Disregarding the stiffness in his lower back and muscle fatigue in his legs, reminders that he had spent much of the night and early morning in a standing position, Tim shifted his feet and lowered his head, adjusting his gaze toward his notes to set them on the podium. The slight change in posture caused his unbuttoned wool suit jacket to separate, revealing the area just below his waist, which caught his eye. Tim felt his countenance freeze as he noticed it. Smack dab in the center of his crotch, a prominent wet spot had formed on the dark wool of his trousers. Tim clamped his lips tightly together in an effort to avoid showing a visible reaction. He quickly pulled closed the jacket of his pinstripe suit, buttoned it, and moved closer to the podium. Tim doubted that the stain was visible. Nevertheless, flustered, he felt his face redden and perspiration run down his temple and over his cheek. Now afraid to look up, Tim cursed himself inwardly for getting into this situation: Fuck! The latex catsuit under his clothes was leaking through the codpiece!
Tired from lack of sleep, Tim’s concentration faltered. He fumbled again with his notes, but before he could continue with his speech, one page of the sheaf of papers stuck to his hand, and the others slid from the slanted top of the podium onto the floor. Double fuck! Quickly bending to retrieve his notes, Tim tried not to react to the simultaneous sensations: stricture across his hips, over his pelvic bones, as he felt the presence of the steel belt around his lower waist; probing pressure inside his ass, near his prostate, as he felt the dildo plug shift deep inside him; stabbing discomfort and a burning feeling around his cock, at its tip, as he felt it react to the stimulation of the butt plug; and shifting liquid in multiple places, as he felt the sweat lubricate his body under the skintight rubber hidden beneath his clothes. Momentarily confused by the conflicting impressions of concealment and display, Tim felt as if the hidden kinkiness under his clothes were suddenly visible to the audience. The idea of Ross, reacting to Tim’s predicament, entered Tim’s mind, and Tim instantly regretted the thought as his cock responded. The sensation it created was incredibly distracting as it tried to enlarge in the tight space prescribed by the steel chastity device, in which it was trapped low between his legs and locked in place under a steel crotch shield. The efforts of Tim’s imprisoned cock to harden seemed to revive the coating of Ben-Gay that had been applied prior to its confinement, and the stinging sensation made Tim’s eyes tear as he scrambled to retrieve his speech from the floor of the stage.
Struggling to organize the papers as he squatted, Tim tried to ignore the myriad sensations obscured by his clothes: the chastity device with its belt and shields (front and rear); the prodding of the dildo; the fiery tingling of his cock; the sensuality of the secret catsuit, with its encasing skintight fit. Aware of the sweat that had accumulated under the rubber socks within his shoes, Tim straightened up, looked out over the audience, and continued his speech. Only seconds had passed since he had stopped, but to Tim the entire process seemed endless. As each word passed through his lips, Tim willed himself to continue, refusing to pay attention to the heat emanating from under the collar of his starched cotton shirt, the trickling sweat as it collected between his pectorals, and the leaking perspiration as it dripped from under the cuffs of his shirt. His notes, soaked with sweat from his hands, stuck together as he proceeded, but Tim succeeded in completing the presentation without losing his place a second time.
After Tim made his concluding remarks and thanked his coworkers, they clapped loudly. Before leaving the auditorium, some of them came up on stage individually to congratulate him. Gradually, Tim became reassured that his secret was still intact. Apparently oblivious to his embarrassment and discomfort, the members of the audience praising his talk seemed totally unaware that under his pinstripe, charcoal suit, Tim’s body was sealed neck-to-wrist-to-toe in rubber, and his crotch and well-plugged ass were secured by a steel chastity device, all of which were zipped and fastened in place with locks, the keys to which were not in Tim’s possession.
At the end of the line of well wishers, Tim’s boss, Judy, approached. “Excellent presentation, Tim. Congratulations! The information was organized in an interesting way, and you did a really good job in communicating what you needed to get across. It seemed almost totally spontaneous, even with your notes.”
Tim held back a laugh. Spontaneous! With his speech over and the tension subsiding, the humor of the situation was dawning on Tim. He smiled. “Thanks, Judy.” Even though his mood was lightening, Tim was anxious to get down off the stage and into the restroom, now that everyone but Judy had gone. Yet, he was trapped, encased in sweaty rubber and clothed in warm wool, with no choice other than standing in place, sweltering and perspiring, listening to her compliments until she was finished.
“Are you all right, Tim? You look flushed.” Tim resisted the urge to step back as Judy placed her hand on his forehead. “You’re perspiring. Any you’re very warm!”
In the two years that Tim had worked for Judy, his opinion of her maternal attitude toward him had vacillated wildly, from sincere appreciation to scorn. At the moment, however, he was just embarrassed. Judy continued. “You feel like you have a fever! Maybe you have the flu.”
Tim reacted hesitantly. “I do feel tired. Could be the flu I guess. But I’ll be fine. Just need to walk around outside. It’s hot in here.” Tim picked up his papers from the podium as he studied Judy’s facial expression. She was single at the moment, between boyfriends, and Tim knew from past experience that she could be insufferable when she had no man in her life on whom she could unleash her mothering. Tim wanted her to leave, yet Judy persisted. She covered Tim’s right hand with her own. “You’re perspiring profusely. I think you should be home in bed. You probably need to rest.”
Pulling his hand out from under hers, Tim considered Judy’s suggestion. The idea of going home had its appeal, though he was behind in his work. He felt dazed from stress and lack of sleep. His mouth was dry and scratchy. “Maybe I will go home, if that’s okay with you, Judy.”
Judy replied, “Yes. The presentation was a success. Even if you weren’t sick, I’d say ‘take the afternoon off.’ I have a lunch meeting, or I’d offer to drive you home myself.”
“That’s okay. I’ll be fine to drive home.”
Judy asked, “You’re still dating Ross, aren’t you?”
Tim was taken aback. He hated the small-world effect that had entered his life, intruding on him weeks ago when he, Ross, and Judy discovered that Judy and Ross knew each other through business dealings.
“Yes, we’re still . . . ‘dating.’” If you only knew, Tim thought.
“Does Ross know you’re sick? If you’d like I can call him. You need someone to take care of you. Give you TLC. Lots of liquids. Maybe some chicken soup.”
Tim suppressed a smile. He could just imagine what kind of soup Ross would feed him! Tim knew that Judy had been envious of his relationship with Brad, and he knew what she thought of Ross, both professionally (“smart, tough”) and personally (“hunky”). He also knew that Judy was intrigued by the idea of Ross and Tim instead of Brad and Tim. He imagined that Judy assumed she had it all figured out – who did what to whom – and was titillated at the thought of them together in bed. As Tim fleetingly considered this notion, he realized that he could not remember an occasion when Ross had allowed him to sleep in bed with him. That knowledge made his dick twitch uncomfortably, which renewed the burning sensation. Returning to the moment, Tim shook his head. “That’s okay. I’ll see him later. But, thanks. Like I said, I’m fine. I can make it home and take care of myself.” As Tim backed away from Judy, he thought he heard one of his shoes squish. Suddenly, he was aware of the scent of latex.
With a doubtful look on her face, Judy responded slowly. “Okay, but be careful. You’re not yourself. I’m worried about you. Are you getting enough sleep? You look awfully tired.” Tim stood still and waited. He was reluctant to move, afraid that the sweat within his rubber undercoat would leak further, and he had no intention of continuing to answer Judy’s questions. They seemed to be in a stalemate. Silent for a few seconds, apparently still not inclined to leave, Judy finally said, “All right. I’m going to be late for my meeting. Let me know later how you’re feeling. I’ll call you at home.”
“Thanks, Judy.” With relief, Tim watched Judy, her cell phone almost immediately at her ear, as she finally walked away. She was a great friend and a terrific boss, but he was glad to be rid of her. He was certain that she would be so busy all afternoon she’d never give him a second thought.
Minutes later, after blotting some sweat with paper towels and washing his hands and face in the restroom, Tim attended to loose ends on his desk, cooled off outside, and then got into his car to leave work. Driving home about 45 minutes after his encounter with Judy, Tim found himself reconstructing parts of the morning in his mind. Ross had supervised everything that had happened before work, even taking the time to follow Tim to his apartment to oversee the selection of suit and tie after Ross had finished locking down what would be underneath Tim’s street clothes. In retrospect, Tim wondered if Ross had suspected he might consider destroying the catsuit to remove it and avoid wearing it to work. In actuality, Tim had been so nervous and rushed to get to work, to prepare his presentation, that he had barely had time to consider the ramifications of Ross’s actions. And after Ross’s tough demeanor the night before, Tim, rejecting any thoughts of questioning Ross’s intentions, had been totally submissive. Now, sweating even with his suit jacket removed and squirming uncomfortably in the driver’s seat of his car, Tim was preoccupied by the dildo plug on which he was forced to sit. Earlier, Ross had cheerfully inserted it through the anal opening of the new chastity device, covered the base with the anal shield, and locked it in place. Presently, in an effort to pass gas around it, Tim leaned to one side in his seat and strained to relax his asshole, which wanted to grip the dildo tightly. Tim felt a fart escape around it.
Tim’s thoughts traveled further back in time, to the hours he had spent double-sleepsacked and standing in the cell at the foot of the bed where Ross slept. Long after Ross had been snoring contentedly, Tim’s unobtrusive wiggling and silent straining eventually paid off. Clamping down hard on his gag, Tim had stifled his own agonized groans on finally succeeding in making himself cum. Soon after, however, the upright position had become much more demanding. Inside his hot, tight cocoon, which had been zipped, laced, strapped, and fastened to a degree of rigid mummification Tim had rarely experienced before, Tim became wretchedly uncomfortable. Afraid to make a peep, anxious with anticipation, hopeful that Ross would wake early and free him, Tim had sweated and squirmed quietly, his full bladder encouraging him to piss intermittently into the tube, the mouth end of which he had to suck constantly to get the flow going, to swallow it down, while Ross, oblivious to Tim’s hope of early release, slept soundly, through until the morning. Miserable at the time as the interminable night and early morning dragged on, shifting around on his tightly bound feet second by second, leaning from side to side against the bars of his cell, unable to think beyond the physical sensations of discomfort, Tim had suffered in silence.
Thinking back on it as he drove home, Tim realized that the night had been no bondage fantasy. The ordeal had been all too real: Ross’s idea of punishment. It had been no picnic, and Tim was convinced that if he had contradicted Ross’s warning to keep quiet, Ross would have come up with something even more difficult. Now, reliving it as he drove home, Tim was getting horny. Ross had balls! The arrogant fucker had deprived him of sleep on a week night, left him standing, mummified in a cage all fucking night, and then sent him to work locked in rubber and chastity under his clothes. Ross’s dominance and gall amazed Tim, and, in retrospect, excited him as much as the physical sensations of tight mummification. Unexpectedly, Tim felt a wave of submissive lust wash over him. The hellish night had been torture, and now Tim wanted more! He savored the memory of the suffering and his ultimate acceptance of it, the way he had stood, tightly mummified and caged, forced to tolerate the discomfort as he watched Ross sleep comfortably, and the potency of its overall effect, emphasizing his role as Ross’s rubber encasement slave. Abruptly back in the present moment, Tim hit the break quickly to avoid rear-ending the car in front of his, to stop at a red light. “Fuck! What’s wrong with me?” Suddenly aware of the pounding within his rubber-encased chest, Tim felt the beat, beat, beat of his heart, as if it were calling his Master’s name over and over again: “Ross . . . , Ross . . . , Ross . . . ” “Fuck,” Tim said to himself, “I need to snap out of it!”
As Tim neared home, however, thoughts of Ross continued. He wondered if Ross had taken pictures of him, layered and sacked, imprisoned in the cage. He had the urge to jerk off to the memory (and maybe the images) of it, as he usually did when Ross released him after a bondage session, but that would be impossible today. In spite of the wave of horniness, Tim knew he needed sleep, and he also knew he would miss his customary prelude to almost every nap he took: Wacking his ever-hard, greedy cock until it gave up yet another load of cum would almost always send him off to la-la land.
Approaching his apartment, Tim recounted what he could remember of Ross’s comments during application of the chastity device: The black, plastic-coated steel penis tube, seemingly too small for Tim’s hardening cock until Ross coated it with Ben-Gay, while Tim cursed silently and fidgeted (“Hold still, pig, or I’ll use it to lube the dildo too!” Ross had said); the polished stainless steel belt lined with neoprene that tightly encircled Tim’s waist just above the hips (“Made to your measurements and smooth enough to wear under your new rubber underwear, pig”); the crotch shield overlaying and securing the front of the device (“perfect fit, pig!”); the rear of the belt, a steel band between Tim’s ass cheeks, against the crack of his ass, with a hole for the anus, which Ross had quickly plugged and shielded with a separate lock (“ . . . totally dependent on your Master to take a shit”); and the locking mechanisms, with stainless steel shackles (“ . . . impossible for you to escape, even with bolt cutters”). Tim tried to remember the exact words of Ross’s final comment: “All locked up, pig. Now you’ll be sealed and under my control, as you should be, even when you’re at work. No more jacking off for the pig. From now on, you cum only when I decide you’ve earned it!”
Tim squirmed against the seat belt and rocked in the driver’s seat. “Fuck,” Tim thought, “I need to jerk off already!” Tim’s cock contracted within its prison and sent a stinging sensation through his crotch.
At home, Tim’s nap was elusive. After stripping to his rubberskin and eating lunch, he tossed and turned on top of his bed and, when sleep wouldn’t come, got up and studied himself in the mirror. The catsuit was new, a “present” from Ross, who had bought it, he implied, because he had the idea it would work well on top of the new chastity device. Tim removed the catsuit’s codpiece to examine the chastity device, twisted backward to view in the mirror the small padlock securing the zippers of the catsuit, and generally succeeded in making himself even more horny and restless. The chastity device looked awesome, like some sort of sleek space-age metal jock, and, while snug, it was actually not that uncomfortable, especially now that the Ben-Gay had lost its effect. The dildo plug, too, was tolerable, as it was smaller than the huge butt plug Tim had been forced to accommodate overnight. The new catsuit, which Ross had called “underwear,” was tight and shiny. Tim loved it.
Remaining preoccupied with what had happened the night before, Tim checked his email, to look for pictures, but there was nothing from Ross. Wishing he was one of the victims pictured, he browsed the rubber bondage web sites that he usually visited, but without being able to pump his cock and bring himself off, they provided no relief. Back in bed and still sleepless, Tim began to feel consumed by horniness. He wanted to jerk off badly. If his fucking dick wasn’t all locked up, he would jack off into a rubber hood and then sleep with his head encased in it. But Ross held the key to his dick. Tim could not get Ross off his mind.
Haunted by Ross and with a nap still evading him, Tim wondered what Ross had in mind for tonight. In view of Tim’s last two days of consecutive workouts at the gym, Ross had said Tim was to skip exercise, go home to his own apartment after work, rest, and wait for him. Tim considered his options: Ross had no knowledge of his early departure from work at lunchtime. Tim entertained the idea of phoning him, to let him know, but decided against it. “If I were in my right mind,” Tim thought, “I’d be enjoying the free time.” Instead of taking advantage of his independence, however, Tim felt unable to focus on anything except anticipating Ross’s arrival. He envisioned himself – sealed, bound, and gagged – at the door, waiting, as Ross entered. Searching for reasons, Tim contemplated his own mind-set: Is the chastity device already producing the result that Ross intended? Or, am I just delirious from lack of sleep? There were a million things to which Tim needed to attend, grocery shopping, phone calls, and more, and yet all he could think about was Ross. Tim had to clear his head somehow!
As Tim mulled over the possible explanations for his obsessive mood, the sound of the phone interrupted his reverie. The caller ID showed Judy’s cell phone number.
“Hello?”
“How are you feeling, Tim? Did I wake you?”
Tim hesitated. Pretending he had been sleeping might discourage Judy from staying on the phone. He cupped his free hand over his imprisoned crotch as he responded. “I feel better, I think, but I guess I was sort of drifting off when the phone rang.”
“Sleep is probably the best thing for you. Turn of your phones so no one wakes you. Don’t think about things here. And take a sick day tomorrow if you still don’t feel well. Don’t even worry about calling in.”
Tim tried to sound tired. “Thanks, Judy.”
“Take care.”
“Bye.”
The brief phone call served temporarily to interrupt Tim’s thoughts of Ross, and he started to feel more relaxed. The afternoon began to pass slowly, as Tim dozed, unsettled, and hovered on the edge of consciousness, where dreams form and recede quickly, before the mind can imprint them. Luxuriating in his tight rubber, Tim slept spasmodically and dreamed repeatedly about Ross. Late in the afternoon, as Tim returned to full consciousness, his horniness seemed overpowering. After having slept fitfully for a few hours, Tim’s craving had morphed into a full-blown attack of bondage hunger, somehow tainted with a lingering doubt that Tim had been unappreciative of Ross in one way or another. Seeking reassurance, Tim picked up his phone to dial Ross’s cell phone number, but did not follow through. “What’s the point of interrupting him at work?” Tim thought.
Still uneasy, Tim tried to remember his dreams, but the specifics were lost to him, and he couldn’t recall one that would have produced the feeling of remorse he was experiencing. Eventually, he got up from bed, drank some juice, pissed through the chastity device, and considered the time: 5:25 PM. Ross had told him he would come around 7:00, but he was notorious for being late, especially involving events related to freeing Tim from any form of restraint. Tim was uncertain of Ross’s plans, other than unlocking the plug up Tim’s ass, so that Tim could take a shit. He knew that he would definitely see Ross tonight, at the very least for that reason. But even more likely, Ross would not miss an opportunity to exert further control over Tim, probably through bondage. And Tim was definitely in the mood to be controlled. Overwhelmed by his persistent horniness now that he had rested, Tim wanted to take matters into his own hands. He knew Ross would relish the sight of a sealed and bound rubber pig, waiting for its Master, and Tim thought it would be an excellent way to show his appreciation. But to impress Ross, the seal needed to be complete, head to toe, and the bondage, real, inescapable. Abruptly, Tim decided to get to work, to ensure he would meet the 7:00 deadline. A concrete plan was forming in his mind.
Tim raided his gear. Selecting a hood, he buried his face in it and inhaled the intoxicating rubber aroma, but then quickly discarded it as he decided on a different course of action. He picked up a ball-gag head harness and strapped it on as tightly as possible. Savoring the extremity of the sensation, with the heavy fastenings forcing the huge black rubber ball far back into his widely gagged mouth, Tim emitted muffled groans, barely audible to himself as the tightness of the harness forced his jaws to grip the large ball, around which he began to drool. He fingered his nipples through the skintight latex of his rubber underwear.
“Ah . . . uh, uh.” Tim could barely grunt, and he delighted in the extremity of the gagged feeling. With saliva dribbling onto his chin, he tested his ability to breathe as he pinched his nipples.
Next, Tim examined his Extreme Rubber Encapsulator Suit. Rubbing his gagged face into it to sniff it, Tim knew the suit would be difficult to get into on his own. But, he also knew it would be worth the trouble – Ross liked the look of the Encapsulator Suit and, in fact, had forced Tim to stay in it once for 48 hot hours. Providing total enclosure, with its attached hood, mitts, and socks, Tim knew the Encapsulator Suit would fit well over top of the “rubber underwear” already locked in place, and that, with the exception of the pin hole eyes, nose holes, and mouth opening, it would seal his body totally. Tim proceeded with the outer encasement enthusiastically.
About a half hour later, studying his reflection in the mirror, Tim admired the outcome of his efforts to encase himself and polish the end result: the high luster shine of the exterior latex; the total encapsulation of his body from head to toe, with his invisible eyes peering through the small pin holes of the heavy, form-fitting Encapsulator Hood; the black ball, glistening with saliva, visible at the mouth opening of the hood, which appeared to form a tight seal over it. Tim inhaled around the ball, attempting to suck and swallow. He flexed his biceps and pectorals to stretch the rubber and experience the powerful envelopment of the Encapsulator Suit, its heavy weight latex and inside reinforcement combining with the rubber catsuit under it to create a natural vacuum. Tim felt totally sealed and packaged. The rubber encasements held everything firmly in place. He was gagged, hooded, plugged, cock-locked and sealed, all heavily encased and loving his rubberized state of being, and he wished Ross were present to see it. Bending his knees with frustration at his cock’s futile attempt to grow straight and erect, Tim groaned into the gag, straightened up, and thrust forward, to squeeze the plug that had been locked up his ass all day. Tim wanted Ross to come soon. His entire being seemed focused on it. He wanted Ross to bind and seal him permanently, take him away to his dungeon, and keep him there forever!
Tim checked the clock: 6:45. In his state of rubber ecstasy, he had not forgotten about the final touches that he had planned: binding himself using leather – a locking posture collar and wrist restraints, four thick straps, and four small padlocks. Simple, yet effective and intense, it was a form of self-bondage he had used many times before, in the past, mostly when Brad had been out of town, but without the locks. First, after matching keys to padlocks, Tim went to the kitchen and used scotch tape to fix the keys to the refrigerator door, where Ross would easily see them. Next, he laid out the implements of his self-imposed torment in the bathroom, below the full length mirror, where he sat cross-legged on the floor to proceed. It was a self-bondage position he had never been able to make himself stay in more than three or four minutes, for longer than it took to cum, always releasing himself immediately after, but he knew cumming would not be an option tonight. Neither would release, for that matter, once he closed the final padlock, if he was correct in his thinking about how the restraints would work. With his rubber encasement, and particularly with his fingers encased in rubber mittens, wiggling his arms into place and fastening the final buckles would be challenging. He had 15 minutes until Ross was due.
Tim encircled his neck with the lockable collar, buckling it tightly as he positioned the D ring centrally below his chin, and used the first padlock to secure the collar’s buckle. Still sitting on the floor, Tim banded his right ankle within the loop of one belt, pulled it in, to his thigh, and buckled the strong strap around the base of his upper leg, effectively binding his ankle to his butt, and then repeated this procedure on his left leg. With each leg completely bent and joined to itself, ankle to thigh, forcing his knees to his chest, Tim took a third belt, already fastened and doubled over on itself, and threaded it between his folded legs horizontally, under the knees, until equal loops of the belt extended out from each side, with its buckle centered on the underside of his knees. Tim readjusted the ankle-thigh straps, to tighten them further, pressing his legs firmly together and fixing the horizontal belt in place on the underside of his knees, and then used a fourth belt around his ankles to fasten each to the other. Squirming with effort, Tim put his left arm down, inserted his hand upward into the corresponding loop of the horizontal belt, and wiggled his hand and lower arm up through the loop until his elbow stopped his progress. With his free right hand, Tim picked up the wrist restraints, open padlocks attached, transferred them to his left hand, and then wiggled his right arm up through the corresponding loop of the horizontal belt.
Tim checked his progress in the mirror, at the bottom of which his reflection was visible through the pin holes of his hood. He had just enough proximity and mobility of his upper arms and hands to complete the last step, and he felt he had to hurry. Ross could arrive at any moment. Tim felt the adrenaline flooding his system. Grunting and puffing around the ball gag, aware of the accumulating sweat under the two layers of rubber, Tim used the mirror to guide his progress as his rubber mitt-encased hands fumbled with the wrist restraints and padlocks, until he succeeded in fastening and securing them.
Believing he was finished, Tim inhaled deeply, exhaled, and tried to relax. He studied what he could see of himself in the mirror. He wondered if his plan had worked. Flexing and extending his rubberized hands, Tim pulled forcefully at the wrist restraints to test the results of his efforts. The fastenings and locks, which his hands were able to touch but not undo, held securely.
Tim experimented with movement and found the limitations for which he had hoped. Bound into a very tight ball, he could barely move. Restrained ankles to thighs, elbows to knees, and wrists to neck, Tim had succeeded in turning himself into a compact, rubber-encased mass of bound and gagged slavemeat, to be used by Ross as he saw fit. Plugged at both ends as his dick throbbed in its tiny prison, Tim wondered what Ross would think when he found him like this, and how long Ross would taunt him by refusing to release him. The effects of the chastity device and butt plug seemed to be heightened by the tucked, cramped position in which Tim had bound himself. An image came to Tim’s mind, one in which Ross pushed him on his side and used him as bondage furniture, a foot stool on which to rest his feet.
Enjoying his extremely limited mobility, Tim wiggled his butt from side to side and moved cautiously, inching around on the floor. Slow to progress, Tim creped out of the bathroom and onto the carpeted floor, where he squirmed with more confidence. The drawn out process that allowed him to move, wiggling clumsily from side to side to shimmy forward with his full weight on his plugged ass, advanced him ploddingly into his living room and toward the front door of his apartment. Before long, however, Tim’s new confidence, inspiring attempts at quicker movements, caused him to lose his balance and topple helplessly, rolling onto his side, and the full extent of what he had done to himself was apparent. Tim felt completely bound and powerless in the tightly tucked position: body bent at the waist and knees, thighs drawn tightly to his chest, heels pulled close to his buttocks, elbows strapped to the outside of each knee, and wrists yoked to his neck. Tim tried to suppress the natural, panicky instinct he felt rising within himself, the reflexive escape response that his body wanted to mount in reaction to the tight, restrictive position and its inability to break free of it. Giving in briefly to the urge, Tim struggled against the straps and writhed helplessly on the floor within the wedged, tightly compacted position in which the restraints forced his body to stay. Tim had done this to himself before, but he had always been able to release himself immediately at the first hint of distress. Now, Tim pulled at the wrist restraints, ran his mitt-encased hands over the padlocks within their limited reach, and twisted his head to view the keys, taped high at the top of his refrigerator door. All of his efforts confirmed that his plan had worked: He was totally bound and sealed, and helpless to do anything about it. The belts and their buckles, and the zippers of the Encapsulator Suit, were all out of reach of his restrained hands, the ball gag head harness was sealed under his hood, the keys to the locks were inaccessible, and he was trussed tightly, bound into a helpless ball, barely able to move.
Minutes passed, as Tim played the mind game of willing himself to adjust to the tight restriction. The feeling of panic had been unexpected, and he decided that returning to a sitting position would give him a sense of more control. Rolling onto his back, Tim began rocking slowly, stem to stern, back and forth on his spine, until he had enough momentum to propel himself up and forward, into a squatting position. Misjudging his efforts, however, the force he had built up carried him up too quickly, and he was unable to stop on reaching his goal. He lurched, flexing the rubber-encased toes of his tightly bound feet to compensate, but, unable to keep his balance, Tim wobbled, tipped backward, and fell over once again. Tightly gagged and panting, sweating profusely within the sealed layers of rubber, bucking and squirming within the extremely restrictive, tucked position in which he had thoroughly fastened himself, Tim was having second thoughts about what he had done. He took a few deep breaths and attempted to relax. Seconds passed, accumulating into minutes, as he lay on his side. Simultaneously hating and loving his predicament, Tim tried to convince himself that his fate was sealed. There was nothing he could do but wait for Ross.
More time passed as Tim slowly regained control of his mind. Several minutes later, after an additional failed attempt to right himself, Tim achieved the proper combination of motion and balance as he rocked upward into place. The upright, sitting position was definitely better, though difficult to maintain if he tried to move at more than a snail’s pace. Squinting through the pin holes of his hood, Tim surveyed what he could see of his apartment. It was dusk on a summer evening, and his apartment suddenly seemed hot and dark. The only light came from Tim’s bathroom. Tim suddenly fathomed the full degree of his incapacity, as he realized his inability to turn on additional lights. With his tightly bound legs and arms, everything in his apartment above 18 inches from the floor was out of reach. Tim had succeeded in making himself almost absolutely helpless. Trapped in the confining, tucked position, Tim was glad that he would not be alone for long. The bright digits of the microwave clock were visible: 7:42 PM. Tim was surprised so much time had passed. Ross was already nearly 45 minutes late. But Tim was certain Ross would come in the next hour. He would just have to wait.
Tim shifted his attention to the spot where Ross would appear whenever he arrived, and that’s when Tim saw it: an envelope had been pushed under his front door. Almost immediately, Tim felt his heart pounding wildly in his chest, against his knees. Blood pumped in his temples, against the tight encasement of the rubber hood. An unwanted adrenaline rush overwhelmed Tim’s system as he felt a horrible sense of nervousness settle over him, and the heat and sweat of rubber encasement suddenly seemed intolerable. With the restriction of the ball gag and tight posture collar, his breathing felt labored. The tightness and extreme restriction of the position in which he was bound now began to feel unbearable.
It took Tim almost a half hour. As though he had been transformed into a sloth, with tedious and slow movements requiring major effort, Tim struggled to move himself over to the envelope, roll onto his side and pick it up in one hand, right himself, and then wiggle his way to his bathroom, where there was light. Seeing his reflection in the mirror reinforced just how tightly he was bound. Tearing the envelope open with difficulty using his closely joined mitt-covered hands, Tim noticed two small keys fall onto the floor as he struggled to extract the contents of the envelope. Holding it in front of him with one hand, he was barely able to read the scrawled, handwritten note that had been inside:
pig,
Heard from Judy that u have the flu. Here are keys to ur underwear and ass plug. Call me when u are better.
-R
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