Waiting for Ross

Author: eckie
Title: Waiting for Ross
Date: 30 March 2003

by 'rubrstories' (no email known)

Tim had no way to figure out exactly how long Ross had been gone. To Tim, it seemed like forever. “Such a bastard,” he tried to mouth around the gag, but his attempt to form words was thwarted by the quick swallowing that suddenly became necessary. Moving his tongue off the tube in the gag had released a build up of piss. Tim sucked around the gag, trying to draw all of what was currently in the tube into his mouth. Taking a mouthful at a time for Tim was preferable to a persistent trickle, though the taste of piss seemed constant either way.

Tim would never have the guts to leave anyone the way Ross had left him, but he guessed that was one of the differences between Masters and slaves. Tim felt a burning sensation in his cock as it tried to expand around the catheter. Between visits with Ross, Tim masturbated incessantly, exclusively, to thoughts of waiting for Ross. At those times, his cock exploded to memories of challenging, lonely stretches of time, immobile and waiting for Ross, and to fantasies of future, imagined times, when he would be forced to wait for Ross. During his independent episodes apart from Ross, when memories and fantasies took over, Tim’s cock was always hard when he thought about waiting for Ross. But the realities of waiting for Ross were never the same as the fantasies that fueled Tim’s cock. The real time of waiting for Ross lasted exponentially longer than the quick few minutes it took for fantasies of waiting for Ross to have their effect on Tim’s cock.

While actually waiting for Ross, as Tim was now, Tim’s cock never achieved ejaculation. That’s because it housed a hole that belonged to Ross. Waiting for Ross, Tim’s cock had only one function: to be one of the holes plugged and controlled by Ross. However many times Tim had endured it, he never seemed to get used to the constant presence of the catheter, snaked up through his cock into his bladder. The crimped, pinching, burning sensations. The persistent feeling of wanting to eject it. The lack of control over his piss. The discomfort when his cock grew and shrank. While waiting for Ross, Tim always reached a point when he would pull out the catheter himself, if only he could get to it. Tim’s cock was not the only hole controlled by Ross. Tim inhaled carefully, and his nasal passages compressed the nostril tubes. When Tim exhaled, the sound of his own breathing, muffled by the earplugs, rebounded in his head under the tight, insulating rubber hood. When Tim swallowed his own piss, his mouth contracted around the gag. When Tim’s cock fought against the catheter, his rectum inadvertently gripped the wide, smooth, metallic plug. While waiting for Ross, a slave’s holes had to be plugged.

Reflexively, Tim inhaled quickly and deeply, and then regretted it instantly. Slow, shallow breaths were better. When he inflated his lungs too much, the pressure of straps, leather, and rubber became suffocating, and the sudden motion might provoke a correction. Attempting to avoid panic, Tim exhaled slowly, maneuvered his weight carefully from side to side, and flexed and pointed his toes. Despite Tim’s caution, these minute changes in position, the only movement he was capable of, triggered the pivoting motion he tried to avoid: Tim felt the weight of his body shift against the slickness of the sweat-covered rubber within the sleepsack He heard the weird, internal sound of his own voice, unintentionally trying to say “Fuck.” He felt sweat that had been trapped in various areas shift around under the skintight rubber. He held his breath and braced himself. Long, dark, silent, perspiration-filled seconds passed. Nothing happened. Cautiously, he resumed taking breaths, careful to avoid any movement, but the delay was short-lived: A series of painfully strong, sharp electrical jolts pulsed through his cock and ass. Tim quivered and moaned, uncontrollably enduring his punishment. While waiting for Ross, movement has its price.

While being trained to wait for Ross, Tim had doubted his own endurance. In fact, he had doubted any sane person could or would want to wait for Ross, but Ross had taught Tim otherwise. Ross taught Tim that slavery meant waiting for Ross, and Ross taught Tim what waiting for Ross meant. It meant two rubber suits encased you in two layers of head to toe rubber; it meant you were zippered, laced, and strapped into a leather sleepsack over your rubber; it meant your head was enclosed in a leather hood over the rubber; it meant having all your holes invaded or plugged; it meant recycling your own piss through a gag; it meant being suspended vertically by a hoist attached to the shoulder straps of your sleepsack; it meant hanging alone in a closet in Ross’s dungeon.

After months of instruction and practice, Tim learned to wait for Ross. At first, Tim doubted it was realistic or safe to wait for Ross, but Ross convinced him that safety came through teaching and drill And, Ross taught him the beauty and simplicity of it: Being alone meant Tim had no choices, no escape, no hope of early release. Early on, as Ross gradually increased Tim’s endurance, Tim twisted in his rubber and leather suspension and raised his voice, to test Ross’s response. Later, as Ross taught Tim it was safe to remain gagged, Tim also learned how to safely control the flow of his own piss into his mouth. Still later, Tim learned earplugs would do well to prevent Tim from hearing Ross’s approach. Finally, with the addition of electrodes and a butt plug delivering increasing current with each successive movement, Tim also learned to stay utterly still and quiet.

Now, waiting for Ross, recovering from the electrical shock Tim thought was undeserved, he hung as still as possible. He moved his tongue off the opening of the tube in the gag. He silently sucked down the piss, less copious and more concentrated with passing time and Tim’s continued sweating. Before Tim learned fully how to wait for Ross, Tim doubted it was realistic to be left for as long as Ross wanted. Now, thoughts of realism barely entered Tim’s mind; he often completely lost his sense of how much time passed. In Tim’s learning period, Ross always somehow managed to exceed the sentence they agreed to, even though the expectation of release after X hours was built in. One hour seemed easy, but Ross had actually made it last for 2, then 4 became 6. When Tim agreed to 8 hours which actually became 10, Ross insisted on 12 the next time, which became 14. After that, Ross seemed to enjoy going to the local leather bar only when Tim had been encased and suspended for the night. Overnight, on weekends especially, became a routine sentence. Rubber-encased, hooded, gagged, sacked and suspended, Tim hung quietly in the dungeon closet, sucking his urine, afraid to move, while Ross partied at the bar with his leather buddies, stayed out, and slept late. Next, when Tim reluctantly agreed to 18 hours, Ross kept him rubberized, catheterized, plugged, and suspended for 24 hours. Ross had been unyielding in increasing the time, and, refusing to endure further extensions, Tim had threatened to stay away after the 24-hour episode, but his need for Ross was too strong to stay away for long. During 24-hour sessions, Tim was aware when his flow of piss was periodically replaced by liquid nutrients or by Ross’s piss. Ross always kept Tim well hydrated and well bound. Now, waiting for Ross, Tim’s one clue about how much time had passed was the level of concentration of his own piss, which tasted strong and bitter. His other clues were in the stiffness of his joints, especially his shoulders and knees, and in the pressure points that he sometimes felt after hours of hanging mummified and immobile, descending further with each tiny squirm into his upright cocoon. Usually Tim’s back, legs, or shoulders suffered most, but this time his rubber-sealed arms seemed to have a life of their own, struggling for space in the tight-fitting sleeves of the sleepsack.

Waiting for Ross, Tim’s focus was Ross. Even when Tim was preoccupied by his physical predicament, Tim knew each discomfort he experienced was planned, controlled, and enjoyed by Ross. As hours upon hours passed, images of Ross filled Tim’s sight-deprived, rubber-encapsulated mind. Waiting for Ross meant total physical and mental control by Ross. Waiting for Ross...

-

As Ross pulled his truck out of the gym parking lot, he cupped his jock with his free hand and gave his sweaty, hardening crotch a squeeze in anticipation of what he expected to see when he got home. Ross loved to be out all day with the knowledge that when he finally returned, a rubber-sealed bondage pig would be waiting in his dungeon, where Ross would find him hanging suspended and tightly bound exactly in the same position Ross had left him hours before. Ross looked at his watch: about 8 hours so far. Driving slowly, Ross found his thoughts had turned to an assessment of his relationship with Tim. Ross had been looking for years for a slave who could take the intensity of the restraint, had the endurance, and was willing to put in the bondage time. He thought he might have finally found it in Tim. He had a hot little muscular body, shaved smooth like a slave’s body should be, perfect in size and tone for bondage and rubber encasement. His pretty mouth, ass, and dick holes were meant for plugging. And, he was born to be kept in tight bondage. Ross loved Tim’s love for bondage and his ambivalence in submitting to it, manifested by the anxious, doubtful look in Tim’s eyes before they disappeared under the rubber hood; the agitated breathing through the nostril tubes as Ross first sealed the hood and gag in place; the intermittent puffing up and stiffening of Tim’s body and limbs as he adjusted initially to being enclosed, strapped in, and suspended in the sack; and the muffled, futile sounds of his gagged mouth as he tried to object, to tell Ross that he changed his mind, that he felt too confined, that he couldn’t take it. But what Ross loved most of all was Tim’s ability to achieve a state of acceptance within the prison of the rubber cocoon. Like a true slave, Tim ultimately endured the punishment of such long-term restraint and then returned for more.

When they first met, with Ross watching and observing carefully, Ross had built Tim up slowly by gradually increasing the layers of rubber and leather, the tightness of the sack, and the suspension time, until Ross was able to leave him alone for hours at a time. Tim’s naturally flexible, slim, muscular body well withstood the physical rigors of the bondage, and his internal thermostat was able to handle the multiple layers of head to toe encasement. He produced a healthy amount of sweat within his rubber wrap but didn’t dehydrate, even after 24 hours, and his muscles cramped occasionally but recovered quickly. Ross’s sadistic cock swelled as he thought of the challenge he had in mind for Tim this weekend. It was only late afternoon on Friday, and already Tim had been encased for 8 hours.

Arriving home, Ross made his way through the house and down into the basement. He rubbed his cock through his clothes as he approached the heavy, oak closet door and grabbed keys hanging from a hook on the wall to unlock it. He opened the door and switched on the light. Tim hung perfectly still, as he had been trained to stay. Ross’s cock hardened further at the site of him: a sacked, suspended, totally helpless slave, with no sight or hearing, no control, and nothing he could do about it except wait, an object for his Master’s whim. The knowledge that he had been waiting all day made Ross’s cock stiffen uncomfortably in his jock. He loosened his sweat pants, pulled it out, and started stroking it. The vertical suspension held Tim upright, with his bound toes just a few inches above the floor, and his head level with Ross, who noticed Tim inhale deeply through the nostril tubes. Ross knew Tim could sense his presence. Ross pulled his sweatshirt up to expose his underarm, where the hair was still wet with perspiration from his workout, and rubbed it across the nostril tubes. Next, he removed his exercise pants and jock, to tie the sweaty jock strap in place over Tim’s nostrils. Then Ross clamped the catheter end of the tube that connected Tim’s gagged mouth to his bladder, detached the tube leading to his mouth, and inserted it into the neck of a rubber funnel. The motion caused by Ross’s actions set off the electrical current in Tim’s cock and ass, designed to punish him for any unauthorized movement. Ross watched in satisfaction as Tim involuntarily writhed in response. Ross heard stifled moans under the hood and the sounds of rubber and leather creaking as Tim squirmed within his cocoon and swayed back and forth helplessly. Ross liked to watch the worm-like straining movements. He turned up the current to increase Tim’s struggles while he pumped his cock with one hand and held the funnel under it with the other. Besides the enjoyment of surveying Tim’s helplessness and distress, Ross rationalized the electrical torture as being good stimulation for Tim’s stiff muscles. What better way to ensure that Tim’s blood circulated?. A feeling of immense pleasure enveloped Ross as he concentrated on the sound of the muffled cries and imagined the slave within the dehumanized, tightly hooded and encased form. Keeping himself silent, Ross grimaced and held his breath when his cock erupted. He aimed it into the funnel as it emitted a series of quick, strong jets of cum.

Several minutes passed while Ross momentarily lost his sense of purpose. When he came back to himself, he noticed Tim had become still and quiet. The current must have abated. Ross waited patiently for his cock to relax enough, and soon he was able to begin pissing into the funnel. He filled it and then stopped, raised it up slowly, listened to make sure Tim was swallowing without choking, and then repeated the process until he had drained his bladder. When he was finished, he removed the funnel and reconnected Tim’s catheter to his gag. Next, Ross checked the straps on the sleepsack and ignored Tim’s muffled protests as he tightened all but two of them. He readjusted the jock strap, to ensure it stayed in place over Tim’s hood-covered nose. He felt around Tim’s rubber- and leather-covered ass to locate the base of the butt plug and gave it a heavy swat. Ross heard a sharp cry from within the hood and knew that the electric shocks had kicked in again. He stared at the wiggling cocoon. The familiar, worm-like, pendulous movements were amusing but had less interest to Ross now that he had cum. He turned the light off, shut the door to the closet, and went upstairs.

-

Twisting in response to the painful shocks in his cock and ass, Tim belched. The odor of digesting piss mixed with the musky scent of Ross’s crotch as Tim inhaled through the jock that covered his nostril tubes. Inside Tim’s world of rubber and leather darkness and confinement, his sense of smell was exaggerated. Aromas of rubber, piss, and male crotch filled his sinuses as he tried to shift within the sack to find some space to breathe. The limitations of the restraint now seemed overwhelming, and Tim lost his ability to keep himself still. He twitched and jerked involuntarily and wrenched his body back and forth as much as the containment of the suspended sleepsack would allow, and in the limited range available he moved his head from side to side and back and forth. All of his motions sustained the movement-activated electro-torture, and, in turn, he became more desperate to escape. Making nasal pants through the nostril tubes, drawing the locker room jock aroma in, sweating profusely under the skin-tight rubber, Tim was aware through the ear plugs of the internal sounds of his own unintelligible protests. He emitted garbled shouts, but the gag and tight hoods ensured that he could only form the words in his mind: “Let me out you fucker!” Tim bellowed into the gag. He flexed his muscles to strain against the straps that Ross had made tighter. He heaved and groaned until the pain of the electrical current produced tears under his rubber-covered eyelids. He tried again to articulate words, to call out, to beg. In his mind, he pleaded: “Please..., please..., PLEASE SIR!” The only response was the continuous, painful prickling sensation in his cock and ass.

Eventually, Tim quieted himself. He made his muscles rigid to keep still and stop his body from swinging. He pulled his shoulders back, to ease the ache where the straps of the sleepsack held him suspended. Ross’s piss was beginning to cycle through him already. As Tim tongued the hole in the gag, sucked piss into his mouth, and swallowed, his body began to relax. The electro-torture had stopped. Though the constant presence of Ross’s crotch odor was in his nose, Tim could sense that Ross himself was gone. Tim’s hopes for release began to fade. The action of sucking piss through the gag seemed to provide some comfort, so he concentrated on that.

As time passed and the flow of piss continued, though Tim’s body slackened within the sack, things were far from being comfortable. Tim was conscious of the build up of heat and sweat from his previous struggling. The way Ross had re-fastened the buckles and straps of the sleepsack to make the enclosure tighter further restricted Tim’s arms and hands against his sides within the sleepsack sleeves and increased the compression of his shoulders and chest. The belts encircling Tim’s calves, knees, and thighs held his legs fast against each other within the sack. His body fused into one unit, Tim felt like he was a snake, wiggling around at the end of a hook. Inside the snug leather sack and hood, the two layers of rubber totally encased Tim from head to toe. “Such a bastard,” thought Tim. Ross was gone, and Tim knew he had no choice but to wait for him again, perhaps for hours. Tim’s cock, never a friend to him, stiffened with the knowledge and burned as it expanded around the catheter. Perversely, thinking about what Ross had done to him and how he had left him was making Tim horny, and the intensity of his confinement was having an erotic effect. His cock hardened painfully, answering the question forming in his mind: Why had he allowed himself to get into this position?

At some point, Tim lost all sense of how long ago Ross had been there and how much time had passed. Lurching with a start, he felt himself swinging and realized that he was coming out of a long lapse of consciousness. His tongue had been blocking the hole in the gag, and now, unthinking, when he moved it, his mouth filled with piss. He swallowed quickly. The taste was different, stronger, salty, more bitter, the flow was stronger, and the piss was warmer than usual. He no longer noticed the locker room smell in his nose. Tim continued to swallow. The flow seemed endless, and suddenly Tim understood that Ross was back, draining his bladder into Tim’s mouth. Tim swallowed quickly, obediently; taking the distasteful liquid eagerly, full of hope that if he behaved well Ross would release him. Wiggling in anticipation in his sack, he sucked and slurped around the gag to draw Ross’s piss through the tube. Tim noticed that his movements produced no electric shocks, and he squirmed vigorously in relief and inhaled the fresh air as deeply as possible. He was certain of imminent freedom.

Abruptly, the flow of urine stopped. Tim hung still expectantly. Through the leather and rubber hoods, he sensed what felt like Ross’s hands on his head. Instead of hoods being removed, however, he felt the outer leather hood being pulled roughly from side to side, and then his chin was pushed up. Next, he felt pressure around his head and neck, and then he understood that something was closing over them and being tightened around them. Panicking, Tim felt like he was suffocating. He snorted through the nostril tubes and gag and tried to shake his head, but the tightening continued without stop until his head and jaws felt squeezed and fixed in place. Gasping unintentionally, his anxiety lessened when he noticed that he could breathe through the gag tube without piss coming into his mouth. Tim noticed, as well, that Ross was making other adjustments. He felt a series of tugs and traction at a variety of pressure points as straps were pulled, repositioned, and re-fastened. The sleepsack was closing in further, and his attempts to wiggle and move his head were met with resistance. As the increasing tightness and immobility became more apparent, Tim’s mind and body reacted with a surge of sexual energy. Struggling mightily against the unyielding restraints, no longer able to wiggle or swing in his suspension, Tim was transported into a state of bondage ecstasy. Blissfully unaware of anything but the erotic sensations of the restraint, he pushed, pulled, and strained under the layers of rubber and leather.

When he came back to himself, finally exhausted after some unknown period of time, Tim tasted cum. He knew it must belong to Ross, since Tim was unable to cum when catheterized. Tim tried to call to him, but all he was able to manage was a pathetic, questioning babbling noise that reverberated inside his tightly bound head. He moved his tongue over the tube opening in his gag and the flow of piss started again. It was dilute, and Tim recognized the taste of piss coming from himself. His fantasies of release vanished.
Tim tried to imagine what he had looked like when Ross was working on him, bound up like a giant black sausage and struggling to escape. Apparently, Ross had liked the sight of it enough to cum. Tim decided that Ross had never before bound him as tightly. He was fixed in place, still suspended in the sleepsack but unable to move an inch. Each intake of breath was accompanied by resistance. The repetition of breathing and feeling compressed seemed like a sadistic cycle designed to remind Tim that Ross controlled him completely. Unable to move, Tim grunted in surprise when he felt his cock and ass start to tingle. What had started it? He thought he wasn’t capable of enough movement to deserve the automatic punishment of the electro-torture. Was Ross there controlling the dial? He inhaled slowly to sniff the air. Sometimes he could detect Ross’s presence by smell, but his familiar aroma was not in evidence this time. Suddenly, Tim gasped and swallowed piss quickly to avoid choking. The electrodes were delivering sharp, painful bursts of current on his cock and through the plug in his ass. Writhing in discomfort, sweating and cursing in his mind, he squirmed within the immobile sleepsack. As quickly as it began, it stopped. Tim sighed in relief and puzzled over what he had done to start it, but before he had much chance to concern himself, he had the answer. It came quickly, again and again, as the cycle of electro-torture repeated. Each time, just as Tim was able to recover and relax his muscles, the painful discharges zapped him to attention. As time passed, there was no interruption in the pattern. Tim estimated it repeated every minute or two, about 60 seconds of torture, followed by an equal interval of none. Cursing Ross and sweating in the skin tight head to toe rubber, unable to make any appreciable movements in the sleepsack, Tim sucked down piss and twitched in pain. As the shots of electricity kicked in, Tim felt like he would lose his mind if he couldn’t get out, but he knew he had no choice except to wait for Ross.

Ross looked at his watch and thought about Tim. Exactly sixteen hours so far: Ross’s cock swelled at the thought of Tim squirming and sweating under the layers of rubber and leather and not being able to do anything about it; bound tightly, immobile, locked away in dark isolation, deprived of his senses, and waiting....The growing erection and effect of beer on his bladder reminded Ross that had been at the bar about 2 hours. Ross was ready to head home, but he was intrigued by the intent look in Brad’s eyes. Ross stared at the handsome young man across the bar, inhaled deeply by way of his cigar, and then exhaled slowly in his direction. The large cloud of smoke made its way toward Brad, and he smiled at Ross. As Brad left the safety of his small group of admirers and walked toward him, Ross assessed Brad’s attire: a rubber vest over the eye-catching tanned skin and a sinewy expanse of chest and arms; tight jeans under a pair of rubber chaps, through the openings of which his bulging crotch and generous ass protruded; designer-type black leather boots, reaching almost to the knee. Porn star good looks, a definite star in any gay bar, Ross thought, though more like a fetish fashion model than a real BDSM player. Ross wondered if Brad knew about Tim. He decided to have some fun while finding out.

Ross spoke first, “Hello, Brad. What’s new? Where’s your other half?”

“Well, um, actually, I don’t know. Ur... well, what I mean is, well, funny to be tripping over my own words, I guess.... Well, Tim and I broke up a few months ago. I thought everyone knew.”

Ross laughed. “That’s right. Now I remember. Does that explain why I feel like you’re cruising me?”

Brad smiled again, this time breaking into a broad grin that showed off his good looks even more, if that were possible. “And I thought I was being low key about it.”

Ross continued, “In your case, nothing you do is low key. All eyes are on you, as usual, and you know it. What’s on your mind?”

“I disagree. I think all eyes are on you. Are you working out more or something? Your pecs and biceps are huge. Looks like you’re gonna break through that rubber uniform.”

Ross laughed again. “If you really want to work me with flattery, you have permission to get down on your knees and lick my boots.”

Brad gave a non-committal chuckle and glanced in the direction of his friends. Ross provided further encouragement. “If you want something, be direct. Just ask. I’ve always liked you and Tim. Heard good things about you.” Ross smirked. “Often thought I’d like to get to know both of you better.”

Momentarily engulfed by the eye-candy effect that Brad seemed to have on everyone, Ross found himself staring at the muscles of Brad’s upper arms and chest. Brad stumbled over his words again. “Err, well... okay.” Brad lowered his voice and continued. “When Tim and I were together, he told me you had ‘slaves,’ and I was sort of curious about it, whether it’s true. I mean... well, we loved to play and such, and it’s fun, but he said, well, um... okay... here it is straight away: Always wanted to play with you, wanted both of us to, since we both liked to switch, but he never wanted to, cause he said you were too, ah, sort of ‘hardcore.’ And we heard stuff from friends about you. And like I said was always curious, what I heard. So.... now I’m single, and... well, sort of ... interested.”

Ross lightly pinched one of Brad’s nipples as he talked. “I am training a slave right now. I’m not into exclusive relationships, however.” He smiled. Ross’s calm, articulate words implied a sense of control, and he liked it that way. Brad gulped, and Ross noticed that Brad’s crotch seemed even more pronounced. Brad’s demeanor suggested he was at a loss for words, but eventually he managed to say, “Cool. Uh... this, um... ‘slave.’ Who is he?”

Before Ross could decide what to say, Brad blurted out, “Does he come here? Is he here tonight?” Ross blew cigar smoke directly into Brad’s pretty face. “Bringing him here is not part of his training, at least for now.” Brad seemed hesitant and silent. Ross was now pulling insistently on Brad’s nipple, and Brad looked down, seemingly embarrassed by the growing bulge of his own crotch. Ross put down his beer, locked a hairy, muscular arm round Brad’s beautiful neck, and drew him closer. His cigar was less than an inch from Brad’s flawless nose and full lips. Brad pulled back and stammered, “So, well, uh.. Um.. how often do you ‘train’ him?”

Ross removed the cigar from his mouth and raised his eyebrows as he spoke. “Often. He’s being trained as we speak.” Brad exclaimed, “For real? Like he’s home polishing your boots?”

“It’s definitely very real. And he is ‘home.’ Not cleaning boots, though. He’s all sealed in rubber, head to toe, bound up tight, waiting in my dungeon.” Seeing Brad’s eyes widening, Ross leaned back, drew on the cigar, and continued: “Multiple layers of rubber and leather. Sacked, suspended, immobile. Hooded. Gagged. Ass plugged. Catheterized. Been that way all day. Recycling piss while his Master hangs at the local leather bar.” Ross picked up his beer and took a sip. “I’m building up a good load for him right now.”

Brad was speechless. Ross asked, “So what’s on your mind now?” Brad seemed to waver, as if searching for the words. Below the smooth, rippled abdomen and lean waist, Ross could see the outline of Brad’s hard cock. “I have a million questions, but I guess... well...” Ross smiled and interrupted, “Try two or three.” Suddenly seeming aware of his own seriousness, Brad smiled and then laughed, but Ross saw through the forced expression. “What if he wants out? I mean, you can’t just leave him that way, right? It’s just playing, isn’t it? You must, you know...Do you have some kind of... oh, I don’t know.. remote control release?”

“Once he arrives in my dungeon, he serves his sentence. He knows after he’s tied up, he has no choice. His options end when he walks through my door and submits to me. He’s a slave, so it’s not a game. I won’t let him out until I decide his incarceration is over. He knows that and keeps coming back for more. Right now he’s heavily bound, confined, locked up. If he wants out, though it may seem urgent to him, it’s also sort of an abstract concept at this point, since it’s not within his control, and it’s certainly not on my radar screen, at least not so far tonight.” Ross snorted, “And there’s no remote!” Enjoying his own description and aware that his own cock was also very hard, Ross continued. “There is a timer, though. Electrodes on his cock and an electrified butt plug. Timed jolts of current to keep him alert and swallowing. Don’t want him falling asleep and drowning in piss.”

Ross could no longer gauge Brad’s excitement. A blank expression on his face, Brad said nothing. Ross spoke. “Your friends are staring. Waiting for you it appears.” Brad: “Yea, I guess. I wondered.... I’d like to see how you keep your slave sometime.”

“I was about to leave when you caught my eye. You’re welcome to follow if you’d like.” Brad responded immediately: “I would!” Ross pulled again, harder, on Brad’s nipple, and Brad gave a half grimace, half smile. Ross let go of it, quickly downed the rest of his beer, and squeezed Brad’s ass. “Let’s go then. My bladder’s getting full. If we stay any longer I might have to press you into some piss service.” Ross turned toward the exit and crossed the bar, and Brad followed behind.

Like Tim’s body, now Tim’s mind seemed beyond his own control. In Tim’s isolated, dark, sensory-deprived world of restraint and confinement, what little noise could have penetrated the locked basement closet was deadened by ear plugs and layers of rubber and leather. There were the internal sounds of Tim’s own breathing and beating heart, blood pulsing through his firmly sealed head, and there were the indistinct, stifled sounds of creaking leather and stretching rubber, as Tim fretted and squirmed in horny discomfort within the suspension of the tight cocoon. Yet his mind, craving release, convinced him he heard external sounds - a door opening, a deep voice, the sound of a step, Ross’s laugh at the site of Tim’s continuing predicament - any indication of Ross’s presence. Anxious and hopeful, Tim would stiffen his body and hold his breath, to wait and listen carefully, but no further sound came, and there was no release. Instead, the almost intolerable sensation of electric current began another cycle, coursing through his cock and ass, and Tim would realize his mind had tricked him once again. As he continued to wait for Ross, thoughts formed less often in his mind, and sounds, or the lack of them, had less and less meaning.

Inside Tim’s sightless world of enclosure and blackness, three hoods compressed cotton eye pads, taped in place over his eye sockets. Tim’s eyelids would flutter, unable to open, and his eyeballs would roll in response. There were internal visions of total blackness, when Tim directed his eyes to look forward under the trapped lids. There were also flashes of phantom light, little personal displays of fireworks exploding before his eyes. Between sessions of electro-torture, Tim’s exhausted body involuntarily drifted into a half-awake, half-asleep dream state. With never enough time for sleep to set in completely before electricity shocked him awake, his fleeting dreams were disconnected yet vivid, as if he could really see. Sunny, bright images of release and freedom of movement flashed through his mind, but they were followed by the reality of enduring darkness and immobility. In one instant Tim was walking home unhindered through the park near his apartment, while in the next instant he had been jolted awake into total darkness, startled by his own involuntary struggles against the real-life bounds of his extraordinary prison. And, finally, he would dream of his bondage, the tight restriction, the layers of restraint, and wake to find it was all true.

When Tim’s awareness had been intact, feeling the results of being sealed in skin tight rubber for so long, basting in his own juices, sucking piss through his gag, he had wiggled and slithered in discomfort, within the compact, tightly sealed and suspended cocoon. Now, however, with awareness fading, and Tim’s control of his own mind alluding him, discomfort no longer seemed to matter. In fact, he often had no awareness beyond a detached feeling of acceptance, that he had become the bondage object that Ross had trained him to be: a mindless mass of bound, encased, electrified, twitching muscle, insensible to time passing as it acted as its own urinal.

It was at this point, when Tim had actually stopped waiting for Ross, that Ross unlocked the door of the dungeon closet and opened it. Ross had wasted no time when he and Brad arrived home. Within minutes, Brad, stripped naked, was already dealing with the severe restraint of a rubber arm binder and the limited shuffle that Ross’s heavy leg irons allowed. Moving awkwardly, Brad was guided slowly forward by Ross pulling his balls until he was in front of the open closet door. With a full view of the bound, suspended form, Brad exclaimed, “Shit! How long did you say he’s been this way?”

Ross answered: “Almost 18 hours. He’s done 24 like that. This time I’m shooting for 30. By the way, now that you’re in my control, you’re to address me as ‘Sir.” Understand, slave?” Ross saw Brad’s knees buckle and his legs shake. The arm binder behind Brad’s back forced Brad’s pectorals up and out, and the clamps Ross had placed on his nipples looked like they were about to pop off. A bead of pre-cum visibly enlarged, bubble-like, and then dripped heavily from Brad’s very stiff cock. “Yes, Sir. Feel close to cumming, Sir.” Brad straightened his legs and thrust his pelvis forward. Ross noticed that Brad’s cock was so determined to point upward that it stayed rigid against his stomach even when Brad moved.

“Slaves do not cum without permission. Surely, you know that. Apparently you like what you see?”

“Wish it were me, Sir.”

“That can be easily arranged, slave. I have more than enough gear for both of you. Won’t take long to get you rubbered up and sealed tight, but first I need to take a big piss.”

Ross disconnected Tim’s mouth tube, connected the funnel, and quickly filled it to the brim with piss. Raising the funnel slowly, Ross watched patiently as the piss drained through the gag into the hooded face, and he listened with approval to the rhythmic swallowing sounds. He noted that Tim drank compliantly and made no attempt to struggle or beg for release through the gag. It seemed apparent that in the hours Ross had spent at the bar, Tim had become resigned to his fate. Ross was pleased as he turned off the closet light, locked the door, and led Brad over to the dungeon bathroom.

Within a half hour, Brad’s transformation was almost complete, and Ross stroked his hard dick as he played with the final touches. Kneeling down, he adjusted the two zippers to bring them together at mid-back and then fastened the small padlock on them. He rolled Brad from stomach to back and studied the result: Sleek, shiny, and black, the rubber sleepsack was packed full with Brad’s lithe, muscular body. Arms immobile and flattened against each side within internal sleeves, it fit Brad so tightly there were no signs that underneath, Brad was also encased in a head-to-toe catsuit. Ross was also satisfied with the way the sleepsack’s attached hood gave the appearance of a skintight full-body seal, with no openings except the air tube protruding from the gag within. There was nothing Ross enjoyed looking at more than a totally encased, tightly sealed rubber bondage slave, and nothing he enjoyed listening to more than the sound of the slave’s breathing. Whistling through the air tube, it was a constant reminder of the slave’s only link to life outside of its rubber encasement. From the rate of breathing and wiggling, Ross suspected Brad was on the verge of cumming, even though Ross had warned him that the rubber would do little to dull the thorough ass belting Brad would get as punishment if he did cum before Ross gave him permission. Brad’s erect, compressed cock, trapped to one side and glued against his body, was visible through the two layers of tight rubber. Ross imagined that the big, thick, black rubber butt plug he had required Brad to insert was also contributing to Brad’s dilemma.

Ross toyed with the idea of connecting the funnel to Brad’s breathing tube, but his own cock by now was also very hard, and it hadn’t been that long since he had emptied his bladder into Tim. Ross was looking forward to how Brad would react when Brad realized that he would need to gulp piss in order to breathe, but Ross decided to delay that bit of fun until morning. Instead, Ross laid on the rubber matt on the dungeon floor beside Brad. With his head next to Brad’s, he knew his words would penetrate the rubber of the two hoods. Ross stroked his own cock as he talked.

“Having fun in there, slave?” Ross heard Brad respond with grunting, ecstatic moaning, and some unintelligible words that he guessed were “yes, Sir.”

“I’m going to answer the question you asked me back at the bar. Remember? You wanted to know who my slave is, whether you know him. Well, you do. My slave is Tim, your ex. Seems like you’re back together again, in a manner of speaking.” Ross snickered when he heard Brad respond, this time with more agitated moans. Ross pumped his own cock vigorously as he continued. “Hmm.. I think you and Tim are really fucked. I’m gonna sleep well tonight, all cozy and comfortable in my bed upstairs, knowing you’re both down in my dungeon, tightly bound, encased and sealed, sweating your plugged asses off.” Ross could see Brad tensing his ass, presumably squeezing the plug and trying to stimulate his cock.

“Desperate to cum, I can see. Well, here’s the deal. You’re basically stuck at least until morning. I’m leaving you down here just like you are. There’s no way you can get out unless I let you out. You can struggle and roll around all you like, as much as the tight rubber allows, but there’s definitely no way to escape and really no where to go down here. You’re perfectly safe, but you may get a little uncomfortable while you’re waiting for me to wake up tomorrow, especially as time wears on. Part of a slave’s job is learning to endure that discomfort. Understand? That is what you want, isn’t it? Oh, and by the way, I sometimes sleep until noon or even later.”

Brad’s ecstatic groans and exertions seemed to increase with each word that Ross spoke. “Very excited in there, I see. Good, slave, very good. Well, I have more exciting news. You can cum as much as you’re able if you want, but you might find that lying still and waiting for my return is your best option. I’ve heard from other slaves it can get pretty hot in there, especially if you move around too much. If you must cum, greedy bondage pig that I suspect you are, I recommend you wait at least until morning.”

With that, Ross saw Brad’s entire body stiffen. He heard a series of yips, like animal vocalizations, and then a long bellowing sound. He saw Brad’s muscles tensing under the skintight rubber and heard him gasping through the air tube. He watched as Brad twisted and squirmed, his body fused into one rubberized unit, working hard against the bondage to maximize its pleasure in an orgasmic fit that seemed to last a surprisingly long time.

As Brad’s moans finally began to subside, Ross decided to delay his own orgasm until he was snuggled in bed. Ross got up, turned off the lights, and left the dungeon. He knew he would sleep well, dreaming of his dungeon captives, his two rubber bondage pigs, the two slaves waiting for Ross.