Waiting for Ross #1

Waiting for Ross

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...