Waiting for Ross #14

Late Monday morning, sitting at a red light as he drove home after his long weekend with Ross, Tim quickly checked his look in the rear view mirror. There was nothing extraordinary about his outward appearance, though the 4 days’ growth of dark stubble provided a striking contrast with his earnest-looking baby-face features. His unshaven face, combined with the buzz-crew cut, made him look even more sexy and appealing than usual, but Tim was unaware of that effect. Looking for signs of the weekend on his face, all he found were fading indentations on his forehead and right cheek, a dry, cracked area in the left corner of his mouth, and redness over the bridge of his nose. Maneuvering his arms to turn the steering wheel, Tim winced as the fabric of the T-shirt under his leather jacket shifted across his tight pectorals and grazed, ever so slightly, his bruised, tender nipples. His cock pulsed in response. The soreness would last for days, he knew, and keep him continuously horny – a constant reminder of Ross, as if he needed one! Tim’s turn of the steering wheel coincided with his split-second decision to head to the gym rather than home. His car quickly picked up speed. Inwardly, Tim’s sense of freedom was producing extreme relief, to the point of exhilaration that bordered on wild euphoria. The heady feeling was affecting his judgment. He checked the speedometer and eased off the gas pedal. Energized by perhaps the most intense post-bondage high he had ever experienced, he was suffused with a strong sense of triumph over adversity, mixed with a lingering but somewhat resentful horniness. “Fuck! I survived!” The intensity of his own feelings surprised him. Being free felt like the best thing that had ever happened to him. “Never again!” Tim vowed as he parked in the lot outside MANSWEAT. He had learned his lesson. Four days had been too long. Ross could find some other victim who wanted to be left in the confined, dark, isolated world of bondage hell that Tim had lived through over the long weekend! Arriving just before the lunch crowd, Tim undressed quickly in the deserted locker room of MANSWEAT. Minimal nourishment over the weekend had further slimmed his lean muscles and tight waist. As he slipped into his jock, the image in the locker room mirror of his own shaved-smooth, well-defined, compact body made his cock stir. His enlarged, red nipples looked obscenely sexual. Resisting the temptation to play with himself, within minutes he finished changing clothes and was upstairs in the gym. Joyously pumping his muscles, extending, flexing, and stretching his arms and legs with a freedom of movement that he promised himself he would never take for granted again, he warmed up on a treadmill and then began his workout with weights. The striking contrast seemed overwhelming -- startling bright sunlight streaming through the gym skylights and washing over the workout area, the cool air against his skin, lightweight exercise clothes offering no resistance as he freely moved his body and limbs, and the pure, clean taste of spring water cleansing his mouth and quenching his thirst – all of that instead of hooded darkness and immobility, heavy encasement in hot, sweaty binding rubber and leather, and the constant taste of piss. Thoughts that he and Ross had definitely taken things too far occupied his mind as he enjoyed the comfortable freedom and independence that powered him through the first phase of his workout. Maybe Brad could be Ross’s new slave, he thought. “No way I’m going back there!” Savoring his rebirth into freedom, aware that he was a healthy, sexy young man able to move about at his own will with life and liberty ahead of him, Tim took his time enjoying the workout. Midway through, lying on the bench press between sets, his mind unintentionally began to replay specifics from the weekend, and he felt his cock start to respond. Deliberately resisting his thoughts, Tim resumed the bench presses, pushing the memories out of his mind with each push of the dumbbell off his chest. He tried to concentrate on the presses, but his nipples throbbed painfully as the blood pulsed into his pecs. “Forget that shit!” he told himself. He refused to think about the weekend anymore. It was time to get on with his real life. A little later, however, drifting off in thought as he sat on the shoulder machine, mental images of Ross floated through Tim’s consciousness: Ross’s wide, masculine, but cheerful face, looking constantly pleased, always unfazed, as he contemplated Tim’s immobility and discomfort; Ross’s big, hard cock, continually demanding service, growing larger even as Tim’s cock was kept stifled and trapped, unable to seek pleasure, tied, hidden, and encased; the authoritative presence of Ross’s boots, when they were visible to Tim, as he cleaned them with his tongue; the images of Ross, Sadistic Bondage Master, that formed in Tim’s mind when he was bound and hooded, unable to see his captor but always conscious of his control. “Are you through there?” With a start, Tim shook his head, ridding it of the daydreams and orienting himself as he jumped up off the shoulder press machine. The guy waiting for it gave him a shit-eating grin as Tim moved on, and Tim turned his head away self-consciously. Tim’s cock was semi-hard, and apparently it was noticeable. While Tim continued his workout, recollections of the sporadic, sometimes intense discomfort and desperation he had experienced throughout the weekend, the intermittent yet seemingly never-ending periods of isolation, the need for release and feelings of hopeless abandonment when release hadn’t come, the lonely despair, anger and struggle, so fresh in his mind earlier in the morning, all began to fade, giving way to a needy horniness. Shit! Fuck! It had been the fucking hottest, horniest weekend of his life! His vow to stay away from Ross was crumbling already. In the middle of a squatting exercise, suddenly realizing that the hardness of his ramrod stiff cock was clearly visible through his tight shorts, Tim looked around the gym to see if anyone had noticed. He pushed the barbell up and finished the rep, with the flush of the effort (or was it embarrassment?) on his face. By now the lunchtime exercisers were there: hair dressers with Monday off, waiters whose workdays begin at dinner, lawyers, accountants, and software engineers who pump up instead of eating up during their lunchtime. They were heaving and sweating in their trendy exercise garb, and none of them seemed to be looking in Tim’s direction. Tim stood still, holding a towel with his hands nonchalantly covering his crotch, as his erection slowly subsided. Reassured that he had not humiliated himself again, Tim renewed his efforts to banish Ross from his thoughts as he continued with the squats. An agonizing sense of urgency overtook him when his efforts failed, however, and he hurried through the rest of his workout with a partial erection. He had to get home, jerk off, and get Ross off his mind! Two hours later in his apartment at home, well fed, clean and stretched out naked on his bed, Tim pumped his sore cock vigorously and pinched his aching nipples in an attempt to cum a fifth time. His arm was tired from the repetitive beating off motion, but he ignored it. The first quick load he shot in the shower had felt almost clinical, as if it merely satisfied a physical need for his cock and balls to discharge. The second, in bed after eating a late lunch, was more satisfying, and would have been a good send-off for a much needed nap, but Tim had decided to check his email instead of sleeping. The pictures from Ross, documenting Tim’s weekend incarceration, had fueled the third and fourth eruptions, with Tim pumping wildly, his angry red cock engorged and overstimulated, spewing cum in front of his computer while he wished that he was still in captivity in Ross’s dungeon. Now that Tim could see how he had looked all weekend – encased, sealed, and bound up in several different variations of bondage pig heaven – he wanted more. One photo in particular stayed in his mind as he closed his eyes and pulled on his cock: a view from several feet back showed a door, partially opened to reveal that behind it was a black, cocooned figure hung inside a closet-like area. Tim had spent more than 30 hours bound up in a sleepsack, suspended and locked away, and now the image of how it had looked was fixed in his mind and cock. Still not completely satiated, his cock was painfully hard but refused to cum a fifth time despite Tim’s concentration and energetic pumping. Tim let go of his cock and flopped onto his stomach. “Fuck!” A few minutes passed, but Tim was still restless. He had a lot of chores to catch up on after 4 days away, but he was too distracted to think about doing anything except jerk off. He had to do it one more time, to feel completely satisfied, so that he could stop obsessing about how Ross had kept him in bondage all weekend. With his cock refusing to relax, Tim jumped out of bed and raided the storage trunk at the bottom of this bed, where he kept all his gear. A half hour later, Tim sat at his computer browsing the gallery of photos Ross had sent. Sweating his ass off under the thick, tightly stretched rubber of a size-small catsuit (the tightest one he had at his apartment), grinding his butt into the chair as his muscles contracted against the huge plug he had taken up his ass, he pushed at his crotch, massaging his encased cock, as he connected his memories of the weekend with the images on his computer screen. He shifted forward and back on the chair and bounced lightly up and down to leverage his weight on the plug. An impending feeling of orgasm was building, but he was not quite there, when the sound of his phone interrupted the action. The name of Ross's company appeared on his caller ID. Tim’s voice cracked and he stumbled over his words as he answered. “Hi, um ... I mean, hell-oh, um... Sir.” “Hi, pig.” Tim squirmed on his plug and pressed his free hand down hard on his cock at the curt sound of assurance and authority in Ross’s insulting greeting. “Doing okay after our adventure this weekend?” “Yes, Sir. Um... Fine, yes, Sir. Thanks for the pictures, Sir.” “You’re welcome. What did you do so far today?” “Just routine stuff, Sir. First I worked out for a long time at the gym.” “And then what?” “Came home. Ate a big meal. Checked email. Catching up on chores and stuff right now, Sir.” Tim was mildly annoyed. Under the influence of the feelings of independence produced by being in his own surroundings, he didn’t feel like accounting for every minute that he had spent away from Ross. “Is that all you’ve done, pig? I thought you said you had ‘important’ things to accomplish today. Sounds like I could have kept you locked up until tonight.” Ross’s words, combined with the image Tim had on his computer monitor, were bringing Tim closer to an orgasm. Unintentionally silent while he massaged his crotch, Tim let out a groan. “Are you playing with yourself, pig? How many times has the pig jacked off since it was released this morning?” Tim felt humiliated. He hated being addressed as ‘pig,’ especially at home on his own phone, and yet his cock hardened more at Ross’s use of the word. “Sir, well... four... well, just about to...almost five times.” “Get your hand off your cock right now!” As if Ross were in the room, Tim lifted his hand away from his crotch. He had been just about to cum. “Fu...k I mean, sshh... sure. I mean... um... right, Yes, Sir!” “Your slave dick needs a major lockup, doesn’t it, pig? Are you the kind of slave who requires constant control, pig?” Tim hesitated. The words were very familiar, as Ross tended to use them often, but this time, Tim thought, Ross is right. I’m out of control. “Probably, Sir.” “No doubt it my mind, pig. The new chastity device I ordered may be ready later this week. Perhaps in the meantime we can arrange some form of control later tonight, depending on how much work I get done this afternoon.” Not sure he had any interest in Ross’s suggestion, Tim doubted that Ross was serious. Ross continued: “For now, I need to concentrate on next weekend. There’s been a change in plans. I may require more of your time than I anticipated, at least 5 days in a row. Can you arrange more days off, to tack some time onto next weekend?” Tim didn’t know what to say. More time off from work, and he hadn’t even been back there yet! “Sir, I don’t know. I’d have to talk to my boss tomorrow.” Ross replied quickly. “Can’t you call your office this afternoon? It’s only 3:30.” Tim wavered. “Sir, I’m not sure. I don’t know if she’s available. I am entitled to more vacation. I guess I could try to call and ask.” Ross replied: “Good pig. I’ll call you back in 10 minutes. AND NO MORE JERKING OFF!” Tim heard the phone click as Ross disconnected. Tim held the phone at his face and stared at it, as if he could see Ross in it. Fuck. He felt like he was back under Ross’s control already. How had that happened? Now he wished he hadn’t even answered the phone, and yet his cock was aching with stiffness. Ross was such a demanding fucker! Tim turned off the phone and put it down. He scanned the pictures on his computer again, looking at how Ross had treated him for 4 days. He pressed down hard, crushing his rubberized crotch. “Fuck. I do want more!” He picked up the phone again, hesitated a few seconds, and then quickly made a phone call to his office. Hours later, tangled up on top of his bed covers, Tim woke from a deep sleep with a start. It was dark. He checked the clock: 7:00 PM. It was the noise that woke him: Why was his alarm sounding? He reached toward his night stand and turned it off. He was so tired and groggy. The last thing he remembered was jerking off... for the fifth or sixth time? He wasn’t sure. At least his horniness was gone now. He clenched his asshole – it felt clean, empty and sore from the big plug, no longer in place, that he had used to make himself cum. He felt cool air in his crotch and ass crack, where he had left his catsuit unzipped. He was soaked with sweat under the rubber elsewhere and felt slightly uncomfortable, but the discomfort was not enough to motivate him to get up. He felt so lazy. He closed his eyes. What a relief not to be thinking about Ross! Wait a minute.... There was something he was supposed to do with Ross... tonight? That second phone call from Ross! When was that? He tried to think, but before he could recall anything specific, drowsiness enveloped him again, and a deep and satisfying sleep set in. Tim woke unwillingly, barely aware of his surroundings, a second time. Now a light was on, and Ross was standing over his bed. Tim closed his eyes against the brightness. He felt the weight of Ross’s body and the bed covers being yanked. Barely functional, Tim hardly understood Ross’s words. “You’re snoring like a pig!” Sleepily, reluctantly, Tim opened his mouth at the feeling of pressure against his lips and teeth. A rubber piss gag was suddenly buckled roughly and tightly in place, creating immediate discomfort as the wide tube was forced into Tim’s mouth. Unthinking, Tim started to object, but the only noise that came out of his mouth was unintelligible: “AAHHH!” “Yes, much better. That should stifle your snoring, at least a little.” Ross worked quickly as Tim came gradually to semi-consciousness. Before Tim knew what hit him, he had been gagged and hooded and was cooperating without question as he stood in front of Ross and extended his arms into the sleeves of a heavy leather straitjacket. Like a dazed sleepwalker unable to resist, Tim became even more compliant as Ross turned him this way and that, jerked and pushed him from side to side, and pulled, yanked, and tugged as he buckled, fastened and locked the straps that trapped Tim inside the snug-fitting jacket. At that moment, Tim didn’t care what Ross did, as long as he finished soon and let him go back to bed. Over the rubber hood, Ross fitted a leather hood that connected to the thick, sturdy collar of the straitjacket. The leather hood had zippers, laces and straps, and though Ross acted quickly, Tim sensed he spared no energy in making sure it was applied as tightly as possible. Both hoods had eye holes, which gave Tim limited vision, and mouth holes, where the outer ring of the gag, held fast underneath and sealed against Tim’s lips, protruded outside. Now becoming fully awake, Tim noticed that his breathing seemed limited, and he began to appreciate the degree of the restraint. Trying to adjust to the pressure of the tight restriction, Tim inhaled and exhaled, noisily and deeply, though the wide tube. He was beginning to feel uncomfortable and claustrophobic. Fuck. He cursed himself. Why had he ever given Ross a key to his apartment? How could he have let Ross rig him up in this straitjacket so abruptly and thoroughly? Tim was aware that Ross was talking, but Tim could hardly process the words. The anxiety and excitement caused by the physical sensations of intense restraint were interfering with his ability to concentrate, and it was difficult to hear anything external within the tight hoods. Continuing to try to adjust, Tim concentrated on his breathing. Aware that he was sweating and his heart was pounding, he found himself reflexively trying to twist his arms and squirm against the binding leather. All he could hear was the creaking sound of leather as he twisted and squirmed in a futile effort to feel comfortable. Everything was so goddamned tight! He wanted out! He snorted through the gag, and thought he heard Ross laugh. Tim took another series of deep breaths and peered through the eye holes of the hoods. Ross was sitting on the bed with a sadistically happy expression on his face. Exuding confidence and playful masculinity, he looked handsome and strapping, freshly showered and dressed as though for a casual night out. “Rubber pigs always need an inescapable layer of leather on top of their rubber, to keep them secure, don’t they, pig?” Tim shook his head emphatically in the negative and tried to protest. “Uh-uh! Uh-uh!” He wanted out of the straitjacket. He tried say OUT, OUT, but the noises that Ross heard sounded more like barks than words. Tim quieted himself and waited expectantly for a response from Ross. Please let me out of this, Tim thought. “Your protests are not very convincing,” Ross chuckled authoritatively. “A bondage slave’s cock will always give him away!” With the tight fastenings, stiff leather, and position of his bound arms inhibiting him, Tim tried to look down, having to bend at his waist and knees to see the front of his body. The ass/crotch zipper of his catsuit was still open, and his erect cock was sticking out prominently between the binding crotch straps of the straitjacket. Tim could feel his cock rising, hardening even more with the knowledge that Ross was watching it. Fuck! Ross smiled. “See what happens to pigs who are compulsive masturbators? Now come closer to the bed and turn around. I brought a present, a new toy for you, pig. Did you clean yourself out thoroughly, as I instructed?” Tim didn’t remember being instructed, but he knew he was empty and clean. “Ethir,” he responded hesitantly. He wasn’t in the mood to have anything shoved up his ass. In one hand Ross held a long, strange dildo that looked to Tim as though it was shaped to be anatomically correct, and, in his other hand, a contraption attached to it. Tim didn’t recognize the device as anything he had ever seen before. And, in his current mood, he didn't like the looks of it. The dildo was fastened to one end of a steel bar. The other end of the bar appeared to be welded to the center of a second bar, which had cuffs attached to it at either end. Tim moved toward Ross and reluctantly turned around. “Spread your legs!” The next few minutes passed slowly, as Tim, tensing and sweating under the rubber inside the leather straitjacket and hood, surrendered to Ross’s application of the new device: Tim’s ankles were locked into the cuffs, secured to the spreader bar that fixed his legs in place about 2 feet apart. The second bar, which Tim soon discovered was adjustable, extended from the center of the spreader bar straight up between Tim’s outstretched legs and ended at the base of the dildo, which was bolted to it. Ross inserted the lubricated tip, and the first half of the dildo slid in easily, but its length, deep penetration, and increasing diameter quickly became apparent to Tim as Ross continued pushing firmly on the flared base at the bottom. Automatically, Tim straightened up and tried to move forward to resist any further insertion, but he felt Ross slap his ass, still covered by the catsuit though his crack was exposed. “Stay still, pig!” Tim felt Ross’s strong hands guiding him back into position. Awkward and uncomfortable, hot and perspiring, Tim stood still, moved forward and back, and turned this way and that, at Ross’s command as Ross worked on administering the new device. Nearly finished, Ross adjusted the center bar, extending it upward. Tim groaned and wiggled his rubber-socked feet, then pushed himself up on his toes in an effort to mitigate the penetration. “Very good, pig. Get up there as high as you can on your little rubber tippy toes.” Tim strained higher, trying not to tip forward, but soon realized that Ross was using the height to further lengthen the bar, pushing the dildo up inside him as far as possible. Tim’s spread legs shook, his feet trembled, and his bound upper body listed forward as he tried to keep his balance. Under the hoods, Tim grunted with the effort and moaned at the sensation of the dildo inching upward, probing far inside and stretching his sensitive hole. His anal muscles contracted reflexively, trying to expel the invader, and his moans changed, becoming repetitive and high-pitched. “Okay, you can quit squealing and relax now, pig. And stop acting so refined, like you’re not used to having your ass plugged!” Tim silenced himself, holding his breath as he started to lower his heels. He hesitated and jerked at the intense sensation, until gentle but steady pressure from Ross’s hands pushed him down until his feet were flat. Tim sank as low as possible onto the device, finally fully impaled by it, and emitted a loud moan. Though the stretching and stimulation of his butt hole were overwhelming, the feeling of the broad flange at the wide base of the dildo gave him some measure of comfort, as it indicated that neither the dildo nor its supporting bar could fuck him any deeper. His rock hard cock was throbbing and twitching. It felt like his prostate was going to explode. “Good job. Now don’t move a muscle, pig!” Tim rested his feet and tried to keep his legs from shaking as he realized Ross was kneeling in front of him. He felt painful stretching and pinching of his cock and balls. Next, he responded to a strong downward pull on his balls by bending his knees ever so slightly, but the bar that impaled him on the dildo, extended and locked in place, prevented any appreciable movement. His cock, balls, and ass were on fire, and the excruciating urge to cum continued. Ross stood up. “Perfect. It’s definitely you! Now let’s see you walk.” Tim stared through the eye holes of his hoods in astonishment and disbelief. He mustered all of the mouth coordination the gag would allow to try to make himself understood: “U-C-K O-O!” Ross laughed and pulled Tim forward. “You are the one who is fucked, pig!” Tim stumbled awkwardly, afraid he would lose balance. To his surprise, however, he found that he could “walk.” Slowly, with effort, he was able to rock from side to side and advance his feet forward, with a gait that was somewhere between a shuffle and a waddle. Unexpectedly, the position that the device forced him to maintain, though awkward, felt stable and balanced as he stood and moved forward. However, the fucking sensation that resulted was almost totally overpowering. In rhythmic bursts, his asshole, prostate, and cock seemed to be contracting in uncontrollable spasms, so that Tim felt his muscles squeezing the dildo as though it were a real cock he was trying to milk. His own rigid cock bobbed, twitched, and arched upward in front of him, in resistance to the snug cock strap and ball stretcher harness, pulled down tightly by bindings that connected it to the spreader bar below. “Okay, that’s good. Stop there, next to your bed.” Grateful to stop, Tim stood still. “Now, let’s see if you can flop onto your bed and then get yourself up.” Confused by Ross’s request, Tim thought he had misunderstood. How could he do that? He couldn’t bend his legs. And his arms and hands were useless, trapped helplessly in the tight straitjacket. “Thir?” “This way, pig.” Ross turned Tim, until the backs of Tim’s legs were against the side of the bed. Standing to one side, Ross gave Tim a gentle push and guided him back, until Tim dropped onto his bed, with his splayed legs extended over the side. The restraints held tightly, though Tim felt the dildo shift inside uncomfortably. He squirmed backward, further onto his bed, to ease the pressure on the center bar, and found that the position was bearable. “Good. Get up, now, without my help.” By shifting from side to side and rocking forward, Tim was able to comply, though the sensations resulting from the pressure and slight movement of the restraining device that impaled him were not enjoyable. Ross made Tim repeat the whole process, two more times without assistance, and Tim hoped Ross was enjoying what seemed to Tim to be a pointless exercise in discomfort. After achieving a standing position a third time, Tim looked expectantly at Ross, and saw him checking his watch. Tim hoped the session was drawing to a close. He was eager to be released from the dildo perch and get out of the straitjacket. Ross talked quickly, and Tim strained to hear. “Come with me, and hurry it up.” Tim moved forward reluctantly. Where was Ross taking him? “It’s getting late. Brad’s probably already at the restaurant.” Tim was confused. What did Brad have to do with this? With the enclosure of the hoods, creaking of leather, and effort required to walk, Tim thought he must have misheard. After slowly ambling forward a few steps, Tim stopped and suddenly cried out as he felt a sharp, painful sting on his cock. Ross was holding a small whip, up level with Tim’s face. “Faster!” Tim tried to comply, speeding up his clumsy duck walk, but it was difficult. Ross whipped and taunted him as they walked to the kitchen. “Weebles wobble but they don’t fall down!” At Ross’s command, Tim stood still. Ross had stopped him in front of the kitchen counter, where the console for Tim’s phone system was stationed. Ross pushed the phone keys to dial a number. As the cell phone in Ross’s pocket started ringing, Tim and Ross could also hear the rings on the speaker of Tim’s phone. Ross hit the disconnect key. “Now let me see you hit the redial key using the tube in your mouth.” A nervous feeling came over Tim and his legs shook as he leaned forward, his straitjacketed arms against the counter. He touched the key with the tube. The redial function worked immediately, and Ross’s cell phone rang as before. Ross pushed the release key to disconnect. “Good, pig.” Next, Ross pointed near the phone, where, on the counter next to it, Tim saw a plastic gallon jug, yellow liquid visible inside it. The lid on top, sealed with duct tape, had a wide straw coming out of it that appeared to extend down inside to the bottom of the jug. Tim was accustomed to (and disliked) Ross’s habit of saving piss for him, but this was the first time that a piss jug had made its way to Tim’s apartment. “Here’s the next test. Let me see if that gag allows you to sip through the straw.” Tim’s anxiety was turning to anger. He stood still for a few seconds, silently refusing to comply, until a squeal of pain escaped from his mouth. The whip flicked sharply and unmercifully on his balls and cock, still inflexibly stiff despite his objections to the situation. Ross refused to stop whipping until Tim leaned forward, over the counter, seeking the straw by extending his tongue through the tube of the rubber piss gag. With much effort, by trapping the straw with his tongue against the top of the tube and drawing air in, Tim was able to create enough suction to get a mouthful of Ross’s piss. His hard cock jabbed the cabinet under the counter, and Tim swallowed noisily, attempting to clear his mouth. The piss was cold and sour, and it seemed to coat his tongue. Under the hood, he felt his head shake as his facial muscles contorted in an uncontrollable grimace. Tim straightened up, and Ross looked at him with reserved approval. “Good. Now over to the door.” Tim followed Ross reluctantly to the front door of his apartment. The vexation building within Tim was almost completely suppressing the acute sensations in his ass and cock. “This is the last test. Let me see you open the door by leaning on the handle.” Motionless and feeling puzzled, Tim stared through the eye holes of the hoods until he saw Ross raise the penis whip threateningly. Suddenly acting quickly to avoid the sting of the whip, Tim discovered that, by bending at the waist and angling his upper body to the right, he was able to push on the chrome lever with his elbow until it released. The door opened slightly, and Ross promptly closed it. Tim had an adrenaline rush and tried to fight the anxious feeling that was overtaking him. His legs still felt wobbly, and he was afraid to know Ross’s intentions with these odd, seemingly unrelated tasks. Breathing heavily through the tube gag and trying to shift his arms to alleviate the tight bindings of the straitjacket, Tim suddenly realized that Ross was talking again, in a cold, businesslike tone that increased Tim’s anxiety. “I’ve been thinking you need additional bondage time, between visits to me. This should be really good training for you. Being trapped in restraints in your own apartment, with all your familiar things of no use to you, could be quite interesting, perhaps a new twist for a jaded bondage pig like you.” In spite of Tim’s nervousness, Tim felt his cock pulsate at the meaning in Ross’s words and the certainty with which he said them. Momentarily distracted by the throbbing of his cock, Tim hoped it was not visible, because he knew Ross would interpret it as some kind of signal of acceptance. Some words and phrases penetrated Tim’s consciousness: “... good preparation for this coming weekend.” Tim squirmed silently. “... maybe every night this week.” Zoning out again, Tim couldn’t, or didn’t want, to comprehend what Ross was saying. A sentence or two later, he forced himself to focus on the words: “... going to leave now, but I’ll back tomorrow morning, in time to release you to go to work.” Tomorrow morning! Tim raised his voice through the gag. “Uh-uh!” “Uh-uh!” Tim twisted his torso, trying to move his arms, irrationally struggling and attempting to make Ross understand his objections as he continued to protest through the gag. “Uh-uh!” “Uh-uh!” Ross’s next comment had a much more serious tone: “I’ll drag you out in the hallway and leave you there if you don’t stop your whining and shut the fuck up right now!” Tim stopped himself from squirming and tried to calm down. His heart was pounding and his mind was racing. How could he convince Ross not to leave? Maybe begging would work. He did his best to enunciate. “HEESTHIR?” “P-U-L-EE-STHIR?” “THIR... P-E-E-E-SE!” Ross laughed. “Your reluctance is convincing me that this is definitely the right thing for you. Don’t worry. You’ll survive. This will be excellent training. Make sure that jug is empty by the morning, and don’t spill any. You should be able to pee into the toilet if your greedy slave dick ever goes down.” Tim bent slightly forward, to look down, and felt the pressure of the dildo deep inside. His hard cock, bigger and stiffer than he had ever seen it, extended straight out, and a thick glob of precum hung off its tip. It felt like the dildo was pushing the cum out, like some kind of mechanical prod used at a stud farm. Ross smiled. “Like I said before, a bondage slave’s cock always gives him away.” Tim moaned quietly. The subtle change in position caused by leaning forward made him feel like he was about to shoot, and he had the urge to struggle inside the straitjacket to increase the sensation. With blood pounding in his temples, his head felt like it was being squeezed by the hoods. He straightened up, trying to relieve the pressure of the multiple restraints, and took a deep breath. Ross continued with his explanations: “Stop fretting, pig. You're not in any danger. You can’t sit down with that impaler locked in place, but you can shuffle around your apartment and lie in bed. I’ve unplugged your TV, just to make sure there’s nothing to distract you. I'm leaving the lights on, so you don't fall down in the dark.” Ross put his hand on the door lever. “Use the redial to get my attention only if there’s a real crisis. You’ll be very sorry if you use it foolishly. If there’s an emergency, you can always leave your apartment and waddle out into the hallway for help. That would certainly give your neighbors in the building something to talk about!” Still taking it all in, Tim felt desperate. How had everything happened so quickly? Trying to process what Ross said and believe that it was true, Tim grunted dumbly, too shocked to react otherwise, when Ross smacked his butt and wished him a good night. “Have fun. See you sometime tomorrow, pig!” The door opened and closed, and Ross was gone.