Waiting for Ross #10

The heat was intensifying between my shaved-to-smoothness scalp and the rubber that gripped it, and I found myself musing about whether the troubling thoughts could be explained by my brain overheating, baking inside my rubber-encapsulated head. I knew from experience that my body, simmering with hotness and sweat, eventually would adjust to the unnatural rubberized state imposed on it, but I wasn’t so sure about my mind. I exhaled through the gag as I laughed to myself: Maybe my mind was turning feverish, melting on top of the sweltering, rubberized mass of hard, over-exercised muscles under it, all pumped up with blood but compressed by rubber, beefy meat in a black latex pressure cooker. Whatever the explanation, my thoughts were fermenting, boiling up and over, roasting according to a recipe of conflicting ingredients.

I was home alone on Saturday night, sitting at my computer in view of the webcam. Despite my resistant thoughts, I had just finished my latest assignment from Matt. I scanned the time-stamped photos, taken using the self-timed setting of the digital camera Matt had provided, documenting my activities so far tonight. As instructed by Matt, the pictures were identified using numbered file names in the sequence in which I completed each task: (1) a total body shot, clearly showing the smooth, absolutely hairless result of the head-to-toe shaving session, the natural honey-glow of my muscles heightened by the glistening lubricant; (2) a closeup of my prominent, impressive cock and balls encased tightly in the rubber sheath that Matt insisted I have on at all times except when I showered; (3) a crotch shot, showing the emasculating effect of the hateful aluminum chastity pod, a metallic sphere imprisoning my prodigious manhood -- cock and balls folded up and stuffed inside, trapped uncomfortably and fixed in place, with the condom-like, extended cock tip of the sheath protruding from the small hole at the bottom of the pod and the color-coded padlock (purple tonight) at the top; (4) a rear view, showing the flanged base of the butt plug barely visible between my bodacious ass cheeks; (5) another crotch view, this one showing the thick, rubber-band-like jock/thong worn to protect my skin and top layers of rubber from the aluminum pod; (6) a full frontal bulging-crotch view, taken after I had squirmed into the girdle-like rubber shorts that Matt usually required be worn under my street clothes; (7-9) shots showing that rubber gloves, socks, and mouth strap with gag and breathing tube were all in place; (10-12) final shots in which I posed for the camera in different positions to display the new catsuit, concealing all the preparation underneath and showing the end result of my evening’s work.

Through the lattice work of the pinhole eyes of the catsuit’s hood, I tried to adjust my vision to examine photo 12 more closely. Despite the discomfort it caused at my cock, I couldn’t resist squirming and contracting my plugged ass as I studied the image of the strapping, masculine form, sleek and shiny with black latex stretched tightly over gleaming ebony muscles and bulging crotch, totally encased – from square, masculine, athletic head -- to wide, sexy feet and toes -- to beefy hands and the tips of strong, sturdy fingers. The rubber coverage accentuated how well made the body underneath was: high, tight pectorals and biceps, visibly well developed; broad neck and shoulders; the resulting classic V as the muscles tapered to the small, compact waist; the wide, muscular thighs and sturdy legs that sprouted below. The hood’s small eye and nostril holes were not visible in the photograph, and the top to bottom rubber coverage looked seamless, except for the tube at the mouth. The series of photos ending with this one showed the complete conversion, the transformation of Eric, from humpy, (formerly hairy) stud, to rubber muscle creature with no identity, the way Matt wanted “it” to live 24/7 – totally encased and ready to serve “its” Master’s kinky needs. Rubber-covered, yes; muscles pumped daily with exercise, yes; but, if Matt were to have his way, bound for much of the rest of each day, shut up and locked away, stored for future use, until Matt or John needed “its” service. That was not my idea of how I wanted to spend my life, and yet, in the weeks that passed since the night when Matt surprised me in my apartment and introduced me to the paradoxes of bondage, my cock seemed to be leading me further and further in that direction.

Beginning to rage with doubt, frustration, and horniness, I packaged the photos and typed my message. I checked the spelling and capitalization to ensure my rubber encased fingers had not erred, and I double-checked that each sentence began and ended appropriately.

Subj:Ready for bed photos 
Date:11/1/03 9:30 PM 
From:rbrslv 
To:RbrDom 
Attachment: encased.zip 
Sir, tonight’s photos are attached. Sir, it is sitting at its computer, webcam on, waiting for permission to go to bed and sleep in its new gear, Sir. Sir, thank You in advance, Sir. 
it

I clicked SEND and stared straight ahead at the computer screen without trying to focus through the eye holes of the hood, producing a weird, patchy view. After weeks of following Matt’s instructions, many times in such a state of horniness that I did so without question, tonight my ambivalence was so strong. Rather than wait for Matt to sign on and page or email me, I was tempted to turn off the computer and get out of all, or most of, the gear. The key to the padlock on the chastity device would probably be in the mail on Monday or Tuesday, unless Matt had decided I would have no relief before next weekend (perhaps a way to ensure I’d go through with the plan). Otherwise, I was free to remove the rest of the gear if I was willing to accept the consequences – no more Matt. No more God-like worship of the beautiful, arrogant, control freak, the Rubber Bondage Master (as he liked to call himself) with whom I had become obsessed.

I checked my position in the webcam view. Clenching the plug with my ass muscles, grimacing under the hood in response to the weird stabbing sensation produced as my cock tried to expand, sucking the gag, squirming and sweating in my newest catsuit (Matt’s most recent purchase), I debated my choices, knowing it could be hours until Matt decided to email or page me. In the weeks recently after I reconnected with him, Matt had never once slipped back into our 2-years-past relationship roles: dark, studly, vanilla top (me) who could have had any pretty bottom he wanted; and blond, beautiful, eager to please bottom (Matt), the one I wanted most and thought I had, until he dumped me. That all seemed so distant. I could have never predicted our conversion. My rational mind didn’t know what to make of it, while my cock was in a constant state of horniness because of it. Now, Matt never wavered from his current intent – that my only possible role in his life would be as property that belonged to him, a rubber bondage slave, an alien rubber creature, controlled by him at all times (even in his absence), an “it” that would worship him without question when permitted to be in his presence. Every interaction with him reinforced these notions, and my mind reacted with tumult and constant horniness. The contradictions seemed endless: complete control = liberation from decision making; absolute bondage = freedom from movement; enforced chastity = total horniness; rubber-encased imprisonment = sexual awakening. When Matt leaves me encased, tied up and incarcerated for hours on end, at first I love the physical sensations of immobility and the sense of helplessness. I sometimes cum violently, involuntarily, within seconds. Sooner or later, however, the restraint and discomfort, the isolation and boredom, and the lack of freedom overwhelm me, and I want out. I reach the point of hating it, but then I find myself loving how I hate it, and loving Matt’s enjoyment of it, his sadistic appetite for keeping me down long after I think I can take no more. He knows I detest giving in, to beg (usually through a gag) for release, and he takes pleasure in responding with denials, telling me to “shut the fuck up,” reminding me that he decides if and when to release me.

I checked the time. An hour had passed since my email to Matt. My mind moved from past to future. I considered what I had agreed to next, what I had been working toward for the last 2 weeks at Matt’s behest. The details had emerged through chats and email: 5 days in form-fitting, muscle-enveloping, airtight, skintight, rubber; in bondage at all times, to varying degrees; shut in a box in Matt’s dungeon for 23+ hours for each of the 5 days; “sentence” to begin next weekend. I thought about the overtime at work that I’d been putting in for 2 weeks, to prepare for the time off that this arrangement would require. (Crazy!) And I thought about the prospects after my temporary incarceration, if I passed muster. (Even crazier!) I knew Matt had more than the means to support me for the rest of my life. I suspected he already supported John. I knew they were serious about wanting a third guy in their relationship, someone they could keep under their thumbs, totally controlled to suit their kinky needs. It wasn’t for me, I thought, and yet there I sat, plugged at both ends, rubber-sealed head to toe, with my cock in a lock down, waiting for approval from Matt. Surely what Matt said he wanted was really just a fantasy. Or was it?

Another 15 minutes, and still no sign of Matt on line. Saturday night. I wondered if he was even home. I knew he wouldn’t forget me. He was too much of a control freak for that to happen. How long would I have to wait?

I started reviewing some of our most recent email exchanges.

Subj:ur Five Days of Encasement in the Box 
Date:10/15/03 11:22 PM 
From:RbrDom 
To:rbrslv 
As discussed in our recent chats, I’ve decided that being boxed for a minimum of 5 days is the next phase. Nov 8-12 is definite. Mandatory if u want to continue ur training. A full 5 days in the box. This is the current plan I have in mind: 
1. u will stay in rubber head to toe for the duration, NO exceptions. 
2. u will be bolted into the box for the duration. u will be released for 15 minutes once each 12 hours for brief exercise, to keep ur blood circulating, and for food and bathroom. (While ur sleeping in rubber currently every night is good practice, from now on I also want u to prepare for ur coming incarceration by training urself to piss and shit 2-3 times a day only, preferably at 8-12 hour intervals.) 
3. If u misbehave in the box, bathroom privileges will be revoked, meaning u will be sealed up with ur piss and shit. Once they are revoked, they will NOT be reinstated. 
4. u will be in some form of restraint the entire time u are in the box, NO exceptions. The severity of restraint will vary and be determined by me. 
5. u will be gagged at all times during the day. u will not be gagged at night. When u are not gagged, I expect u to remain silent. 
I WILL ENJOY DOING THIS TO u.

On reviewing the message, I pictured how Matt might have looked as he wrote it: sitting in his throne-like computer chair, dressed in his favorite rubber cop uniform and looking impossibly handsome, his thick, blond hair gleaming in a perfect military crop, muscular legs spread wide, his cock growing larger with each word, and John crouched between his legs, licking his boots and sucking him off as he completed writing the message.

I looked at my response and the subsequent reply.

Subj:Re ur Five Days of Encasement in the Box 
Date:10/17/03 5:58 PM 
From:rbrslv 
To:RbrDom 
Sir, I can arrange the time off from work if I work overtime the next couple of weeks.

Subj:RE ur Five Days of Encasement in the Box 
Date:10/17/03 10:53 PM 
From:RbrDom 
To:rbrslv 
Good, slave. It pleases me that u want to continue your training. To be clear, this means u will spend 5 days in the box under the following conditions: 
1. u will receive detailed instructions on how to prepare for your incarceration beforehand, including the dietary and other requirements that will be necessary. u will get into full gear (more too on this later) after work on Friday, Nov 7, and u will wait in silence and darkness in your apartment until someone arrives to transport you to my dungeon. 
2. When u arrive, u will be bound and boxed over night and left, totally ignored for 12 hours, probably in extreme bondage for that time, to help u to develop the proper mind set. 
3. u will be kept in the box in various degrees of restraint until Wednesday night. Restraint will range from mild to severe, at my discretion. u will be given 15 minutes each 12 hours to exercise for a few minutes, and to eat and take care of bodily functions. 
4. Once u begin, u will complete the 5 days in the box, by force if necessary. 
5. u will remain in head to toe rubber for the duration, NO exceptions. u will continue to address me as Sir at all times, and u will not speak unless given permission. (In all future communications with me, refer to me as ‘Sir’ [capital S] and urself as “it” [lowercase].) 
6. u will endure your incarceration in silence, except for extreme emergencies, or as indicated below, requests to make things harder on urself. 
7. ur chastity device will be removed and u will be fitted with an electronic cock ring and butt plug with remote control. 
8. If u are caught attempting to pleasure urself, u will be shocked with electricity and ur bathroom privileges may be revoked. 
9. I will shock u with electricity for punishment or for my amusement. 
10. u may request more severe bondage, longer time between breaks or revocation of bathroom privileges at any time. 
11. If bathroom privileges are revoked for any reason, they will NOT be reinstated. I WARN u. ONCE u BEGIN ur SENTENCE, u WILL COMPLETE IT.

It was now past 11 PM with still nothing from Matt. The feet of my new catsuit felt extremely tight, squeezing my toes and producing excessive sweat. The odor of latex had long since subsided in my nostrils, but shifting around restlessly in my chair somehow sent a strong shot of it into my sinuses. Reading the messages had made me even more horny, and the resurrected aroma of rubber was adding to it. I needed badly to jerk off, but that was not an option.

Minutes passed, and I zoned out. Leaning back in my computer chair, in a daze, dimly aware of how my encasement insulated and separated me from my surroundings, I retreated inside myself, inside the tight rubber hood that dulled my hearing and interfered with my sight. Around 1:00 AM, I noticed that my mailbox had a message in it.

Subj:Re Ready for bed photos 
Date:11/1/04 12:35 PM 
From:RbrDom 
To:rbrslv 
Attachment:tightsack.jpg, rubberdog.jpg 
Good job, slave. Permission to go to bed is granted. Be up, awake, and in front of the webcam by 7 AM, still geared/suited up as u are now. Study the slave in the attached pics – that will be u starting next weekend.

I clicked on tightsack.jpg and watched the picture load slowly on my screen. Lying straight and flat on its back, a muscular male form was completely encased from head to toe in shiny, black, form-fitting rubber, like a mummy. I had never been in a sleepsack, but I knew that this was a picture of one, a rubber one, in action. The rubber looked very snug and close-fitting, as though it were stretched tightly around the slave, front to back and side to side, from the top of his head over the tip of his nose, down his body and legs to the tips of his big toes. The sack was all encompassing and continuous, as the hood appeared to be molded to it, with the only visible opening being a tube about 4-6 inches long sticking out at the slave’s mouth. At the base of the tube, where it entered the slave’s face, there was a circular, flat area, where it looked like the slave’s rubber-covered mouth was compressed wide open by the tight hood, probably because it contained a huge gag under the tube, but I couldn’t tell for sure. Next to the slave’s head lay a large black funnel. Returning my gaze to the sleepsack, I noticed there was no visible zipper or entry at the front. The unbroken rubber was so shiny and tight, with reflections of light, that certain parts of the slave’s body appeared in outline: forehead, nose, and chest; arms and hands, plastered flat to his sides; knees and feet held closely together; even the slave’s cock, long and compressed to one side, was visible. A tight, black, head to toe rubber mummy. It looked extreme and perverted, right up Matt’s alley, and I could easily imagine how much he’d enjoy it, especially if I were the one stuck that way. I wondered how it would feel to be the one inside the rubber cocoon and if Matt had got a sleepsack like that for me. I suddenly realized that I was tweaking my left nipple throught the catsuit, using the rubber-covered fingers of my left hand. Tightsack.jpg was renewing my horniness.

Next, I clicked on rubberdog.jpg. In this picture, the slave was again encased in head to toe rubber, but this time in an unusual rubber suit that I had never seen anything like. The slave was in a dog-like, crawling position, on all fours, but “standing” on his knees and elbows, on the floor on a small mattress. What struck me first about the rubber suit were its arms and legs: The arms ended at the elbow and had no opening, and the legs ended at the knee, also with no opening. The rubber encasement turned the slave’s arms and legs into flipper-like appendages, bent and doubled up into stumps, each arm and leg with its lower half against its upper half, wedged into the thick, abbreviated sleeves and legs of the suit and trapped there. Obviously custom made, the suit looked extremely heavy and fit the slave perfectly, tightly and thickly encasing his folded up limbs, the rest of his body, and his head and neck. The picture was taken from a side view, and it really did give the impression of a rubber dog, posing in profile. I clicked on it to enlarge it. In position on his knees and elbows, his back horizontal about 18 inches above the floor, totally encased in rubber, the slave had a definite canine bearing about him – a muscular, misshapen hound, with stubby legs that had no paws, back legs that were longer than front “legs,” a rear end that stuck up prominently, and an apple-shaped, earless head. No, I said to myself, on second thought, this was not a hound breed – it was more like a Bulldog or Boxer. At the posterior, where the shoulders of the dog's hind legs would be, the slave's human feet were twisted inward at the ankle and compressed tightly against his butt by the seat of the rubber suit. The slightly visible outer edge and toes of his human feet stuck up above ass level, creating the impression of a docked rubber tail. At the pup’s anterior, the head of the dog suit had no visible openings. It appeared to be sealed so tight that a human ear, flattened against the side of the head under the rubber, was noticeable. The slave held his head down, in a submissive posture, and a short black tube extended from the mouth area to the floor, where it ended in a bulb. A wide collar encircled the slave’s neck, and there were individual straps buckled around his arms and legs that seemed to reinforce the bent, stump-like position his limbs assumed within the dog suit. Fascinated by the slave’s predicament, I clicked on the picture to enlarge it again and squinted through the eye holes of my hood. On the side facing the camera, small padlocks were now visible on the collar and straps. I studied the Boxer-like bulge at the dog's front shoulder, just above the strap that encircled the dog’s front leg, and concluded that it was the slave’s hand, somehow trapped in a fist position inside, under the rubber. It seemed obvious that the slave was a captive within the suit, with no choice but to stay in it until someone let him out. I supposed he could roll, like a dog, and walk on his elbows and knees, serving as his canine legs. The poor pooch was definitely fucked, and I had to admit I was enthralled by his predicament. Taking in every detail, hypnotized by the image, I studied the rubber dog and tried to comprehend the total bondage and humiliation depicted. Was that really what Matt had in store for me?