Conversion Part 3

Thanks to rubrstories for the thread!  Amazing story

Conversion Part III

Following my impulsive session in the tub that night, from which I emerged with my body totally shaved neck to toe, I jerked off several times, with new sexual feelings and thoughts and my image in the mirror keeping me aroused and ready to play with my cock. I couldn’t seem to satisfy myself. As a Top, I had never paid much attention to my own nipples and had never encouraged anyone else to either. I preferred to play with those of my bed partner, primarily to increase his enthusiasm for servicing my cock. Now, however, my own nipples suddenly seemed like prime territory. Their surface area felt enlarged and sensual. Their tips engorged and raised, in the mirror they looked like they were on display and begging for attention. I massaged and pinched them with one hand, until the tender, shaved skin was on fire, while my other hand responded to similar sensations at my asshole, an area that I had never wanted or permitted anyone to prod before. I pushed tentatively against the exposed, smooth, puckered hole. Roughly working inside one finger lubricated with saliva, then two, I gently fucked myself with one hand and rubbed my chest and nipples with my other while I fantasized that Matt’s hands and fingers were on and in me instead of my own. I was engulfed in a wave of mental imagery and self-stimulation, with the feel of my new skin and the excitement it transferred to my cock augmenting the visions in my mind of Matt in his new incarnation. My focus of sexual intensity seemed to have shifted. Before, everything centered around my cock. Now, the sensations at my nipples and asshole eclipsed those at my cock, which seemed at the mercy of Matt and my brand-new sex organs.

While my cock fueled my metamorphosis and the ensuing frenzy of masturbation, it deserted me after it was finally depleted, and I was left with the reality of the result. When I recovered, I was not happy with what I had done, nor with my burning, irritated, exposed skin. I slept poorly, and the next day my cock seemed to have abandoned me. I wanted to undo what I had done, yet I realized there was no going back. Shaved hair grows in again, but not overnight. I had no choice except to adjust to the look, feel, and consequences of my new smooth skin and become accustomed to novel sensations produced by routine activities. Water from the shower passed over my body differently, more quickly, and didn’t adhere as much; my clothes somehow seemed looser and less clinging; my skin felt as though it had no insulation from the air temperature; and I had a sense of blushing embarrassment at the gym when I caught guys staring at my shaved form. Feeling humiliated and emasculated, I did my change of clothes quickly and showered in private at home instead of in the locker room. For a full two days after the shaving, the barrage of sexual feelings I had experienced initially seemed to elude me.

The third day afterward, late in the afternoon during the work day, I shifted my position at my desk in response to an itching sensation at my scrotum. My balls suddenly felt like sandpaper and my cock, trapped against the coarse stubble, responded to the irritation by growing a huge erection. I rubbed my left thumb over my shirt to stimulate my nipple. A spontaneous attack of horniness at work was unusual for me, but the sexy feel of my shaved body, and the knowledge I had done it, transformed it, for Matt, had suddenly taken over my mind. I left work early, with no plan in mind except an idea of looking for Matt online. When I signed on at home, neither of his screen names appeared on my buddy list. I decided to stay online and wait, but to put my time to good use. I stripped down and studied myself in the mirror. My exposed muscles still looked magnified by the lack of hair and my cock was stiff, with a huge erection now that I was naked. I resisted the urge to pump it. Instead, I flexed it and watched it bob around in the air as I settled on some poses, positioned my digital camera and selected the automatic setting, and took about 10 pictures. Next, with my semi-erect cock sagging to one side in my lap as I worked at my computer, I downloaded the pictures from my camera, selected the best shots, carefully cropped them, and obscured my face. As I stared at the pictures, my cock gave its stamp of approval by stiffening up again. It rose slowly in front of me, until it had returned to its straight-standing position, but this time it was excruciatingly hard and leaked pre-cum down its shaft. That’s when it hit me: my image in the pictures, my muscular reflection in the mirror, my new smooth look. I didn’t necessarily look less masculine, which was what I had feared. No, that wasn’t it. What I did look like was a really hot bottom, like a guy I would want the fuck the shit out of. That’s why guys were ogling me at the gym! As this idea sunk in, my computer made the AOL sound indicating that a new buddy had signed on, and I saw RBRDOM appear on my buddy list. Acting quickly, I e-mailed one of the pictures to him, a full frontal view with face obscured, and then sent an IM:

hotnhairy: Hi. chatted with you before. just sent you a pic.

About 2 or 3 minutes passed. I pinched one nipple and started to stroke my cock. Eventually, a response appeared on the screen:

RBRDOM: Don’t remember u. Tell me more

I dropped my cock and started typing.

h: we chatted once before about 2 weeks ago. I saw your profile on RubberMales.com 
R: experience? 
h: want to learn from you

My cock was wavering. Had he recognized my body in the picture? Questions kept forming in mind: Should I tell him who I am, that I still love him, that I’m obsessed with his conversion from sweet, willing bottom to arrogant, kinky top? Should I ask him why he didn’t confide in me, share his needs with me? Another message appeared.

R: send me a rear view

My cock sprung up again as I searched for the picture and sent it to him.

h: sent

I licked my thumb to massage my nipples as I waited. My cock was dripping again.

R: ur ass needs plugging. cock should be tied, deviced. u need a better screen name too

I started pumping my cock. Some precum on my fingers was transferred to the keyboard as I hesitated. I didn’t know how to respond.

h: Ok 
R: The proper response is Yes Sir, thank You Sir. All of your missives to me must begin and end with “Sir.” Location?

My cock was ready to explode.

h: Yes Sir, thank You Sir. Located here in SF area, like you, Sir. 
R: Send me more pics, with ur ass plugged, cock & balls tied up, face exposed. Any rubber gear? 
h: no 
R:What? 
h: Sir, sorry, no Sir 
R: Have to sign off for now. Send the pics. 
h: will do, Sir 
R: Look for me online tonight or tomorrow night. 
h: where do I get rubber, Sir? 
R: Rubbermales has links to buy gear online, also plenty of shops in town. Would like to see u in Xtreme’s capsule suit to start.

I responded with “yes Sir,” but he was gone. I pumped my cock, enough to get it and my hand gooey with precum, but I stopped short of making myself cum. With my cock weaving around in front of me, I browsed the RubberMales site, checked out some of the links, tried to get familiar with the jargon describing the items, and found the locations of local shops. It turned out that Xtreme was a shop not far from me and that it had a big web site. The home page said, “Xtreme offers leather restraints, metal fetters, stainless steel collars, heavy dungeon irons, steel cages, hoods, gags, collars, leather/rubber sleep sacks, straitjackets, chastity devices, uniforms, extensive latex/rubber selection, and much more to meet your fetish needs.”

I found a “capsule suit” advertisement: “CAPSULE SUIT. The complete full body coverage experience. Feel the total enclosure of being enCAPSULEd as the rubber envelops your body and the CAPSULE SUIT molds itself to your skin.”

There were several views of a man modeling the suit. The attractive-looking model was thin, and the suit looked a little big on him. It was shiny black latex and covered him totally from head to toe, with his lips being the only visible skin. A closeup view of the hood showed small, lattice-like holes at the eyes. The hood was attached to the rest of the suit, as were enclosed mitts and socks/feet. It did look molded, but certainly not to the man modeling it. I failed to see the allure of it and gasped when I noticed the price, but if it was Matt wanted, I was willing to give it a try. I knew if I jerked off I would not go through with it, so, acting quickly, I threw on minimal clothes, jeans, T shirt, and Nikes. With no underwear or socks and my hard-on barely concealed, and got myself out the door, on my way to Xtreme.

I returned within 2 hours with my purchases and began experimenting with the smallest one, a leather, harness-like contraption with multiple miniature belts and buckles designed to restrain the cock and balls. It took a few tries, and after some mildly frustrating moments, I got it on and tightened up all its little straps. Initially soft with the effort, frustration, and some inadvertent pinching of skin, as I finished my cock tried to become fully erect. Straining against the leather and buckles, it looked massive. Its engorged, purple head protruded from the straps encircling the shaft, where moist, dark skin, now with a reddish glow covering enlarged blood vessels, seemed to ooze over the multiple straps. My balls, also bound, girdled, and separated by leather straps, looked large and swollen. The physical sensations were a weird mixture of discomfort and excitement. I felt like I would be able to cum spontaneously if I wanted, just by flexing my cock against the straps, and I sort of liked the way my cock and balls looked: tied, packed, huge. I tightened up some of the straps a little more, to exaggerate the size of my cock and balls even further, but was careful not to let myself cum. I got my digital camera and snapped several views of my crotch.

Knowing what my next task should be, I stared at the black rubber butt plug I had purchased. With my own ample endowment in mind as comparison, the small sizes in the shop had looked wimpy to me, so, though wary, I purchased a medium-sized plug. My prior experience with dildos and plugs was limited to watching horny bottoms push them up their butts, which looked like fun for them but had never done much for me. I liked my bottoms to be tight. Nevertheless, despite my ambivalence, because it was what Matt requested, I was determined to take it. The challenge of it appealed to me. Holding the plug poised with its tip at my ass, I posed for my camera. Next, I knew I had to be relatively clean and well lubricated. The enema was okay - sort of a neutral experience. Then I started to work the tip of the plug into my hole. In spite of the preparation, it felt cold, stiff, unyielding, and enormous. Plus, once I got used to having the tip inside me, it really hurt when I tried to advance the plug beyond the wide expansion near the base. As I exerted more and more pressure, my cock, rather than losing its erection in response to the discomfort, became painfully erect within the tight straps. Its head, protruding from the device, had turned into a giant purple mushroom. There was so much precum it looked like I had cum. I considered giving up on the medium plug and going out to get a smaller one or even just a straight dildo, or giving up on the idea all together, but rather than give in, I began assuming different positions to try to insert it further. I tried sitting on it, but my sphincter, closing up to resist the invader, was uncooperative. Eventually I discovered a position that allowed some progress. Lying on my back in bed, with my legs spread and folded up against my chest like Matt used to do to his when I wanted to fuck him as deeply as possible, I closed my eyes, reached down between my legs, and imagined that Matt was on top of me. My fantasy was confused: I was fucking Matt, but somehow his cock poked insistently at my hole. I took long, slow breaths, envisioned Matt’s legs trapped under my hairy chest will I pounded him, and steadily exerted increasing pressure. Slowly, as my hole relaxed, I could tell I was close to achieving my goal. At last, with some added extra pressure and a quick thrust, I felt the plug advance further and slide into place. Simultaneously, a sharp, intense feeling shot through the inside of my ass and groin. I had no control as the muscles in my ass gripped the plug tightly and pulsated uncomfortably around it, and pumping spasms took over my cock. Surrendering without choice, I shouted and cursed as my cock exploded in an intense, excruciating orgasm. The plug inside me and the straps binding my cock and balls seemed to sustain it forever; the cum spurted up my body, splashed my face and chest, and entered my mouth as I gasped in agony. The orgasm was reflexive, mechanical, and totally out of my control as my asshole squeezed the plug and my tightly fastened cock and balls worked against the straps to eject more cum than I had ever made before. When it finally subsided, I rolled over and curled up into a fetal position on the bed.

The first thing I noticed when I woke up was a strong but familiar odor of cum, but it was accompanied by an unfamiliar if equally strong smell. I opened my eyes and saw the shiny black surface of the capsule suit under me. I must have rolled onto it in my sleep. The rubber smell seemed overpowering. I wasn’t sure I liked it, but experiencing it in combination with the smell of cum automatically sexualized it. Plus, my cock was erect again. Inside me, in the area of my prostate, there was an aching fullness, and my asshole, clenching the plug tightly, was exquisitely tender. I unfastened the leather cock and ball harness. My cock felt sore and had deep red marks where the buckles and straps had dug into skin while I slept. Yet, it was magnificently hard. Amazingly, I was horny and excited again. I resisted the temptation to lie back in bed and stroke my cock. Instead, I looked at the clock and discovered almost 2 hours had passed since I returned from my kinky expedition. I still had time to complete my assignment. I set up my camera and posed obscenely to document that the plug was in place. I considered removing it after the photos were taken, but I knew it wouldn’t pop out easily, so, deciding to deal with it later, I left it in place. Then I grabbed the capsule suit and set to work.

The guy who helped me at Xtreme had advised me to buy a large capsule suit, but I had insisted on a medium, because I was determined not to look like the thin model posted at their website. I wanted my muscles to be visible through the rubber, and I got my wish. After struggling with the suit for about 20 minutes, at times pulling in frustration, reaching awkwardly for zippers, and holding my breath to get the hood in place, I succeeded. When I had finished, I felt like I was ready for Halloween, dressed as a superhero, a cape-less batman. Though my view of my black, shiny reflection in the mirror was only through the small pinholes at the eyes, I could tell that I should be the model pictured at the Xtreme website. The tightly stretched rubber extended over my body, totally encapsulated me just as the suit was designed to, and molded itself to my muscular form. Trying to see different views of myself, I shifted around in front of the mirror. I didn’t know quite what to make of it, but I definitely loved the way the suit exaggerated my pecs, biceps, thighs, calves, buttocks, and crotch, all of which suddenly looked like they were part of an ebony statue of some kind of super-masculine alien being. The hood gripped my head tightly, and the attached neck covering felt slightly uncomfortable and constrictive. My lips, squeezing out of the mouth-shaped opening in the hood, were the only part of my body not covered by rubber. The hood gripped my head, and I could feel the rubber expand over my chest as I inhaled. My big cock, trapped within the rubber, was nevertheless conspicuously hard. I was starting to sweat profusely. It was certainly a tight fit, but that’s what I had wanted. I couldn’t imagine spending any real time in the suit, but that wasn’t the point. Fumbling with the camera, trying to press buttons with my sweaty fingers melded together in the rubber mitts, I worked to accomplish what I had set out to do: get great pictures for Matt!

Conversion Part 2

Thanks for rubstories - he's the author of this story.

Conversion Part II

About a week passed before, late one night, unable to sleep, I went back to the RubberMales web site to study Matt’s profile again. After the initial rush I had experienced the week before, I tried to convince myself that I wasn’t interested and didn’t care. I could have anybody I wanted. It seemed clear that I certainly hadn’t been what Matt wanted; yet, when we were lovers he gave no indication of dissatisfaction until abruptly dumping me. Despite how much Matt had been on my mind since our past relationship ended and my recent discovery of his new life, I was convinced that I didn’t need him. I had no interest in being a bottom for anyone. I didn’t like kink, and I wasn’t interested in rubber, bondage, or being anyone’s “slave,” whatever that meant. I liked being in charge of the action and wanted it to stay that way. Nevertheless, I found returning to Matt’s RubberMales profile had the same effect as the first time, if I let it. With a mind of its own, my cock stiffened and surged as I studied Matt’s picture and read the words I assumed he had written, describing what he sought: “slave in heavy manacles, cages, chastity devices, rubber, leather, hoods, gags, plugs, catheters, straitjackets, sleepsacks, piss, completely shaved in head to toe rubber, total control, no escape, no early release.” I stared at his photo: Protruding crotch and bulging muscles, exaggerated and visible through the obscenely tight latex cop uniform, Matt looked more than worthy of the worship that the bound, twisted-up “slave” at his feet was trying to bestow. I jerked off again, and then a second time. Over the next week, I found myself visiting the site every night. It provided the stimulation and relief I needed to get Matt off my mind for the few minutes it took to fall asleep after I jerked off to his image. Sitting naked and hard in front of my computer, stroking my thick, long, bloated piece of meat with my right hand, I memorized every detail of the photo, while my left hand roamed through the fur on my chest, tweaked my nipples over my well developed pecs, and pulled at my big, hairy balls. Looking alternately at the computer screen and then down at my hard cock and rigid abs under the abundant body hair, I would angle my cock up and back toward my chest as I pumped, to keep my computer clean when I spurted, and then collapse into bed without cleaning off. In the morning, feeling my chest hair matted with cum, my mind would recreate the scenario imagined the night before, in which I was the encased, tightly bound “rubber bondage slave” in the photo, squirming and struggling within the bondage at Matt’s feet in an effort to lick his boot. I became obsessed with Matt: not only the beautiful, blond, endlessly fuckable sweetheart I had known, but also the Matt I imagined he had become: uniformed, authoritative, big-muscled, more sizable than I, demanding, controlling, a Top, a Master of rubber bondage slaves.

Weeks passed uneventfully. I had sex a few times with two guys I was dating, but as they sucked my hairy giant or gasped and moaned when I plugged them with it, I thought of Matt, not them. I found my nighttime computer ritual with Matt’s image exhilarated me more than having my cock serviced by those hot, if real, guys. I confided in no one. My secret fantasy was burgeoning rather than receding, but I convinced myself it was a phase I was going through that would soon end. Over the weeks, at some point I had added RBRDOM to my buddy list, and during my cum sessions at the computer I always looked to see if MATT98 or RBRDOM was logged on. One night, when I had jerked off but sleep eluded me, I returned to my computer. I wasn’t horny again yet, but my thoughts of Matt persisted. I signed on and there he was, online as RBRDOM. I held my breath and sent an IM.

hotnhairy: Hi.

(After a delay of about a minute, he responded.)

RBRDOM: No profile? Stats?

(I felt my cock swelling as we began chatting.)

h: GWM, 28, 6 ft, 175 lbs, dark, hairy, muscular, hung, hot 
R: u looking for - what?

(I hesitated. I didn’t really know the answer to that question myself.)

h: saw your profile on RubberMales.com. 
R: experience?

(More hesitation on my part.)

h: beginner here

(There was a long pause. I grabbed my enlarging dick and stroked as his words finally appeared.)

R: Usually don’t waste my time with beginners. If ur serious, email pics to me - naked full body, front/back views, shaved neck to toe, plus same views in rubber, then page me again sometime, address me as Sir, & make sure u get a more respectful screen name

I was surprised by his arrogant directness. I felt disconcerted but my cock was now fully erect. Should I tell him who I was? I didn’t know how to proceed. I typed into the IM dialog box:

h: I don’t have pics like that

With a clanking default sound accompanying a text message, AOL told me RBRDOM was no longer signed on. Stroking my cock, I stared at the remnant of our chat. The instructions Matt had typed made my erection feel stiffer than I was used to, so stiff it hurt. It didn’t take long to reach a climax. I rubbed the cum into the hair on my chest, curled up in bed, and slept soundly.

I’ve always been proud of my body in its natural, hairy state. I trimmed my chest and crotch hair from time to time but had never considered shaving my body. The combo of thick, black hair and substantial muscles is a big turn on to a lot of guys, especially the pretty bottoms for which I have a predilection. In fact, when Matt and I had been lovers, I know he loved my hairy physique. It was puzzling to me that his needs had changed so much. I wondered what transformation he had gone through to turn him into a “Master” who required hairless “slaves.” I stayed away from my computer for a few days after our brief chat and devoted my energy to other activities, work, and the gym. I turned down several offers for sex. I needed a break, to clear my mind. At least that’s what I told myself. Then, suddenly, one night at the gym, my mind returned to its pondering of the new Matt. I felt inspired somehow and decided I was being a wimp about the hair issue. I finished my workout quickly, skipped the sauna and gym shower, and stopped at the drug store. At home, I stripped quickly and jumped into the tub with my purchases. Experimenting with scissors, disposable safety razors, shaving gel, depilatories, and a hand-held mirror, I set to work. My cock, semi-erect and dripping pre-cum, provided the desire I needed to keep working when I realized that the transition would take longer than a few minutes. I twisted myself around awkwardly to reach behind, fumbled and slid around in the tub, shaved areas like the tops of my toes I had never considered before, and used the hair removal cream when I had trouble shaving any part of me, including my balls and asshole - big mistake! When I was finally done, rinsing off for what seemed forever to try to stop my balls from stinging, the first thing I noticed was the dramatic change in tactile sensation. I went to the full length mirror in my bedroom and tried to suppress my shock. My denuded, bare muscles were more well defined than I imagined, and I felt completely naked to an extreme I never thought possible, totally exposed, and hypersensitive to stimulation. My nipples, balls, and asshole felt unprotected in a sexual way I never experienced before. Without the nest of crotch hair surrounding it, my cock, stiffly erect in spite of the burning sensation around my balls, looked monstrous. I grabbed it with one hand and explored my nude, hairless skin with the other. Probing my oversensitive, smooth nipples and ass crack, I felt vulnerable, defenseless, incredibly sexual and sensitized, and my cock exploded with eruptions of cum splattering the mirror.

Conversion Part 1 by rubrstories

Thanks to rubrstories for this long lost chapter

Conversion Part I

Matt and I were lovers for almost 2 years, and about 18 months had passed since our breakup. I had moved on immediately, with hot little Italian sex-crazed Dan, who never tired of getting fucked but who didn’t hold my interest for more than a few weeks, and then with beach boy Zach, a pale imitation of Matt that had also been short-lived. As a confirmed top, I like to fuck pretty, gym-bodied, bottom guys. At a muscular 6 feet, 175 lbs, with swarthy, masculine looks and abundant black hair owing to mixed Greek and Spanish heritage, I have no trouble in the romance department, but Matt was a hard act to follow. He was exactly my size but the complete opposite of me in appearance. He had this wholesome, perfect blond aura about him, an incredible, almost overworked smooth muscular body, tanning-bed copper skin, the most beautiful blue eyes I’ve ever seen on a man, and a smile that could make me dissolve if I let it. On lazy weekend mornings, naked in bed, wrapped around each other under the sheets, we rubbed our cocks together until we couldn’t stand it anymore: his thick, exposed, beautiful pink erection against my dark, hairy, monster, which inevitably found its way into one of his holes. I couldn’t get enough of him: his smooth whiteness next to my coarse dark fur, his sweet sphincter squeezing my huge cock, his lips and mouth sucking on my tongue or the head of my cock, his creamy, tanned face turning red and chafed after a kissing session with me, his muscular legs hiked up on my shoulders and his toes curling when I fucked him enough to make him cum without his cock being touched. And yet, in spite of devouring him physically, I had sensed some part of him seemed beyond my reach, especially when he began spending less time with me and more and more time at the gym or on his computer. Still, with frequent amazing sex and our many other mutual interests, I thought we were perfect together, until he abruptly left, with little more than a lame explanation that he had met someone else. I had never been dumped by someone I cared about so much. We’d had no contact since, but I still thought about him all the time.

Matt was on my mind as usual the day I set up my new computer, installed AOL for the first time, and signed on. Experimenting with the settings, I found a function that located members who were online. I typed in the screen name for Matt, MATT98, with no result. Then I thought about his alternate screen name, the one I had noticed and questioned him about but that he claimed was meaningless and never used. I wasn’t sure I could remember it, but I tried. AOL told me RBRDOM was online and in a chat room called M4MDISCIPLINE. The chat room was full, but soon I figured out how to look at RBRDOM’s profile, which offered very little information:

Name: Sir 
Location: CA 
Description: Young, blond, musclular GWM, dominant. IM for details or see profile on RubberMales.com

My initial reaction was one of disbelief. I must have been mistaken about the screen name. Dominant? Rubber? Not my Matt! I had to find out, yet I didn’t want to IM him. I directed my browser to RubberMales.com, which turned out to be a members only, pay web site. In short order, I paid the fee by credit card, received confirmation e-mail to gain access, and assembled a rudimentary profile for myself, so that I could search other members. There was no RBRDOM, but there was a RUBRDOM. I clicked on the link for the profile.

Member: Master/Top 
Location: CA 
Physical stats: 6 ft, 190 lb, blond/blue, body builder 
Fetishes: Rubber, leather, uniforms, extreme bondage. slaves in long-term inescapable bondage: heavy manacles, cages, chastity devices, rubber, leather, hoods, gags, plugs, catheters, straitjackets, sleepsacks, piss, completely shaved in head to toe rubber, total control, no escape, no early release. 
Relationship status: intense muscular Master with partner, seeks equally intense in shape slave for training in total bondage & rubber; potential for 24/7 service to Master and partner. Serious, real slaves only. Have partner already. Want a slave.

Below the description, a picture was loading on my screen. I saw Matt’s face first, and then the rest quickly flashed into place: He wore what look like a police uniform, but it was exaggerated, body-hugging, made of rubber I guessed, complete with a cap and tight, shiny black boots encasing his muscular legs up to the knees. Whether it was the mock tight uniform or added bulk from continued weight lifting, he looked appreciably larger than when we had been together. His upper body was massive, his waist, circled by a wide belt, was still lean, and his biceps stretched the rubber sleeves. He was positioned in a wide stance, with his legs apart and arms flexed. His right hand held a leash, leading down to the collar of a bound figure at his feet. The prostrate, obviously muscular, male figure was in a bowed posture on its stomach. The figure was completely black, totally covered in either rubber or leather, and restrained in what looked like a contorted, impossible position: Its arms were held together at the elbows and wrists, bound behind its back, and its legs were bent, with ankles drawn up to its butt. The ankles were connected by a taut, black cord to a ring on its hood, so that its head was pulled back, almost into an upright position. The only visible part of its body was the tongue, protruding from a small hole in the hood and straining forward to touch one of Matt’s boots.

I felt a rush of emotions, a flood of thoughts entered my mind, and I sat frozen at my computer for an unknown time. I felt incredulous, angry, betrayed, confused, and hurt, but there was also another, unfamiliar, weird feeling welling up inside me, and it was manifested in my cock. It was rock hard and leaking so much pre-cum that a wet spot had appeared on my jeans. I fiddled impatiently with my belt and zipper, roughly pulled my pants apart, and grabbed my cock to pump it like a madman. The huge erection overfilled my fist but I barely noticed, instead concentrating on the fantasy that overwhelmed me. Staring at the images before me, I wanted to be the slave in the picture: encased, dehumanized, humiliated, fit to be in Matt’s presence only as a bondage slave, rubberized and bound at his feet to lick his boots. Feverishly working my fist, I had become oblivious to my surroundings as my cock exploded mercilessly and uncontrollably. I moaned out loud, and the spurts of semen landed on the keyboard and screen of my new computer.

Waiting for Ross #31

“When you’re not being neurotic, imbuing the experience with so much seriousness it seems like a life choice, what’s your favorite type of bondage situation?”

Tim laughed nervously in response to the preface of Jason’s question. He hesitated. “Um … Not sure, I guess.” Tim felt shy talking about the mechanics of bondage in a semi-public setting.

Jason said, “Well, you must have at least one recurring fantasy about gear that you use to jerk off sometimes.”

Tim looked around, hesitating, contemplating whether to reveal that romanticizing his memories of Ross produced his strongest sexual fantasies. “Um … I do love sleepsacks. Being trapped in one overnight, maybe cumming in it early on, then wanting out but knowing I am stuck until the morning. Left to stew in my sweaty prison, then that knowledge would soon get me started again, hard-dicked and struggling, and the pattern would repeat, maybe three or four times, until I either fall asleep or morning comes, and then Ross … err, someone let’s me out. I think that would top the list for me.”

Seated across the table from Tim, Jason spread his legs, repositioning a gym bag sitting next to him as he shifted his crotch forward. “You’re talking straight to my cock, and it’s responding. I like that. Give more details – rubber, leather, what’s on you under that sack, and where in your fantasy do you ‘sleep’ overnight in it?”

Tim felt his face flush. I am talking to GearDom, after all, Tim thought. As he considered how to articulate the reply forming in his mind, Tim studied Jason. The blend of characteristics was breathtaking: inked male muscle, prominent physical size and sexual presence, animalistic purity and a powerful athleticism, hyper-masculine features exaggerated by dark, carefully cropped head and facial hair. Crowned by a paradoxical innocence of smile and vulnerability of expression, on such a handsome face, the combination devastated Tim. The torment of his chastity device transformed into pleasurable pain as Tim stared at Jason’s brown eyes.

Jason said, “Hey, you look like you’re in a daze.”

Tim looked around to see if nearby customers could hear him. When Jason had met Tim on arrival in California, Jason had taken Tim here, to a secluded booth in an airport restaurant. Tim assumed Jason sensed his disappointment (where is Ross?) and uncertainty (I don’t really know you) and had chosen this as a place where they could talk. A half hour later, after food for Jason, some juice for Tim, and some light conversation, Tim definitely was more relaxed.

Tim continued, talking quietly. “I’m inside a thick rubber sleepsack, zipped and strapped, naked underneath except for a plug locked in place. It’s extremely tight and restrictive. Internal sleeves immobilize both arms at my sides. Strict external straps reinforce the tightness and escape-proof seal. I have a tight rubber hood with eyeholes. Though in real life it’s not safe to be left gagged overnight, in my fantasy there is a large, uncomfortable ball gag pushed deep into my mouth by a head harness under the hood. There are multiple chains fastened to D-rings on the outside of the sack, which give me a limited range to squirm on top of a rubber sheet, covering the mattress of a narrow bondage bed. I see through the hood that the empty room is dark and sense I have been alone, struggling in place to cum again, for hours. Unable to call for help, I wiggle, squeeze, pulse my cock, gasp, sweat, and endure my predicament.” Tim smiled. “Is that enough?”

“I’m aroused. You explain things well. Just like Ross.” Jason smirked. “So, you are in some room by yourself, chained to a bed, left to squirm around in a tight rubber sleepsack all night, hooded and gagged, fucking your ass on a butt plug, cumming over and over, knowing that you won’t get out until morning?”

Tim felt embarrassed. “I might get some sleep too, but you’re right, that’s the gist of it.”

Jason asked, “How would Ross change the details of your overnight fantasy to suit Ross?”

Tim replied, “It would be more difficult and intense and less enjoyable, or even totally unenjoyable, especially as time passed.”

Jason said, “Remember, I like to hear details.”

Tim obliged quickly this time. “Ross would insist on several layers. A rubber suit first, maybe even two, a rubber sleepsack, plus a leather sleepsack. He likes leather as the outer layer because rubber is more fragile and can fail, while tight containment in a locked leather sleepsack is pretty inescapable. Ross used to enjoy … I’m not sure of the exact word … the ‘totality’ or ‘comprehensiveness’ of sleepsack bondage, watching the cocooned form and knowing that the slave is in there and can’t do anything to get out of it.” Shifting on his seat, Tim grimaced in pain, but then quickly continued. “The hood would be sightless, and Ross likes uncomfortable posture collars. He always keeps my ass plugged. Most likely I would be catheterized or in chastity or both and unable to cum. I might have to recycle piss all night. I could not count on getting out first thing in the morning. And I would probably be alone, though monitored somehow, with no vision and little hearing, isolated, locked away in a cage somewhere in a basement.”

“Very good,” said Jason. “Now which of those stories made your dick harder?”

Tim felt his face redden self-consciously. “The spikes hurt more during Ross’s version,” Tim admitted.

“So why all the soul searching and doubts about being here?”

Tim paused, considering how to express his complicated thoughts in one or two sentences. “I was going through a long period of trying to take charge instead of trying to be controlled, I guess. You probably know Ross is a control freak. And we shared a perspective that bondage isn’t really bondage until you want out and discover that’s not going to happen on your own timetable.” Tim paused for a few seconds. “I thought that part of my life, giving up control, was in the past. That’s all, I guess.”

“How long have you known Mike?” Jason asked.

Uncertain where Jason was taking the conversation, Tim responded, “Not long. Weeks or a couple months at most.”

Jason asked, “Why didn’t you take charge of him, instead of letting him have the upper hand, topping you, having you keep on a chastity device, dominating you, all with Ross’s long distance help?”

Aware of the head of his cock pulsing against the chastity spikes, Tim stayed silent for a few seconds. With some maneuvering and pulling, he might have been able to slip the silicone device off, and yet he hadn’t tried. “It felt natural, I guess. I know where you’re headed – that all of this is my own doing.” Jason said nothing. Tim asked, “Do I get to ask you questions?”

Jason said, “One or two, and then you need to make a choice. Either I leave you at the airport to find a flight back east, or I take charge and reunite Ross with his pig as planned. It’s totally your decision, but once you decide, it’s final. There will be no opportunity for backtracking and expression of second thoughts.”

Tim asked, “What is your relationship with Ross like? Are you his pig too?”

“We love each other as partners. We have many strong interests that are mutual but not complementary. We enjoy being Doms together. I have experimented being a sub but those days are over. So, I’m not his pig, I’m his partner.”

Tim pressed for more information. “What’s one of your favorite bondage situations?”

Jason responded. “I think you have a good idea of the broad range of fetish activities I like. My online profile tracks other users’ number of visits. We could see you viewed GearDom hundreds of times.”

Tim remained silent. He was hoping for more information, but hesitant to ask. As though reading his thoughts, Jason continued. “In person you seem like a perfect candidate for what I like – long periods of captivity in which you are kept gear-bound at all times. Extended time spent in sleepsacks or in other gear long-term, similar to your fantasies and Ross’s realities. The extended periods would be punctuated by interim trials, more challenging situations. Difficult, sometimes painful, predicament-bondage, to help you appreciate conditions you are expected to tolerate long term. I like very thorough restraint, head to toe. Of course, the human body was not meant to be kept bound and gagged and sealed in rubber all the time. Skin needs to breathe too. You need nourishment, hygiene and exercise to stay fit and healthy, but much of that can be accomplished in rubber and chains.”

Tim tried more questions. “Why isn’t Ross here now? How would I fit in to your partnership?”

“We want a live-in sub for a Dom/sub arrangement. It will help strengthen our bond. We like to play with friends, visitors, and it’s fun, but can also be time consuming and sometimes tricky. A cute muscle sub who loves bondage in heavy gear and long periods of confinement 24/7 would fit the bill. Ross uses the ‘slave’ word when he talks about you, like you’re the embodiment of the mythic bondage slave he always wanted, the pig that got away. He says you were born for it.  And to answer your other question, he’s not here on purpose, for a couple reasons. I think one is that he wanted to give me a chance to assess you on my own.”

Tim blurted out, “I want to stay here for the visit as planned. I’m sure. Final answer. Unless you don’t like what you see.”

Jason laughed. “Okay then, babe.” Assuming a business-like tone, Jason immediately handed the small gym bag to Tim and issued instructions. “Go to one of the restrooms here. There are multiples. Each is private and can be locked. This may be your only chance for a potty break for several hours. Strip off your street clothes. Use the enema kit first. You’ll find lubricant and a nice butt plug attached to a harness. Next, there are rubber socks, gloves, and a catsuit that should fit like a glove. You can cover the suit with your outer clothes if you’d like. There are also motorcycle gloves to conceal your hands. Or, you can walk to my car with the rubber suit showing if you prefer.”

Jason described the airport garage location, color and model of an SUV. “Meet me at my car. It’s at the farthest point possible. The exercise will be good for you. Be efficient and quick.” Jason checked the time on his phone. “I’m leaving the garage in a half hour, with or without you.”

* * *

Suppressing his panic more than 30 minutes later, Tim walked quickly through the garage. The process Jason described so easily had been a trial to complete in the small restroom, with patrons knocking on the door as Tim rushed. The butt plug had been difficult to insert, requiring Tim to accommodate rippled knobs of graduated size on a long shaft and thick base. Now, the chastity spikes and plug tortured him mercilessly as he hurried. Inside his shoes, latex socks with individual toes squeezed his perspiring feet.

Tim felt a moment of dread. He had taken too long and screwed up somehow. Jason’s car wasn’t where Tim thought it should be. Maybe Jason already left. The garage elevator was slow in coming. Tim found the stairs. A minute or two later, nervous, overheated, and sweating, he jog-waddled the length of one level until he noticed an SUV with tinted glass windows, alone at the corner of a far end, which matched Jason’s description. As Tim studied it, the rear door opened and Jason emerged from the side. Tim walked over as Jason directed him to climb into the back of the car, where he found himself in a cargo area with a metal dog crate. Jason closed Tim inside the car and immediately appeared in the driver seat. He turned around and began issuing instructions.

“Strip down to your rubber and put your clothes in the bag.” As Tim complied, he noticed that Jason selected leather straps from a collection of items on the front passenger seat.

“Good. Now get between me and the crate, face toward the rear, kneel back to me, and put your hands behind your back, palms together and fingers intertwined.”

Tim felt leather straps buckled around his palms, wrists, forearms, elbows and biceps, drawing his arms uncomfortably close. As he wiggled his arms a bit, testing the restraints, he felt Jason make readjustments, tightening straps and fastening padlocks in place. Stimulated by the restriction and the notion of Jason as the Top administering restraints, Tim struggled and turned his head, but quickly withdrew as a slap and Jason’s clipped tone commanded him to be silent. “Stop wiggling and keep quiet! Now face backward, stay still, and cooperate. That’s good, babe.”

Tim liked the sound of Jason addressing him as “babe.” Staring at the dog crate, Tim heard behind him the sounds of leather and metal being arranged. Tim noted that the crate appeared formed of solid aluminum sheets and sturdy metal hinges. The top and front were both open. Ventilation holes were apparent, and the front door included a small window with bars. As Tim contemplated the crate and his fate, he felt Jason pull material over his rubber-gloved hands and pull it up his bound arms, enclosing them. Through his rubber catsuit and on top of the leather straps, Tim noticed the tightness and thickness as Jason worked the device upward to complete the enclosure. While Jason finished knotting laces, Tim squirmed involuntarily, riding his butt plug in reluctant excitement as Jason forced his hands and arms closer together. A nasty smack on Tim’s ass from Jason reminded him to keep still.

Next Tim felt Jason zipping a flap closed over the laces of the armbinder, completely covering them, followed by a padlock on the zipper at the top. Additional straps around Tim’s arms extended through loops on the outside of the single sleeve binder. Straps in a harness arrangement circled around the top, crossed over his shoulders, secured around his chest, bound Tim’s enclosed hands to his waist, and extended though his crotch. A wrist strap over the binder seemed to isolate Tim’s hands, clenched together within the small pouch of the single mitt. When Tim thought Jason had finally finished, Jason pushed Tim forward for access to the finishing touch on the armbinder, lacing a connection between a crotch strap and Tim’s bound wrists.

Tim heard Jason comment, “Very nice, babe. You’re pretty flexible, a good thing or this might be even more uncomfortable, given your athletic physique and big biceps.  Straighten your back now, head up.”

Tim grunted. Though dying to emote over the sexual thrill of the tight armbinder, Tim obediently sat up, remaining still and quiet at Jason’s command. Tim blinked, closing his eyes temporarily to shield them as a rubber hood descended. Using one hand to press the outer surface over Tim’s face and the other to push Tim’s head forward, Jason guided the hood into place and forced an open gag through Tim’s lips. With his arms restrained so tightly behind him, Tim felt helpless to resist Jason’s use of strength, tugging and pulling roughly at the hood while Tim strained to stay in balance. The squeezing sensation and tightening seal took Tim’s breath away as Jason achieved closure using what felt like a very sturdy zipper.

Gasping air through his mouth, Tim noticed that there were also nose holes for breathing. An uncomfortable internal gag held Tim’s mouth in an open position. Through clear plastic eyes sealed into the hood, Tim viewed a black rubber rim below his nose. He realized that he was locked in a latex urinal hood.

Though the hood diminished his hearing, Tim heard Jason say, “That would have been easier for me if your head were completely shaved.” Instinctively raising his chin to accommodate Jason, Tim felt Jason secure a wide collar that encircled Tim’s neck, further sealing the hood and hindering movement of his head. A tugging sensation and application of pressure confirmed closure of a padlock on the buckle of the thick collar.

Tim felt Jason nudge him, pushing him forward. “Crawl on your knees over to your portable prison and turn around. Chop chop!” Awkward inches and a difficult minute later, Tim had achieved the goal. “Move your body to one side, angle your legs and knees, that’s right, and transfer your weight to your butt. Perfect! You should be able to scooch backward on your butt, carefully, yes, your shoulders touch the back of the crate. There you go.”

Seconds later, clutching more gear, Jason maneuvered between the passenger and driver’s seat to join Tim in the cargo area. Still excited and willing though noticeably uncomfortable, Tim helpfully strained and postured, allowing Jason to resume Tim’s restraint. With Tim in a sitting position, knees bent and arms tightly bound behind, thick straps were tightened at multiple points, joining Tim’s muscular, rubber-encased legs together securely at mid-hip, above and below the knees, and at his calves. An ankle restraint included an attached harness to bind Tim’s rubber-socked feet, facilitated by the individual toes of Tim’s latex socks. The foot harness fastened with multiple straps. One at arch level united Tim’s feet tightly at mid-foot, where it was intersected by a connecting strap for another that encircled Tim’s big toes, joining them together. The toe strap connected to still another strap, extending under Tim’s feet and threading through the arch and ankle straps, all of which Jason firmly buckled.

Taut nylon rope anchored Tim to the floor of the front of the crate through D rings in the ankle restraint. More rope threaded under Tim to create tension between feet and wrists. Additional pieces secured Tim between head and knees and at the top rear of the crate via large D rings on the front and back of his posture collar. Through ventilation holes on opposite sides of the crate, Jason inserted a thin metal rod under Tim’s knees.

Hanging from one side of the crate, a hinged metal plate was lifted and lowered by Jason, to close off the top. Next Jason maneuvered the front panel, closed Tim in, and snapped metal latches. The roof grazed Tim’s head, his shoulders butted up against the sides and back, and his pointed toes touched the front. Tim was immediately impressed with the confinement aspects of his imprisonment; the impact of solid metal containment and the feeling of impending claustrophobia were powerful. Tim reflexively jerked his head, finding it immovable, as he saw a tube appear from a hole above. It descended directly in front of the plastic covers shielding his eyes until the end of the tube reached its destination – the rubber trough attached to his hood. Tim imagined a funnel above. Aware of his inability to move away from or dislodge the tube, the threat of forced urinal service loomed. Seconds later, Tim felt liquid enter his mouth. He heard Jason’s teasing tone of voice. “I hope you’re not the type to get car sick!”

Engrossed in evaluating his plight, Tim heard a car door open and close and the sound of car doors locking. Through the solid plastic eyes of his hood, he looked for Jason. The sight of ventilation holes and a small barred window reinforced the prison-like effect of the metal box containing him. After realizing that Jason was no longer in the car, Tim experienced a sense of time elapsing. The interior of Jason’s SUV darkened. The air turned stagnant and hot. Inside his hood, Tim grimaced and swallowed as the shallow stream of piss continued. The crate seemed to close in on him, and Tim perspired heavily under the latex catsuit. He tested the restraints, feeling the full extent of his head to toe immobility. Sweat trickled into his ass crack, where his anus squeezed the base of the butt plug. The pain in his cock felt numbing.

Tim consciously inhaled and exhaled, swallowing obediently, taking deep breaths, and forcing calmness as the passing minutes threatened to produce panic and struggle. His heart told him Jason was not far away and would return soon. His mind feared otherwise. I don’t really know Jason, he thought. Can he be trusted? Hadn’t Jason said he needed to leave the airport soon? Why the change in plans, now that I am in trapped in such a kinky situation?

Remembering Jason’s horny reference to predicament bondage, Tim knew his condition must be a good example of it. Encased in rubber, deprived of the possibility of any movement, locked in a metal box in the cargo area of an abandoned car, Tim reminded himself that he had cooperated in achieving this result. With each breath, Tim was aware of rubber, leather, rope, and metal. The sadistic head to toe combination of restraints, perverted urinal bondage, cumbersome butt plug, and metal imprisonment concocted by Jason were taking Tim to a new level of restraint. Tim felt overwhelmed by a feeling of helplessness and dependence that he had not encountered since Ross moved away.

Tim strained to hear any noise that might indicate Jason’s return. Horny and nervous, wiggling reflexively in enjoyment of his severe restrictions, Tim tortured himself with questions. How long will I be in here, waiting, all alone? Would anyone hear me, through this hood, through the gag, through the metal box, outside the car, if I manage to scream? Of course, I don’t need to scream. Jason will return. But when? Will Ross be with him? Am I waiting for Ross? Tim’s cock reacted strongly to that thought. Tormenting Tim by nestling into the chastity spikes, the head of Tim’s cock seemed to be speaking to him, taunting him, as if to say, “You asked for this. Now suck it up and enjoy it!” Powerless to do otherwise, Tim squirmed, waited, and waited, and continued to anticipate his fate.

Waiting for Ross #30

Forcing himself to enter full awareness, Tim wrestled in confusion. The dreams of sharp pain and oppressive constriction transcended his state of awareness. “Fuck, I hate this feeling,” Tim thought, as he realized his true dilemma. Passing from sleep to consciousness, mental images were replaced by physical sensations. Waking up in tight rubber bondage sometimes caused Tim to panic, and he battled now to contain his agitation.

Tim squeezed his eyes closed, forbidding them to fight the hooded latex blackness. He forced his arms and legs to become still, ending the struggle to move. He quieted his throat, aborting audible moans and gasps emanating from his ring-gagged mouth. He silently cursed his cock, its head painfully expanding against the spikes of his chastity device.

With reality setting in, Tim felt his discomfort acutely, but it was balanced by a glimmer of bondage ecstasy, fed by the sexually masochistic pleasure of waking up in his current humiliating predicament. Inhaling cautiously, Tim composed himself as much as possible. He waited, remaining uncomfortably still. Taking shallow breaths, he hoped for no repercussions.  Tim knew the possible penalty for making too much noise and wanted to avoid it at all costs. At first able to soothe himself, he felt time going by; perhaps an interval of several minutes elapsed. He wondered how long he had been sleeping. How many more hours until morning? How many until his flight time? Was it already the next day?

Soon, the self-imposed calmness heightened Tim’s susceptibility. Areas of discomfort shifted, each piece of gear taking its turn in torturing Tim through the night. Tim’s thick rubber hood, providing a head-gripping seal, might decide it was time for claustrophobia to visit, and his posture collar and sleepsack might even collaborate in this. His butt plug and chastity device had become best friends, conspiring to ensure hopeless despair. Constantly fucked by the intruder, totally tormented by agonizing attempts at erection, Tim felt his inability to cum and massive horniness guaranteed unending stimulation and painful frustration.

Tim’s tight-fitting sleepsack, providing excellent encasement and superior security, happily safeguarded all other gear. Compressing Tim tightly with heavy rubber, internal sleeves, external zippers, and exterior straps, the sleepsack fused his limbs and body together, snug as a bug in a rubber rug. Periodically, Tim flexed his muscles and attempted to stretch his limbs, but movement was severely limited, and escape out of the question. Once enclosed in the sleepsack, Tim knew he was stuck, transformed into a compact rubber package, mummified and helpless until morning, when someone would let him out. For the past two weeks, that someone had been Mike, or Ross; who was in charge depended on Tim’s point of view. Mostly he felt Ross, acting through Mike, was responsible, but at other times he felt Mike plotted independently. Tim experienced the nighttime rubber bondage initially as a very horny situation, especially while required to suck off Mike before sleep, but tonight the tight encasement had become a sweaty endurance test.

Accustomed to flopping like a fish out of water, rolling uncomfortably on the floor while Mike slept comfortably above in Tim’s own bed, Tim resented the new restrictions, added cruelly by Mike without warning two nights ago. A tie from the toe ring of the sleepsack forced Tim to remain in bent-knee position. A second connection to the bed frame limited Tim’s range for squirming to inches.

At present, temporarily accepting his predicament, Tim zoned out, neither awake nor asleep. Time passed, perhaps 10, or 15, or 20, maybe 30 minutes – Tim could not be sure. Bondage meditation set in; mercifully, his brain shut off.

Later in the night, Tim returned to the awareness of pain. His right hip suddenly aching, Tim strained to move. Carefully wiggling to change position, feeling overworked, cramped muscles, he switched awkwardly from lying on his side to his back. His effort to reposition himself for less discomfort, however, caused his anal sphincter to clamp, squeezing tight around the wide base of the thick butt plug and exciting his cock. The chastity pain intensified, and Tim suppressed an angry groan. He felt like yelling and cursing; instead, he remained silent, but internally he fumed. Momentarily, horniness was not enough to sustain him. Why am I allowing this? Tim thought. He understood the psychology of what had happened in the last few months, but that didn’t make it easier to endure his current restless night.

It had started at the gym, when Mike rescued Tim from a bench press, followed soon after by a sweaty, muscle-fueled fuck session. While Tim enjoyed Mike’s alpha-male pounding, to achieve orgasm Tim found he needed to fantasize about Ross. In the next few weeks, Tim dated Mike often. Seeing him almost every night, at first Tim hoped to repress thoughts of Ross, only to find that the opposite occurred. Hiding his re-emerging predilection from Mike made Tim’s fetish interests seem like forbidden fruit. Gym dates, deep kissing, sweaty post-exercise fucks, athletic odors, foot and muscle worship were all fun, but the possibility of reconnecting with Ross became an obsession. Slowly, Tim began to revel in it: private Ross communications, late night phone calls, kinky web sites, GearDom’s profile, and jerking off, all of it a secret from his public life of dating a (supposedly sort of vanilla) gym hunk. Tim would have happily continued that way, but one night everything changed.

After a month or so, Tim gave in to Mike’s insistence on sleeping over at Tim’s apartment. A few nights later, Mike stayed again. While Tim was in the bathroom, his phone rang, and Mike boldly answered. Later, Mike related the story to Tim. “I should say I’m sorry I guess but I answered your phone when you were in the shower. The caller thought I was you. At first I didn’t correct him, ‘cause I was kind of impressed with his voice and he kept calling me ‘pig.’ When I told him I’m Mike, your new boyfriend, he apologized for the mistake, but then he started asking me questions about sex with you and I got really hot. He wanted to know if I tie you up to fuck you and make you sleep in bondage. I told him I didn’t know anything about that but liked the idea. He had me nearly beating off just after a few minutes. We exchanged email addresses. He says I can write to him for ideas to keep you horny and me satisfied. I’m kind of shocked but also really stoked.” Tim remembered feeling speechless and red-faced in response, and then hearing Mike say, “I think you need to get down and service my cock pronto, pig.”

Now, months later, recalling those initial events, Tim considered the ensuing transition to be a blur of hot sex, heavy exercise, and daily experiments in bondage. Mike quickly learned that he thrived on control and domination, and that he loved to practice his newfound mastery on Tim. In league with Ross, Mike oversaw Tim’s re-conversion, dictated by a daily regimen of work, visits to the gym for hard training, and household chores, such as Mike’s laundry and meals. Mike’s progressive dominance and Tim’s regression to total submission were supplemented with arriving shipments of fetish gear from Ross, and lots of sex. Tim’s nights and weekends were spent mostly in bondage, usually devised by Ross and applied by Mike.

At the present moment, seeking relief from the pressure of his butt plug, Tim rolled cautiously until he returned to a side position. As his encased head rested against the floor, Tim felt unpleasant compression of his ears and nose; the hood squeezed tightly; the posture collar restricted him; pooled saliva escaped from the side of his ring-gagged mouth. The change reactivated his sense of smell; the odor of Mike’s sweaty sock, duct taped across his nose, became apparent once again. The physical sensations reinforced Tim’s thoughts, breeding a feeling of growing dissatisfaction with his recent decisions. Suddenly craving freedom, he wanted to moan and struggle for release. Instead, Tim remained still. He knew that his bad case of nerves about the trip to California tomorrow (or is it today? he wondered) was adding to his distress. Trapped with his thoughts, he wanted to change his mind about going.

Maybe doubt was his destiny; in many ways hesitation was a hallmark of Tim’s history with Ross. Now, the reluctance was born again. Tim realized he had been eager at first to enter into the new, seductive sexual adventure: remote control by Ross, in the person of a gym-trainer muscle-stud enthusiastic for supervised learning about kink. It was a novel twist in the saga of Ross and Tim, the product of Ross’s seriously sadistic, deviously sexy mind. Tim remembered well the recent weekend surprise when Mike, acting on Ross’s instructions, applied Tim’s chastity device, oversaw his encasement in head to toe rubber, secured Tim thoroughly in a tight leather straitjacket, added heavy metal ankle cuffs, and then left Tim alone in his apartment, with dog food bowls full of water and cereal. Though Mike checked on him periodically, and Tim could open the door using his mouth to leave in an emergency, he was otherwise left to his own devices. “Practice for visiting Ross,” Mike had called it.

Looking back on that experience, Tim squirmed, reluctantly excited, as he shifted position on the floor. That weekend had been a real endurance test, and the memories aroused him further. It was soon after that Mike required Tim to sleep encased and strapped up in a rubber sack every night (no exceptions permitted), while Mike enjoyed the comfort of Tim’s bed. Tim could wake Mike by making noise through his ring gag if needed, but unnecessary noise was punished with urinal duty, which Tim disliked intensely (and which Ross, and now Mike, therefore enjoyed).

Tim felt he could tolerate his thinking no longer. Would sleep ever return while he was this uncomfortable? Suddenly giving in to his emotions, he squirmed vigorously and moaned loudly. His second thoughts about spending more time this way now seemed sensible. “What the fuck am I doing like this?” Ross and Mike provided some horny details about what was to come, and Tim understood that the intense chastity device, weekend isolation, and nightly sleepsack bondage were preparations. Vacation from work had been arranged. Persuaded by the devious combo of Ross and Mike, with GearDom’s uncertain role also in play, Tim had agreed to a period of confinement under Ross’s control. The 10-day “visit” to facilities owned by Ross and his partner was about to begin, where Ross promised no relief from uninterrupted detention, escape-proof rubber encasement, heavy constriction and total confinement.

As Tim allowed his energetic temper tantrum to continue, he suddenly felt his wiggling, trussed body being surrounded and cradled by strong arms and hands. With Mike’s limbs wrapped around him, Tim stopped struggling. The sound of Mike’s voice penetrated Tim’s hood. “It’s okay. Calm down. Calm down. What’s the huff all about? Why did you wake me? Is something wrong, or are you just thirsty?”

Tim tried to respond with the words, “I want out,” but the sounds through the ring gag came out, “ah, wah, ah.”

Mike continued, “This isn’t exactly new territory from what I hear, sweetheart. Just relax. You wanted this, don’t you remember? Do I need to explain your current situation? This is your big day, and I’m to keep you this way until it’s time to leave for the airport.” As Tim shook his head in exasperation, he felt Mike’s arms and legs pull his body in tighter, hugging Tim in a wrestling hold. Tim felt Mike’s head leaning against his own hooded skull. “Wish I could go with you to visit your Master. I’d like to be there when the fun begins. Ross tells me that a few consecutive days of… let’s see, how did he say it? – ‘stringent daily bondage,’ maybe, and ‘nightly storage in heavy restraint,’ ‘sealed up head to toe in rubber encasement’ – I think those were some choice words. Anyway, the point was he promises his strategy will reprogram your brain to accept being a bondage slave without question. At that point, he can really begin testing you. And you’ll be in no position to resist, enduring whatever he wants to do with you. I’d like to be there see it.”

Tim gave a whimpering plea in response. Through the thick encasement, Tim felt Mike’s hands groping rubber and straps; his hips bore down against Tim’s plugged ass. Mike maneuvered him, finally positioning Tim to one side and face down. Suddenly, Mike locked Tim in a firmer embrace; Tim groaned loudly. Again reluctantly excited, Tim ignored mounting discomfort and pushed back against Mike, who began rubbing and humping Tim in earnest. Tim heard Mike panting with pleasure and felt Mike’s face press against the tight rubber encasing his own. “That’s right, help me out little muscle mummy. Make me cum, rubber slut. Pretend that plug deep up your ass is my fat dick fucking you like it did a few hours ago.” Frustrated and painfully stimulated, sweaty and squirmy, Tim writhed inside the tight cocoon. Mike’s vigorous pounding accelerated. Quickly, Mike exploded, talking to Tim as he erupted. “Shit! Fuck! You really get me off, sweetheart!”

Minutes later, tormented by frustration yet worn out by the strenuous activities, Tim lay alone on the floor, still fully restrained.

Waiting for Ross #29

Tim’s body jerked suddenly, overtaken by a sensation of falling. Sightless within a tight rubber hood, Tim strained to see through it. His efforts produced a weird, omniscient vision in his mind. Watching himself from above while embodying the experience below, he saw and felt the movement as he shifted uncomfortably off balance, forced to bend at the waist, trying not to tip further forward.

Part of his weight was held by his wrists, drawn together up behind him, attached to a chain stretching from above. The rest was supported by his toes and the balls of his feet, enclosed in latex, pulled widely apart, and fixed to a cold, concrete floor. A second chain extended from a ring in the center of a spreader bar between his ankles to a tight harness binding and separating his balls, protruding from an opening in the slick rubber suit. From the head of his erect, bound cock, a suspended weight was swinging between his legs. Any movement of his body increased the stress at multiple points: back, shoulders, wrists, waist, dickhead, balls, and feet. There was no comfortable position possible to ease the strain. He groaned into a rubber wedge gag, trying desperately to remain still despite his discomfort. Time passed, hanging like a slaughtered pig, sweating, moaning. The vision dimmed, and he thought he was losing consciousness.

Rebounding in pain, Tim shifted his weight, attempting to relieve the aching of stiff knees. But his efforts set off a wave of involuntary turmoil. His entire body began writhing as one unit, like a giant, wiggling phallus. As it struggled, out of Tim’s control, Tim suffered the consequences. No longer hanging from a chain, his celestial self saw that he was tightly cocooned; thick, unyielding encasement compressed him from head to toe. Hot, sweaty, claustrophobic feelings enveloped him. Constricting hoods closed in on him. Sensory deprivation obliterated reality. Panic threatened his sanity, but his own painful erection betrayed him. He gasped for breath and tried to calm his body, to make it accept its predicament, but a pounding cock penetrated his ring-gagged mouth deeply, and he could not relax.

Prominent in the view from above was a large tattoo on a massively muscled right biceps – it was GearDom’s tattoo – yet it was Ross’s muscular back and ass that hammered the rubber mummy’s tightly hooded face. Furious pounding matched the vigorous movements of the mummy as it squirmed. The rhythm created a ringing noise in Tim’s head, a buzzing sound that commanded a sense of urgency. Floating in a trance of ever changing forms of bondage, Tim was abruptly conscious. The noise was coming from his phone, waking him. He sat up, dizzy, and turned uncertainly toward the nightstand beside his bed. Glowing in the dark, the caller ID displayed CALIFORNIA. Tim answered.

“Hello?”

“Hi, pig.”

“Hello?”

“Apparently your old phone number still works.”

Even groggy with sleep, Tim knew the deep, sexy voice immediately.

“Hi, Sir.”

“You sound out of it, pig, like I woke you from a deep sleep.”

Tim tried to clear the raspy sound in his throat. “Yes, that’s right, still not fully awake, Sir.” Tim switched on the lamp next to his bed and looked at the clock. “It’s 2:30 AM here.”

Tim heard sadistic chuckling. “Feeling disoriented, maybe even slightly annoyed by a phone call in the middle of the night?”

Tim felt his face flush with embarrassment. He didn’t know what to say. Obviously Ross was enjoying himself at Tim’s expense. In seconds, Ross had already transformed a phone call into a form of kinky humiliation.

Tim stuttered. “Just … confused … sleepy … need a minute or two to focus.”

“Were you dreaming of me … and rubber bondage?” Tim was silent. “Or were you fantasizing about my partner, who told me you clicked on his profile 17 times in two days. You see something there you like?”

Tim suddenly remembered Ross’s uncanny ability to read his thoughts. Caught off guard, he couldn’t think of a clever defense. “Yes, Sir,” Tim admitted, “You were in the dream.”

Tim felt Ross’s ego through the phone as the matching, authoritarian voice responded. “Just read your email response, asking to be considered for our 24/7 situation. Glad to hear you are ready to admit what your true position in life is, pig.”

Tim was too flabbergasted to say anything.

Ross continued, “Apparently I’m already in your dreams, but I can captivate your waking moments, too pig. Keep you focused 24/7 on rubber encasement, tight bondage, incarceration, and me.”

Feeling stupid and instantly regretting it as he said it, Tim blurted out, “And would your rubber pig be allowed to go to a gym, Sir?”

Tim thought he heard Ross snicker. “We will keep you healthy and well muscled, if that’s your concern. We have plenty of workout equipment here.”

Still sleepy, Tim didn’t have the energy to be calculating with his responses. “Sir, I’m not sure why I emailed you. I’m confused, or maybe just horny.”

Ross responded quickly, “Things will be very clear when you become our pig.”

“Um … I don’t know, Sir. I remember after the horniness would leave being pretty lonely, um … and uncomfortable sometimes, you know, when I was your pig a few years ago. Hot and sweaty, stuck in bondage difficult to handle … for hours. And being forced to drink piss was gross and humiliating. Don’t know if I want to go through all that again. Um, plus I guess I thought back then … um, you got a little sick of my, um … reluctance and indecision.”

The tone of Ross’s voice sounded reassuring. “This time will be different. This time you won’t have the pressures of the outside world to distract you from bondage and service. Suffering is not a negative thing, my pig. It is what bondage masochists do. It is the reality of bondage. Your reluctance is natural and also a turn-on. You want to be a bondage pig, then you get what you want, only to rediscover how difficult real life is. But you will endure it, first, because you know me and understand you are basically stuck anyway, until I decide otherwise. And second, because that’s what you signed up for. I think you will never feel fulfilled until you live it, at least for a few years. Sealed up in skintight layers of rubber, locked in metal restraints, securely fastened, maybe immobilized in storage or otherwise imprisoned, sightless, ear plugged, recycling piss, your focus on what you were born for will be clear and unconfused. Your cock will subsist on your own bondage misery, punishing you with painful erections because it knows your torment will please me.”

Bone hard now, Tim’s cock raised up, stiffly uncomfortable against his stomach. Tim had forgotten how it felt to be addressed as “pig” and to be maneuvered by Ross’s strong narratives and skills of persuasion. Tim was flustered, excited, horny, and didn’t know what to say. The conversation had advanced so fast. His ability to process felt impaired. After a silent pause of several seconds, Tim said, “I need a lot of exercise, Sir.” Fuck, what a dumb thing to say, Tim immediately thought.

“We like the photos of you as muscle model.” Ross continued talking. “The details will not be your concern, but I can envision a program of earning credits that allow workout time in exchange for serving us. Maybe a rationing arrangement, one to two hours of exercise, allocated as I see fit, for every 12 to 48 hours spent in storage. A good pig, bad pig kind of reward system.”

Tim felt his painful erection, demanding attention. He gulped. He heard Ross laugh quietly into the phone. “I hear heavy breathing. Are you playing with yourself without my permission, pig?”

Tim also laughed. “Sorry, Sir. I can’t help it.”

Sounding stern, Ross commanded, “We need to get you under strict control, locked up, very securely, in an extremely uncomfortable chastity device until you come out here. Your phone number hasn’t changed. Is your mailing address the same, pig?”

Tim switched the phone to his other hand and pounded his cock. “It’s different now, Sir.”

“Email your address to me after we hang up. Are you wearing rubber, pig?”

“No, Sir. I gave away all my gear a few years ago.”

Ross directed, “We should fix that too, immediately, pig. I want you in full rubber when you have the privilege of being on the phone with me. I envision a nightly inspection by Webcam, after which you should be sleeping in head to toe latex every night, plugged and gagged, a heavy metal collar, chained with your wrists and ankles cuffed together at the very least. But the long distance control needn’t last for long. I intend to get you out here pretty quickly.”

Tim looked at the clock in disbelief.  Less than 10 minutes had passed and Ross was already rearranging his life.  Tim laughed to himself. Maybe he was taking all of this too seriously. Why not enjoy the phone call? “It’s good to hear your voice, Sir. May I ask another question?”

“Knock yourself out, pig.”

“With your system for rewards, what would be an example of good or bad pig behavior?”

Tim heard Ross clear his throat. His tone deepened as he began to describe a scenario. “Locked in a narrow, vertical jail cell, sealed and silent, I see you standing bolt upright, the only position the space allows. From the outside, you look like a typical rubber prisoner, tightly encased and thoroughly restrained head to toe – a thick rubber straitjacket secures your upper body, while below your legs are bound at multiple points, thighs, knees and ankles together. A myriad of padlocked straps fastens everything, you’re tightly collared, hooded, muzzled, and gagged – the kind of setup a rubber bondage slut like you craves.”

Tim groaned involuntarily and pounded his cock. Ross paused in response and asked, “What’s going on there, pig?”

“Um, you know, sorry, nothing. Continue, please Sir.”

“Well, that’s how you look from the outside. On the inside, however, while your long day in the cell has not been that unusual, I know it was a difficult one, and it pleases me immensely. Inside your rubber encasement you are totally hairless, body and head shaved for maximum rubber contact and skin coated with the day’s sweat. Deep within, your system was entirely cleansed before the day started. Under ultra-tight latex sealing you from head to toe, a spiked chastity device keeps your torturous attempts at erection painfully locked down. A dildo harness strapped firmly between your muscular butt cheeks ensures your ass stays massively plugged. You have spent the day squirming in place, first savoring your predicament, later regretting it, and eventually resenting each of its many details, along with its tormenting longevity. Frequently responding to the plug and spikes, you seek small changes in position as your rubber-encased feet shift in place and your toes wiggle to balance you. While you know you are monitored at all times, you feel abandoned, ignored, lonely, and desperate for release. Admiring the compression of the hood, stretched so tightly the facial features underneath are discernible, I look directly at you. I know the tiny pepper pot holes at eye level allow you to see I have entered the dungeon for the first time in 8 hours, and you react as trained by … ”

Loud gasps and moans interrupted Ross, followed by exclamations from Tim. “Sir, fuck, oh shit, Sir!” Defying Tim’s previous eruptions just hours before, Tim’s cock spurted jets of cum on his chest, stomach, and hand. He knew immediately it was his most excruciating, satisfying orgasm in five years.

A few seconds passed as Tim caught his breath, and soon Ross started talking again. “Well, pig, my story does not end with the pig being allowed to cum. You have just provided an example of bad pig behavior, without even being here in person. I should make you lick up your cum while I stay on the phone.”

Tim didn’t know what to say. The orgasm had rapidly deflated the entire situation. Suddenly he wanted to get off the phone as quickly as possible.

Again, Ross seemed to be reading his mind. “I need to hang up, pig. Remember my instruction about emailing your address. Talk to you again soon.”

“Thanks for your call, Sir.”

When Tim woke the next morning, late for work, he hurried through his morning routine, trying to suppress thoughts of Ross. Each time fragments of the exchange with Ross crept into Tim’s thoughts, his cock hardened in response, but Tim ignored it, along with Ross’s request about email. Two busy days passed, but the subliminal lust aroused by Ross, and its constant erections, persisted. At the gym after work, Tim decided on a particularly grueling routine, increasing the weight for his bench press exercise. Trapped underneath on the bench, struggling through a final repetition, Tim realized he needed assistance, just as Mike passed by and rescued him.

Tim stared up at Mike’s spread legs and prominent biceps as Mike easily managed the barbell. Mike commented, “You look like you’re about to break through into a new zone, in more ways than one.” Tim sat up and blushed. He knew immediately Mike was referring to the bulge in Tim’s crotch.

Mike asked, “Want to have coffee when you’re finished? I am not really working here tonight.” Stunned, Tim accepted the invitation. He had been infatuated with Mike, the new personal trainer (and a hottie) for months, but did not think Mike ever noticed him except in a professional sense.

Hours later at Mike’s place, Tim watched the ecstatic agony on his face as Mike fucked him deeply with his monster erection. Lying on his back, legs up and spread for maximum penetration, Tim turned his head from side to side while Mike pounded away. As Mike held Tim’s ankles for support and drove his dick home repeatedly without mercy, Tim was aware of the beauty of Mike’s body: tanned skin, white ass, contracted abs, thick cock and big balls, bulging biceps, muscular legs, and sexy feet, all working together, attempting to fuck Tim into a frenzy of begging for more. A masculine, athletic odor filled Tim’s nostrils as Mike, determined to keep fucking until Tim ejaculated, contracted the muscles of his ass to ram Tim over and over.

As Mike’s cock edged inevitably toward a final climax, however, it was neither the sight nor smell of Mike’s body that occupied Tim’s thoughts. Rather, it was the memory of Tim’s phone conversation with Ross. While Mike’s cock filled with cum and began to pump, the image in Tim’s head was of himself, as a rubber-encased bondage pig, Ross’s pig, an image narrated by Ross’s on words – “the kind of setup a rubber bondage slut like you craves.” That image imprinted in Tim’s mind, sending the needed signal to his cock, and he finally came.