heard Brad’s inarticulate, muted appeals. Ross recognized the familiar sound, the incoherent pleading of a gagged slave trying to ask, “Are you there, Sir? Please, Sir?” The polite, inquiring tone soon gave way to more urgent pleas, muffled cries trying to articulate, “Sir, please Sir.” Undressing and flopping into bed, Ross had continued to watch and listen closely while he played with his own bloated cock. Brad’s begging lasted about 10 minutes and was followed by a period of motionless silence. Ross had turned up the volume and was reassured by the barely discernible but constant sound of Brad’s breathing through the mouth tube. Then, after about 20 minutes, he noticed Brad wiggling slightly, slowly flexing his buttocks and pelvis, trying to bend at the knees and waist, and shifting as well as he could from side to side. Before long, Brad had flipped awkwardly, turning himself from back to stomach. Initially Ross thought he was struggling to escape, but then it became apparent that Brad was grinding his rubber-encased crotch into the mat where Ross had left him. Mesmerized by the rubber bondage image on the monitor, knowing that in the cocoon it was Brad who was gagged, bound and sealed so tightly, with a huge black plug shoved up his ass, Ross was surprised and pleased that Brad’s horniness had returned so quickly. Soon thereafter, accompanied by the straining sounds of latex surfaces rubbing against each other, Ross heard the gagged grunts of what sounded like an excruciating orgasm. And then later, Ross noticed that within an hour the pattern had repeated itself, with Brad struggling and worming his way around, working hard until he succeeded in cumming a third time. It was at that point that Ross had allowed his own cock to erupt. Convinced that Brad would not only be okay but that perhaps he was enjoying his predicament a little too much, Ross ignored the third set of muffled objections escaping through Brad’s gag and had let himself begin to doze in his own post-cum haze. While vowing that he would soon make things a little more difficult for Brad, leave him tied down, fixed in place, maybe in the wall box, Ross finally fell asleep.

Now, several hours later, on the monitor it appeared that Brad was sleeping. The silhouette of the black cocoon was motionless, but the sound of snoring was unmistakable. Brad was positioned on his back, and Ross marveled at his ability to sleep in such strict confinement, and with a gag in his mouth. Ross thought Brad had probably pissed himself by now. At the very least, he must be sweating his ass off in there, compressed tightly all night under two layers of thick rubber, and yet he was relaxed enough to sleep. Ross wondered how many times Brad had cum in addition to the three episodes that Ross witnessed. What a bondage pig! Ross switched the view to Tim, who was no longer motionless. In fact, during the minute or two that Ross had been studying Brad, Tim appeared to have become slightly agitated. To Ross’s amusement, the hooded, sleepsacked, suspended figure was jerking and bobbing around quite a bit. Ross loved the night vision surveillance feature of the video camera, which allowed him to view Tim while he kept him strung up in total darkness in the dungeon closet. He turned up the volume. Tim’s grunts and unintelligible pleas for attention made Ross’s cock rise up. He stared down his own body to the head of his cock and watched it sprout wide. There was a definite need for a third slave this morning, he thought. Someone to clean the dried cum off his balls, suck his dick, drink his piss, and then tend to the slaves downstairs while he lazed around in bed and watched the action, or lack of it, on the monitor.

Reluctantly, Ross got up. While putting on his boots, he retrieved a funky, sweat-dried sock from a pile of unwashed gym clothes. Attired in only his boots and a jock strap, he went down to the dungeon. He was concerned about Tim’s hydration level and the toxins in his system now that 24 hours of rubber imprisonment and piss recycling had passed. Ross had an oral rehydration solution he wanted to add to the mix, but he was otherwise determined not to divert Tim from his confinement and isolation. He wanted Tim to stay focused on his plight. Entering the dungeon, Ross noticed that Brad, his snoring through the gag much louder in person, remained sleeping. He stopped and stared at the black rubber mummy. “Snoring like a pig,” Ross chuckled to himself. Ross headed toward the closet where Tim had been locked away for 24 hours. Almost immediately on unlocking and opening the door, Ross knew that Tim sensed his presence. The begging began in earnest, and Ross was impressed with Tim’s efforts to enunciate his pleas through the gag. Ross could understand the words, “Please, Sir. Out, Sir,” which Tim repeated over and over like a mantra. The desperate tone had its effect on Ross. He looked down at his own crotch, admired the bulging jock strap, and rubbed his hard cock. He urgently needed to cum, but he was having a moment of indecision: Which slave should have the privilege of taking his load of cum? Ross had to admit he was somewhat preoccupied with Brad.

Tim’s agitation continued when his pleas to Ross went unanswered, even as Ross carried out his ministrations: disconnecting the gag’s tube from the overhead rubber enema bag where Tim’s urine collected; carefully introducing the rehydration fluid; modifying the electrotorture, to change it back to the motion-activated setting; unfastening some of the horizontal binding strips, to allow Tim to engage in the type of limited movement that would shock him into keeping still. But it was when Ross tied the stinking sock in place over Tim’s nostrils that Ross noticed Tim quiet dramatically, as though the strong male odor of his Master’s feet had a soothing effect. Satisfied that Tim had returned to a state of submissive acceptance, Ross turned off the light, closed and locked the door, and left him to his fate.

While tending to Tim, Ross had noticed that Brad’s snoring subsided. Now, it appeared Brad was definitely awake in there, inside his tight rubber cocoon. He was wiggling and moaning and edging himself over to one side. Even though the thick, tight rubber layers insulated Brad from head to toe, Ross could see the outline of Brad’s hard cock, pointing upward and plastered against his body. Ross lowered himself to a kneeling position straddling Brad’s chest and sat on top of him, pinning him down on his back. Ross talked loudly to penetrate the rubber hoods: “What’s going on in there, slave?” Brad squirmed and grunted, and Ross heard him trying to form words around the gag. Ross felt Brad pushing his hips upward, in an obvious effort to stimulate his cock. Ross was enjoying the strong rubber odor that emanated from the struggling, thoroughly encased slave. Speaking even more emphatically, Ross tried a slightly different approach: “I want to know how you’re doing in there, slave.”

The words came more slowly this time, and Ross understood what Brad had been trying to say:

“H-O-O-R-N-E-E THIR!”

Ross laughed out loud. After a few more exchanges, he was also able to figure out that Brad was also trying to tell him he needed to piss.

“So you’re horny and full of piss, slave?”

“ETH THIR!”

Ross got up off Brad and ordered him to stay still. Routing around in a nearby storage bin, Ross found the funnel he needed and connected it to the tube extending from the built-in gag within the hood of the sleepsack that encased Brad so well. As he did so, he admired the tight fit and marveled that Brad was not complaining about being too hot or strictly confined. Ross pushed the pouch of his jockstrap to one side and aimed his dick. Cautiously, holding back as much as possible, he pissed slowly into the funnel and watched Brad’s reaction. With no nose holes in the hood of the sleepsack, Brad would need to swallow the piss to clear the tube for air, and Ross wanted to be certain he wouldn’t choke. Sealed tightly, squirming and moaning due to what Ross assumed must be horniness, Brad seemed to consume the slow trickle of piss without problem. Soon, after giving Brad a chance to catch his breath, Ross let loose with a walloping gush that quickly began to fill the funnel.

“Chugalug, slave, if you want to breathe again soon!”

Brad’s audible gulps came quick and loud as Ross continued to piss. He enjoyed watching it bubble and gurgle and then eventually disappear down into the base of the funnel as the last of it drained into the mummified rubber slave. Then came the predictable gasping for air through the tube and the smell of piss on the slave’s breath, punctuated by a loud belch.

“Nice job, slave. You have potential. Could be my full time rubber urinal some day!” Ross sat in a cross-legged position next to Brad’s head. “Still horny?”

“Ethhir.”

“Piss tastes good when you’re all sealed and horny, huh slave?”

“Ethhir”

“I think you need a few more hours in that sack at the very least. Maybe leave you like that all day.” Brad squirmed and squeezed his buttocks in response and grunted in a way that Ross interpreted as meaning okay, if you say so, after all I have no choice. “You can piss in there anytime you want, slave. I see you enjoy having that big plug stuck up your ass?” Brad moaned and tried to turn himself over, but Ross prevented him from moving. “I want you on your back for now. And don’t get all worked up again. You need to calm down. No more cumming allowed until I say so. You are quite a bondage pig! Just the kind of heavy duty rubber slave I’ve always wanted. Right up there with Tim. Will be very interesting to see Tim’s reaction to all of this. It appears his time for release my come before yours!” Brad gave out another loud groan.

Ross took his time preparing Brad for the day to come. In part, he wanted to give him time to digest the piss, to ensure there were no puking mishaps. While he had confidence in Tim’s experience with long term gagging and consuming piss, he wasn’t sure of Brad’s abilities. At each stage, as Ross positioned and re-positioned Brad and fastened additional restraints, Brad tested the restriction, tried to twist and wiggle to stimulate himself, and begged through the gag to cum. Ross warned him repeatedly not to, and Brad barely contained himself. “You’ll have plenty of time for that later, slave!” Deliberately adding to Brad’s excitement, as Ross bound him further he described what he was doing and made Brad beg for tighter bondage and then thank him when he obliged.

When Ross was finished, Brad was fixed in place in what Ross liked to refer to as his “wall box.” A horizontal box built into the wall of his dungeon, it was approximately 4 feet long, 3 feet wide, and 1 ½ feet deep, and it bolted closed from the outside with a side panel. Ross surveyed the results of his efforts before lowering the panel. Still totally rubber-encased in the sleepsack and catsuit under it, Brad had his legs bent at the knees and fastened back, in what would have been a secure hogtie position, except for the modification of having his arms still encased in the internal sleeves of the sleepsack. Four thick leather straps encircled his body and gripped the rubber tightly: one binding his ankles to his butt, and the others buckled tightly around his chest, waist and lower arms, and knees. A thick leather collar around his neck was connected by a padlocked chain to an eyebolt at the head of the box, and a similar chain around the strap at his knees was fastened to the foot of the box.

“Fuckin’ tight bondage you’re in, slave. Pretty compact rubber package. Ready to disappear for the day?” Brad snorted, wiggled and bucked in response. Lying on one side and barely able to move, it was obvious he was trying to maneuver onto his stomach.

Ross began stroking his own dick as he surveyed his work. He knew Brad was desperate to cum, and he laughed. “Okay, cum all you want, all day if you can! Just keep in mind that when you do, you stay put! I intend to totally ignore you the rest of the day.” Ross took in the site of Brad, in his rubber encasement, squirming and twisting against the straps and chains as he renewed his struggles, but it was Ross’s cock that was ready to explode. Ross kneeled at Brad’s head, pulled the tip of Brad’s mouth tube to the head of his dick, and aimed the spurts into it. It was an intense orgasm, and he immediately felt totally drained. He heard Brad moaning and sucking in the cum and saw him wiggling vigorously, trying to cum himself, but Ross’s interest was waning. He stood up, closed the panel, and bolted it. As he left the dungeon and climbed the stairs, he realized he was hungry and a in need of a nap. Also, he needed a break from the constant sexual energy of the last 24 hours. Suddenly he was very glad that the slaves were all settled and ready to spend their day waiting for his return.

Behind a locked door, closed up in the dungeon closet, encased in rubber from head to toe, bound and suspended in a sturdy leather sleepsack, Tim waited impatiently. Inside the layers of rubber and leather tightly encasing Tim’s head, Tim had become accustomed to the consistency of the familiar odor trapped in his nose. Initially, the pungent essence of Ross’s feet had been a reassuring turnon, and Tim’s cock had hardened painfully around the catheter. Just as if Ross were present, the recognizable scent evoked the accompanying visual details of the large, wide, masculine feet that Ross often demanded Tim service. The distinctive musk and the humiliation of being forced to inhale it through the hoods had made Tim horny, and he had continued to picture Ross’s feet in his mind. Whether naked or boot-covered, in past sessions Tim had spent many sessions examining them with his eyes, nose, and tongue. Memories of foot worship transported Tim temporarily outside his rubber prison as time stretched from morning to afternoon. Now, however, hours later, the staleness of the stench reeking from what Tim suspected was a heavily worn, unwashed sock merely added to Tim’s misery. Almost involuntarily, Tim shook and nodded his head up and down, from side to side, as far as he was able. He wanted fresh air, he wanted to be able to see light and hear outside noises - fuck!. He wanted out. In truth, he felt like he had never wanted anything more in his life than freedom from the encasement and bondage. It took all of Tim’s concentration and what little reserve of energy he had left to focus on staying calm. He struggled against the strong impulses rising up through his body, which wanted to fight for release any way it could achieve it, and against the thoughts in his mind, which urged him to shout through the gag, “PLEASE SIR I’LL DO ANYTHING! PLEASE LET ME OUT, SIR!” Squirming in discomfort, almost oblivious to the resulting shocks, Tim’s thoughts turned to his own culpability. His mind taunted him: “How could I have let myself get into this? How much longer is Ross going to make we wait? What if something happened to him? Shit! Fuck! I can’t take this anymore. Will I ever get out? This is no fantasy, it’s real, and I’m fucking stuck this way!” Fighting back tears, Tim heaved and moaned and begged silently, “Please, Ross, please!” In an effort to soothe himself, Tim took a series of deep breaths through the tube gag and the nostril tubes of the hood, but they drew in new surges of rancid piss to his mouth and foul foot odor to his nose. Finally, the effect of the extended restraint and confinement were complete: Tim’s every breath, thought, emotion, and constricted movement seemed to be an expression of his agonizing desire for release.

About 12 feet away from the closet where Tim was confined, invisibly locked away in a box that had shut closed to become part of the dungeon wall, Brad was in a different kind of agony: Rubber-encased and bound tightly, with the faint, lingering taste of Ross’s piss and cum clinging to his tongue and mouth, Brad had never in his life felt so horny. While Tim’s mind attempted to propel him toward freedom, Brad’s mind was paralyzed by his desperate need to cum. The cause of this milestone state of horniness was also the cause of the greatest frustration he had ever experienced: It seemed that no matter how determinedly Brad worked, the bondage that fueled his horniness also prevented him from getting the relief he craved. Brad loved the feel of the skintight catsuit, enveloping him in rubber from head to toe, and the squeezing pressure of the rubber sleepsack over it. Together, the two layers of rubber stretched and extended over every inch of his body to produce a tight, sealed encasement. Brad felt as though the rubber encompassing him also connected his entire body to itself, so that each restricted breath and movement he made sent signals to his inflamed cock. Whether it was rubber-covered toes wiggling, rubber-sealed mouth sucking air through the tube gag, ass muscles clenching the huge rubber butt plug, encased fingers fidgeting, or bound limbs struggling and quivering under the rubber seal, wherever the limited movements originated, every wiggle and twist and resulting creak of stretching rubber emphasized the totality of the rubber bondage and transmitted renewed energy to his ever hard, never tired cock. Brad’s legs, held fast against each other lengthwise by the sleepsack, were bent at the knee and folded back, with his ankles strapped to his butt. Brad’s arms were anchored to his sides in the inner sleeves of the sleepsack and also encircled by outer straps. Having cum countless times through the night while he was sleepsacked but otherwise unrestrained, Brad’s cock now needed more friction and pressure to cum again, more than Brad could manage in his bound up, boxed, and almost immobile state. In a rare moment during the night before, perhaps when Brad was sleeping, his cock must have softened and begun to shift its position under the rubber, so that now it was pointed down, trapped under the layers of rubber and uncomfortably erect. Fixed in place by bindings connecting him to the top and bottom of the box, Brad found he could not squirm or maneuver around enough in the limited space to reposition his cock or rub it against anything, yet the urge to cum was maddening. A compact mass of bound, rubber-sealed muscle and sweat, constantly on the verge of cumming, Brad wiggled and bucked intermittently, flexing his muscles as he stretched the tight rubber, gently thumping his bound form against the unyielding enclosure of the sides of the box.

Up one level above the clean and tidy appearance that belied what was hidden in the chambers and recesses of Ross’s basement walls, Ross found himself stirring on the leather cushions of his sofa as he woke from a deep and unintentionally long nap. Before falling asleep, he had showered and dressed comfortably in jeans and a T-shirt. Now, the contrast of his own rested, comfortable, clean state with that of the slaves in his dungeon entered his mind. His dick swelled at the thought of the two sweaty, rubber-sealed pigs below, and he yawned and checked his watch: after 3:00 in the afternoon, more than an hour past the time he had originally planned to release Tim. Muttering to himself, he wondered aloud: “Hmm... 31 hours so far. Go for 36?” And then there was Brad: over 12 hours in total already, 4 of them in the box. His dick surged at the thought of leaving Tim and Brad to stew in their own juices hours longer, and he lounged on the sofa a few minutes more. Ross considered the options: Matt and his partner John were due to arrive in about 3 hours for dinner at Ross’s house. It might be fun to have them witness the release of Tim and Brad. On the other hand, though, Ross had safety and health concerns about prolonging their encasement without tube feeding them, and he wasn’t prepared for that this afternoon. Also, his cock was hardening in anticipation of going into his dungeon and finding them waiting... trussed up, sealed, helpless and locked away, exactly as he had left them hours before. When Brad and Tim were partners, many of Ross’s friends had considered them among the hottest men at the bar, and also the most unattainable. Ross laughed silently to himself and adjusted his cock to give it room to grow further. The last 24 hours had brought an interesting turn of events to his dungeon, and now he was looking forward to the coming evening. He rose from the sofa and went to the kitchen to retrieve a cooler from his refrigerator and to check on the food that had been delivered for dinner.

Soon thereafter, Ross carried the cooler in one hand and fidgeted with his keys in the other while he proceeded down the basement stairs. He unlocked the outer metal door to the entrance. Ignoring for the moment the sound of Brad’s moans audible from within the box, Ross put down the cooler he had brought with him on a shelf in the bathroom and then proceeded to the closet. He inserted the key into the padlock and turned it, and then worked the latchkey and other fasteners in succession, including the deadlock and two bolts at the top and bottom of the heavy wooden door. On opening the door and peering into the dark chamber, he was amused to hear Tim’s quiet, gag-muffled mumbling, barely audible from under the two rubber hoods and outer leather hood. Ross listened closely. It sounded like Tim was reciting a mantra, as if he were praying for release. Ross felt his cock surge with pre-cum at the pathetic tone of Tim’s unintelligible pleas. Ross turned on the light and surveyed the bound, suspended form. Tim was hanging from the shoulder straps of the thick leather sleepsack, custom made for him, enclosing him thoroughly and securely with its tightly closed zippers, laces, and straps. His upper body was angled forward over his lower body, in one variation of the many positions Ross had left him during his incarceration, and the straps and tethers connecting the sack to the closet wall at various points reinforced his powerless state. Ross’s cock stiffened further at the site of his own handiwork. He cupped his hand over his crotch and toyed with the idea of alternating the suspension angle, tightening the laces and straps, and then making Tim endure a few more hours.

Inside his cocoon, Tim sensed his Master’s presence and increased his voice level, shouting the word “out” as loudly and understandably as he was able. Jerking and straining against the bindings, he gave in to the urgent need of his body to struggle for release. Ross laughed aloud at the pitiful sight and sounds of the encased form, jiggling around - up and down, side to side - in its suspension, and barking futilely under its layers of enclosure. Enjoying the spectacle, Ross steadied the bobbing head with his hands and then began working on it: Undoing straps, laces, zippers; removing nostril tubes, hoods, gag, and earplugs; and, finally, pulling off tape and eye pads. Tim’s face, dark with 2 days of unshaven stubble, was also smudged with streaks of rubber dirt and sweat, creased with marks of being hooded, and red with heated agitation. His head finally exposed, Tim blinked and swallowed repeatedly. He and Ross were exactly eye to eye.

“What’s your problem, slave? Why are you so worked up? Had enough? I thought this is what you lived for, pig.” Squinting to adjust to the light, with Ross’s face coming into full view, Tim coughed, choked a bit, and made a few false starts before he was able to form intelligible words. His urgent need to be released was suddenly replaced by anger. Without realizing it, he instantly said aloud the words he thought had formed only in his mind, and they came it out in harsh, raspy tones, as if from someone possessed: “Fuckhead... bastard! Sadistic jerk!” Ross chuckled and pulled at one of the sleepsack straps fastened across Tim’s chest. “Huh! That’s an interesting outburst. Are you going to rotate your head now, and then spit green vomit at me?” Tim swallowed and said nothing. He didn’t think it was funny. “Well, if I’m such a sadistic jerk, how about I tighten up these straps, stuff a big, fat gag in that ungrateful mouth, and leave you like this until tomorrow?” Tim felt a strap tighten over his chest and saw Ross reach to a shelf for a solid rubber gag, the huge one Tim hated so much. Panicked, he began sputtering loudly, “SIR, PLEASE NO! Sorry SIR! Sir, please let me out, Sir. Out SIR! Out Sir! Out Sir!” Tim saw a smile on Ross’s face, and he stopped begging. Ross was amused, but he rubbed the tip of the gag over Tim’s suddenly sealed and silent lips. Now fearful and anxious, Tim twisted his head to one side to avoid the gag and jerked in the suspended sack as he opened his mouth and resumed his pleading, with shouts of “Out, please!” rebounding in the closet over and over. Ross’s cock pulsed at the sound and sight of Tim’s desperation. He paused for a few seconds but then dropped the gag. “Okay, stop squealing and hold still. I guess you’ve done pretty well. I’ll let you out in spite of your nasty, thankless comments, but you owe me some heavy explanations. For now, just be patient, little bondage pig.”

While Ross began working, Tim initially held his breath and stiffened his body in an effort to keep himself from struggling. Soon, however, he was overwhelmed by the sensations of growing freedom: Able to hear normal sounds, blink his eyes and see light, open his mouth and breathe unfiltered air, swallow without tasting piss, he reveled in the slackening of the tight encasement he had endured for more than a day. He gasped when the catheter was withdrawn, and then within a few minutes, he was no longer suspended. Next, he was free of the sleepsack and standing unsteadily on his feet with Ross’s help, totally unrestrained and uncovered except for the catsuit Ross called his “rubberskin.” All at once, he felt a rush of appreciation for Ross, but before he could consider how to express it, Ross pushed him to his knees at Ross’s feet.

“If ever I hear another fit of temper like that again, you’re out of here on your ass forever. Copy that, FUCKHEAD?” Tim lowered his head between Ross’s knees. Embarrassed and regretful, his response was barely audible. “Yes, Sir.”

“Are you a slave, or not?”

Tim raised his head slightly. “Yes, I am Sir.”

“Do you appreciate the training I give you, or not?”

“Yes, I do, Sir. More than anything, and I want it again, but not right this second, Sir.”

Ross laughed. “Okay. I guess that’s good enough for now. You’re going to have to work really hard next time to convince me, though.”

“Definitely, Sir.”

Ross opened his fly and pulled out his cock and balls. “Go to it, slave.” Down below, Tim began repeating the ritual that Ross had taught him to perform each time Ross released him from a long bondage session. Gently licking and sucking, he closed his eyes as he started servicing Ross’s large, hairy balls. Ignoring his own exhaustion and discomfort, his body still in skintight rubber, Tim worked diligently and enthusiastically without question, as he had been trained. Tim’s cock, stinging from having been catheterized, stiffened painfully. Up above, Ross closed his eyes and focused on the pleasant sensation. Both were engrossed in the moment, but each opened his eyes to find those of the other when a series of roaring moans erupting from the outer room stopped the action cold.

Brad’s intermittent but frequent activities over the last 4 hours had ultimately paid off. After straining, sweating, and writhing in ecstatic frustration, and then twisting, squirming, and sweating some more, and then struggling and worming around but actually making no appreciable movement, Brad, tightly sealed in rubber, bound and confined in the limited space of the box, had somehow finally succeeded in making himself cum. The prolonged exertion and build up led to a spectacular, torturous climax. Brad’s entire body was racked with orgasmic convulsions as he wrestled and worked against the restraints, and his screaming moans echoed throughout the dungeon.

Ross pulled his balls off Tim’s face and stuffed them and his cock into his jeans. “Get up and follow me. I have a surprise for you.”

Tim’s cock was already hard, but the sight of the rubber-encased form, muscular, bound, and folded up, coming into plain view when Ross unbolted and opened the box, brought on an uncontrollable feeling of horniness. Tim wanted to grab his cock, but he didn’t dare. He continued watching as Ross made quick work of releasing the mysterious bound slave from the box and unfastening the straps encircling his upper body and legs. The sleek, shiny sleepsacked figure stretched out on its back and groaned. It was glistening with sweat and grunting through its tube gag. Ross flipped it over, unlocked a padlock that connected the zippers, and then returned it to its back. Ross turned toward Tim. “He probably needs to get out of that sack by now, but I’m leaving that to you. I’m going upstairs. You have 6 hours. You are to tend to him first, and then clean both of you up. Next, get some water and food, which you’ll find in the cooler in the bathroom area. After that you should rest up, but save enough time to clean up the mess you both made down here, wash out and dry all the rubber gear, gags, and plugs, and put everything away. Then you’re both to suit up again, so that by the time I return, you’re both plugged, gagged, in head to toe rubber gear, and waiting on your knees for me. And no cumming while I’m gone! Understand, pig?”

“Yes, Sir!”

Tim hesitated as he watched Ross walk away. His thoughts raced. Why was Tim suddenly in charge of this strange new slave? And, why was Ross leaving Tim alone with him? What did Ross have in mind for later? He heard Ross locking the outer metal door to the dungeon, and the sound seemed to reinforce Ross’s instructions. Tim lowered himself to the floor and knelt over the sleepsacked rubber figure. The gleaming surface of the sleepsack sparkled with moisture, and an odor of rubber mixed with sweat and piss hung over it as it grunted and squirmed. Tim turned it to one side and began fiddling with the zippers and peeling off the rubber. It felt like Christmastime in the dungeon, as he unwrapped some kind of rubber surprise package.

Under the layers of rubber, Brad was too exhausted to understand much, other than relief at feeling the rubber sack being unzipped and loosened. Now that he had cum, the tight slickness of the rubber-sealed coating of sweat, piss, and cum that enveloped him felt disgusting, and the heat of being encased seemed unbearable. He was worn out from struggling to cum, overheated from being sealed up for so long, and extremely thirsty. His mouth was parched from breathing through a tube for 12 hours. He rolled over in response to the pressure of hands on his side. He felt the attached rubber hood from the sleepsack being unzipped and pulled down, the gag being removed, and then the hood of the catsuit opening. <br ab> <br ab>Straddling the muscular, rubber-covered chest, Tim finished opening the hood and pulled it down. The color, thickness and pattern of the hair being exposed seemed familiar to him, and then Brad’s distinctive forehead and eyes came into view. “Brad, you fucker!” he exclaimed.

Aware of his stiffening cock under the skintight rubber crotch of his body suit, Tim leaned to one side to retrieve a small water jug. He bent his legs further and relaxed his knees, resting his full weight on the rubber-covered chest under him. With his thighs, he squeezed the muscular body underneath while he filled his own mouth with cool water and held it there. Ignoring the ragged sound of Brad clearing his throat and the quiet groans rising from Brad's partially exposed face, Tim indulged himself, enjoying his own freedom and wallowing in the insulated tactile sensations and unique sounds of latex surfaces rubbing against each other. His muscular, rubber-encased legs compressed Brad's shoulders and pectorals, still enclosed in the sleepsack and sealed in the rubber catsuit in which Ross had encased him. Reveling in the control, Tim bent down slowly, gradually inclining his head over Brad, pushing the rubber hoods away from Brad's mouth, until his own lips were sealed against the big, pouting lips so familiar to him. Cautiously, he released small discharges of water into Brad's mouth, and he felt Brad respond gratefully, eventually sucking Tim's tongue greedily after the water was consumed. Tim repeated the process, transferring oral infusions of cool water into Brad's mouth, ending with hungry, slurping, horny kisses, until Brad indicated his thirst was temporarily quenched.

Tim withdrew his tongue and sat up as Brad grinned and then exhaled in a large sigh of relief. "Thanks, man! That gag was getting to me, and I was dying of thirst."

Tim laughed. "It sounded like you were having a pretty good time to me."

Brad's grin turned sheepish. "True enough, I guess, but now I need out of this."

Tim put his hands on Brad's shoulders and shifted his body weight forward to pin Brad flat against the floor. "Not so fast. Ross told me you might need out, but he left it to me to decide. He said he won't be back for 6 hours, and I'm tempted to seal you back up and make you wait for him, especially without some explanation of what you're doing here!"

Surprised, agitated, and horny despite his discomfort, Brad screwed up his face, turned his head from side to side, twisted his legs, and wiggled his toes in an effort relieve the stiffness. "Fuck, man. You're the one who has explaining to do. You cleared out and disappeared without a word, and now I find out your Ross's new slave." He was tempted to try to buck Tim off. Instead, he made himself silent and still.

Tim slowly straightened up, relaxing the pressure he had been putting on Brad. He stared at Brad quietly, momentarily lost in his memories of the effect those handsome features used to have on him, and then he said, "You're right. I'm sorry, and I will explain." Tim sat motionless, slumped forward, his weight heavy on top of Brad.

Brad started wiggling again. He felt new beads of sweat forming on his forehead and trickling down the sides of his head. "Feels like 1000 degrees inside this sack." All at once embarrassed, Tim seemed at a loss for words. A long, silent moment passed, until he found himself sitting up and saying, "I haven't cum in a while. Guess my horniness was taking over. Sorry about that. Let's get you out of this."

As he positioned and repositioned Brad, peeling away the layers of rubber to extract him from the sleepsack and catsuit, Tim admired Brad's exposed body, its silky, tight, muscular beauty undisguised by the indented creases and coating of sweat and piss left by the rubber encasement, almost imperceptible except for the odor. Tim suppressed the unpredictable, horny urges arising in his mind, with one exception: Unable to resist, he planted a huge, sloppy kiss on Brad's cock as it emerged from the catsuit. Brad smiled but pulled back suddenly, unwilling to give in to his strong urge to drive it home, and Tim proceeded to help him out of the last of the sweat-soaked gear.

Over the next hour or two, with Tim leading the way, they both put words on hold, going over thoughts and questions in their minds without articulating them to each other, as they divested themselves of rubber, unplugged and flushed their holes, showered off the piss and sweat, and cleaned and rinsed the gear. Eventually, they hunkered down in a corner of the dungeon, Tim sitting cross-legged, Brad squatting, both settling back together on a vinyl exercise pad. The refreshments and food were welcome and tasty, and they consumed them quickly as they resumed conversation.

Brad asked, "Feels a little weird to be sitting here, naked, eating with you, in Ross's basement. I assume we're locked in down here?"

"Yep. Like I told you before, when he left, he said he'd be back in 6 hours. When he returns we're both supposed to be encased in head to toe rubber, plugged and gagged, bowing down in a kneeling position, and waiting. Usually I have to be in head to toe rubber whenever I'm in his presence." Tim continued, "There's no clock down here, no way to tell exact time, but I think we still have plenty of time to rest for a while. He might shut the lights off though, and that could make it complicated if we aren't already suited up. It gets pitch black down here when it's dark."

Brad's cock, limp and still damp from showering, hanging down between his legs, started to stir. He felt his face redden and hoped Tim did not notice. "What if we wanted to leave?"

Tim responded: "I can only tell you about my agreement with him. Unless I'm restrained and locked away, I could probably go home whenever I want (assuming Ross is here to release me), but if I asked to leave before the weekend is up, that would bring my training to an end, forever. So, even though there are times I've wanted to go home early, I've never asked to leave. Usually I'm tied up anyway, and gagged. Having a 6 hour break totally free is unusual."

Brad could no longer hide his erection. Sensing his self-consciousness, Tim grinned, leaned forward, and began lightly sucking the head of Brad's pretty cock, but Brad pushed him back. "Hold up. We need to talk. I have more questions."

Tim's own erection, pointing upward, free and stiff against his lower abs, bobbed and stood up even further as he quickly sat back. "Okay, shoot -- from your mouth, that is." Tim grinned playfully, remembering full well that Brad had always found his smile to be irresistible.

Brad recounted his conversation the previous night in the bar when he and Ross had connected, and he gave Tim a summary of the events as he knew them up to the moment when Tim unzipped the rubber hoods to expose Brad's face. Then Brad asked, "I know I told Ross I wanted to see his slave, but what could have been in his mind when he brought me here and left us together?"

Tim responded slowly. "Now that I've had a chance to think about it, well... I think it was my idea, actually. I wanted you to know about all this, and I couldn't figure out the best way to tell you. Um... I talked to Ross about it, and he knew it was bothering me."

Brad said, "Tell me more. What do you mean it was your idea?"

Tim continued. "Um...well... Ross said that he saw you at the bar a lot, that you always cruised him, and that he had avoided you for my sake. When I heard that, I felt even worse about the way things ended between you and me. I knew I owed you an explanation. I also thought you'd probably want to be in my place here in the dungeon. You always had a thing for Ross, and I never leveled with you while we were together, because I didn't know how to handle the idea that we both wanted the same thing, as bottoms, I mean, and that it might mean our relationship would ... um..., ultimately, well, not work, I guess. That's why I never explained, why I just ‘disappeared' like you said."

Brad responded slowly, "I think I'm getting the picture."

"So, you shouldn't think less of Ross. He probably thought he was doing us both a big favor. If you want to go home now, though, I understand."

Brad questioned, "Why did you act surprised when you found me under the rubber if it was your idea as you said?"

Tim explained: "He didn't tell me it was you in the sleepsack. I'm the only slave he's ‘training' ... um ... intensively ... right now..., but he plays with other bottoms. It could have been one of them, so I was a little surprised when your head popped out of the hood. I didn't know if he'd ever really bring you here. But I'm glad he did ... even if you're not."

Brad relaxed a bit. "I need time to digest all this."

"Sure," Tim responded. He leaned forward again and impaled his mouth on Brad's cock. Unable to resist this time, Brad laughed and started pumping in and out: "Okay, take it deep if that's what you want... Ross's slave ... fuckin' pig." Brad became silent, closed his eyes, and pictured Tim as he had appeared the night before, a faceless, bound-up form, encased from head to toe, suspended, helpless, hooded, gagged, deprived of all senses, rubberized, leather-covered, dehumanized. While last night he had wanted to be that bound form, now Brad found himself fantasizing about Tim as the one in that state. Brad thrust forward, further into Tim's mouth, as he felt the juices in his cock being resurrected. Momentarily lost in fantasy, he gasped in surprise when Tim suddenly stopped sucking and pulled back.

Tim's blue eyes opened wide. He raised his eyebrows comically and licked his lips. "We're not allowed to cum, by the way."

Brad laughed out loud. "You fucking cock teaser!" Brad lunged forward, arms outstretched, and trapped Tim in a wrestling hold. Tim protested and struggled as Brad flipped him over on the exercise mat and pinned him face down, with Brad's ample, erect cock poised at the entrance it knew so well. "I should fuck your brains out, make you cum ‘til there's nothing left. I suppose your ‘Master' would ‘punish' you for that?"

Tim twisted and squirmed, with no effect except to increase his own excitement. Brad had always been able to overpower him in seconds. "Yes, he will!"

Brad squeezed Tim more tightly and maneuvered his hold, to play with Tim's nipples, alternating with one hand between them while keeping Tim pinned and helpless with the other. "That might be fun to watch!"

Tim resisted the impulse to loosen his muscles and give in to the stabbing presence between his clenched ass cheeks. He responded quickly, "He might punish you too!" Brad relaxed his arms, pulled Tim onto his side, and eased them both into a spoon position. He snuggled his head into the crook of Tim's neck and whispered in his ear: "How will he even know?"

Also beginning to relax, Tim smiled. "He's got a video camera system down here. Could be that he's watching us right now." A feeling of exhaustion began to overtake Tim. Melting against Brad as Brad's limbs surrounded him in their once familiar position, Tim unclenched his muscles and nestled his ass into Brad's crotch. The two muscular bodies entwined themselves together, and Tim felt the bulbous head of Brad's erect cock seeking entrance. "I'm really tired. I think the aftereffects of that marathon training session are catching up to me. But if you want me to be punished, I probably deserve it."

Brad nuzzled further into Tim. "I'm tired too, but I'd like to hear about how you'd be punished before I decide if I'm gonna fuck the cum out of you." <br ab> <br ab>Tim chuckled. "Well, ... hmm ... hold on. I don't think I ever tried to put this in words before." As Tim collected his thoughts, Brad remained still and quiet, with his cock tantalizingly close to Tim, touching its target but refraining from going for the bulls-eye. Tim continued, "Ross likes sado-bondage. He gets off on keeping me restrained, especially to the point when he knows I want out." Brad interrupted, "like being in that closet, suspended in the sleepsack? Were you being punished?" Tim resumed: "That was ‘training,' not ‘punishment.' The purpose of training is to require, test, and develop endurance. Whereas punishment ... hmm ... um... I guess what I'm trying to say is that punishment would be some more severe kind of bondage and confinement, some position or form of restraint that quickly gets very uncomfortable. Maybe it's not as complicated as I'm making it sound."

"I think I understand." Brad retracted his cock, which had stiffened so much that he almost entered Tim unintentionally. He shifted it slightly to one side, to keep it out of the direct line of Tim's hole, and snuggled his head close to Tim, so as not to miss a word. Tim went on, "I guess the difference is that when I'm being trained, there's a good chance I'll enjoy some of it. But when I'm being punished, there's a good chance I won't enjoy a lot of it, at least when it's happening."

Brad interrupted again. "But you enjoy the memory of it, whether it's training or punishment."

Tim responded, "True. And I do want to be Ross's slave, which I try not to forget, even when I'm begging for release."

Brad posited, "And Ross always enjoys your predicament."

Tim laughed, "You got that right!"

Brad's cock seemed ready to burst. He sandwiched it sideways, between his crotch and Tim's ass. "I love this talk of ‘training' and ‘punishment'! HOT!"

Tim was attuned to Brad's excitement. "Yep, it's hot, but sometimes when it's happening it can be hell. Anyway, I don't make a habit of breaking Ross's rules. The ‘training' is enough for me without the ‘punishment.' As far as cumming goes, sometimes he will let me cum while I'm here, but I'm supposed to ask for permission first."

"What would happen if you don't ask first?"

"Depends on his mood and if he even notices, but he was very specific before he went upstairs today, so I'm pretty sure he'd probably punish me. That's if he's watching on his monitor upstairs."

Brad repositioned his cock and prodded Tim hard, threatening to poke through and ram him. "Give me an example of how he's punished you."

Tim fought the temptation to push back and impale himself. "Hmm... Well, a few weeks ago he had me encased and sealed up just like you were today, catsuit and rubber sleepsack, and he was binding me up, I think to fasten me into the box in that same position as you. I was really horny, kicking and squirming, and he warned me repeatedly not to cum, to wait. But, while he was strapping my legs back I got so worked up that I came, despite his loud warnings. After that he didn't say a word, but he unbuckled the straps, hauled me up, dragged me over to the isolation chamber, and pushed me inside. He left me in there ... standing in the rubber sleepsack, no opening except the mouth tube ... closed up in the chamber ... left me that way for really long ... seemed like forever at the time."

Tim could feel that Brad had reached between them to pump his cock. "Why did you have to stand? What's an ‘isolation chamber'?"

"It's a narrow, sort of vertical chamber, three walls and a solid door, with only enough room to stand once the door is closed. It's in back of the closet I was strung up in. It's hard to take. The confinement is overwhelming. There's no way to get comfortable. You just have to stand there and wait." Tim motioned with his head. "There's also a small pit across the room over there, under that board in the floor. To fit into it you have to get into a tight fetal position, squatting or sitting, all folded up. He calls it the ‘punishment pit' or ‘doing pit time.' It's really intense, especially combined with being in rubber and maybe some type of bondage too. When he shuts me in there for an hour or so, I definitely feel like I'm being punished!"

Brad let go of his cock, and Tim felt the rigidity of it against his butt cheek. Brad closed his arms around Tim and hugged tightly. "I want to try the ‘isolation chamber'! Right now!"

Tim hesitated. "I don't know if that's a good idea. I think maybe we should wait for Ross. I'm sure he'd be glad to put you in there!"

"Fine, have it your way." Brad reached down and roughly grabbed Tim's cock and balls, to keep Tim in place as he centered and aimed his own cock, but Tim tightened up and twisted away. "Wait! Stop!"

Brad relented. "I'm not gonna cum inside you without a condom. I'm just gonna make YOU cum."

Tim said, "What I meant was... I'll put you in the chamber, if it's open...." Tim hesitated and then continued: "I mean... well, I guess we're allowed to play, as long as we don't cum. But let's get some gear on first, get suited up and plugged ... the way Ross wants us to be -- just in case he comes down soon."

Brad released Tim's cock and balls from his grip. "Okay, but I get to pick the gear for me!"

Tim grinned and agreed, but teased Brad: "What a pushy bottom!"

Tim quickly completed his own plugging and encasement, using the medium butt plug and custom-size catsuit that Ross had recently acquired for him, the one Ross referred to as his "rubberskin." Its only openings being those at the eyes, nose, and mouth of the formfitting hood, once zipped closed it sealed Tim in rubber exquisitely from head to toe, with attached gloves and socks. Brad's mixed reaction of jealousy (wanting to be that anonymous-looking, latex-covered, muscular form) and horniness (wanting to tackle the form and have his way with it) soon gave way to curiosity and enthusiasm as they sorted through Ross's considerable collection of gear. The possibilities for rubber and leather coverage and restraint seemed endless, and a sense of horny fun suffused them both as they began to experiment. The idea of layers intrigued Brad, and Tim, adding touches of his own, was glad to indulge him. A seldom apparent aspect of Tim's sexual energy emerged, perhaps in response to the extended control by Ross he had just experienced, perhaps in response to Brad's presence, or perhaps as an outlet for the horniness that was starting to overwhelm his unfettered (though rubber-covered), erect cock. As Brad disappeared under the layers of coverage and restraint, he became more submissive, and Tim, more than just eager to satisfy Brad's kinky requests, enjoyed his own new, dominant role.

Overcome with horniness, Tim unzipped the crotch of his catsuit and played with his cock as he studied the end result: Brad manifested a high level of excitement -- bending and straightening his tightly encased knees, moaning loudly, and breathing rapidly through the tube in the grommet hole of the outer leather hood. The multiple layers of rubber, topped by a close-fitting wetsuit, achieved a type of constrictive skin bondage that was new to Brad. The outer hood, with its padding, zippers, laces, and multiple straps joined tightly, clamping his mouth closed tight around the gag, produced feelings of claustrophobia, deprivation, and helpless dependency that were mind-blowing. Under the layers, the large-size butt plug and pinprick chastity jock (which Tim had advised him against) produced a surprising degree of discomfort. Over the layers, the strong, snug leather straitjacket, binding Brad's arms and torso securely, and the wide posture collar, further limiting possible movement, completed the sense of extreme restriction. The knee-high boots, laced tightly over Brad's rubber-encased feet and lower legs, added to the perception of constrictive encasement. Insulated from sight and most external sound, Brad continued to dip down, moan lustily, and breathe heavily.

Tim spoke loudly, to ensure that Brad could hear him through the earplugs under the hoods. "You need to calm down in there! You're too worked up. Slow down. Stand still. Take a few deep breaths." When Brad moaned again, Tim yelled, "I SAID CALM DOWN!"

Brad grew still and almost soundless, his breath whistling quietly through the tube gag and hoods.

"That's much better." Tim asked, "Ready for the chamber now?"

"Mmph!" Brad could not hear well enough to understand, and the inability to comprehend agitated him. <br ab> <br ab>Tim leaned close and shouted, "IF YOU STILL WANT TO TRY THE CHAMBER, GRUNT TWICE."

Brad heard the words, understood, and hesitated. The effects of the layering, intense bondage, and sensory deprivation were already more powerful than he expected. He felt a mixture of sexual intoxication, bondage ecstasy, and fear as he finally responded. "Mmmmph, mmmmph!"

Tim had convinced Brad that he should "feel" the isolation chamber without seeing it first, and now they advanced slowly toward it. Responding to Tim's guidance, Brad gingerly waddled and shuffled, already regretting the size of the butt plug and the thorny discomfort of the chastity jock, its sharp barbs digging further with each step into his mercilessly hard cock. Blindly, awkwardly progressing forward, walking like a bowlegged old man across the dungeon, through the suspension closet toward the chamber, Brad felt his heart beating in his chest against the layers and restraints, his cock pulsing against the sharp spikes, and the blood coursing in his asshole, stretched wide around the huge plug, buried deeply and fixed in place.

Tim directed Brad, carefully turning him around and slowly inching him backward into the open, narrow enclosure. With the expanse of Brad's shoulders, he touched each side of the chamber, and as Tim pushed him into place, he looked wedged into the limited, confining space. Tim was hesitant to close the door to complete Brad's incarceration. Instead, Tim grabbed his own erect cock, protruding upright from the open zipper in the crotch of his catsuit. The image before Tim was compelling: a hooded, faceless, bound, masculine form, it looked totally dependent and helpless; thoroughly encased in taut layers of rubber and leather, its head, arms and chest were restrained with buckles and tightly fastened straps; and it stood there, cramped into its small prison, waiting to be locked away, a powerless bondage victim with no choice but to accept its fate. If Tim had found that image in a bondage magazine, he would have thought it was incredible, but seeing it in person, knowing that it was Brad who was underneath the gear and packed into the small space, was all more than Tim could bear. His long-deprived cock spurted wildly, shooting relentless jets of cum into the chamber and splattering across Brad's bound form.

Engrossed in recovering from his orgasm, relieved that it had finally subsided, Tim nearly jumped out of his rubber skin when he saw Ross's arm reaching around him from one side, toward the door of the isolation chamber. Tim gasped as Ross stepped in front and Brad disappeared behind the closed door. He was speechless as Ross bolted the locks and then turned to face him.

Soon thereafter, within 10 minutes of his return to the dungeon, Ross had already quickly finished his work and was ready to rejoin his dinner guests upstairs. As he entered the stairwell and paused before switching off the lights in the dungeon, his cock swelled at the sound of Tim's voice struggling to ensure it would be heard from within the pit. Ross listened to the muted shouts coming from under the floor:

"ONE HUNDRED THREE! THIS PIG WILL NOT CUM WITHOUT PERMISSION SIR!"

"ONE HUNDRED FOUR! THIS PIG WILL NOT CUM WITHOUT PERMISSION SIR!"

"ONE HUNDRED FIVE! THIS PIG WILL NOT CUM WITHOUT PERMISSION SIR!"

Ross looked at his watch, calculating the time it had taken Tim to reach 100. Then he multiplied the result by 20, to estimate the total time, assuming Tim made no mistakes and did not have to start over. He rubbed his expanding crotch, switched off the dungeon light, and climbed the stairs.