Sitting naked at his computer, aware of feeling chilled but choosing to ignore the odd sensation of rubber-free skin open to the air, Tim continued the jack-off frenzy as he studied the photos displayed on the computer monitor. Knowing that he was the anonymous-looking, hooded rubber slave pictured, Tim matched the images with the corresponding text and his own memories of each situation. Awestruck, Tim kneaded his cock as he studied the aborted “hog blog” Ross had made him begin and the photos Ross had just posted at the web site documenting Tim’s 10 day incarceration.
Earlier today, as Ross had driven Tim home to his own apartment, finally ending Tim’s imprisonment, Tim had thought he had never wanted anything more in his life than to be free forever of the captivity of Ross’s relentless rubber encasement, bondage, and control. Now, barely a few hours later, Tim hated himself for his reaction to the photos of the extreme restraint Ross had made him endure. His hard, overworked cock pulsated with excitement. Fuck! It was a cycle Tim had repeated before: Hating Ross for enforcing the inescapability of his captivity while it was happening, vowing never to see him again after it was over, and then getting so excited by pictures and memories afterward that he was eager for more. Tim promised himself that this time would be different. Ten days spent encapsulated in rubber, severely bound and locked in confinement had been too extreme. Tim would never let it happen again. Determined to get past his horniness, Tim felt certain that cumming one more time would cure him forever.
Tim alternately pumped his sore cock, pinched his nipples, and clicked through the perverted galleries showing Ross’s depraved exploitation of the captive rubber pig. The pictures were posted in five separate galleries; his cock erupting with thick gobs of pent-up cum, Tim had barely viewed galleries I and II before shooting his wad four times in succession. Galleries III and IV had prompted the fifth orgasm. Now that Tim, pumping wildly but unable to cum again so soon, had finally viewed Gallery V, he realized the pictures were posted in chronologic order. Trying to reconstruct the general sequence of events in his own mind, Tim felt confused. What happened during the first few days triggered vivid memories, some of which were described in the hog blog, but the predicaments making up the rest of Tim’s imprisonment, after he lost his regular break and blogging privileges, were indistinguishable in his mind, where they merged together into a huge, dark time block of immobilizing, sensory-depriving rubber encasement and isolating confinement. By the end of the 10 days he had been almost comatose with exhaustion from suppressing the agonizing desperation for release, and yet now he couldn’t stop his cock from wanting more!
Still determined to cum again, a sixth time, to rid himself of such thoughts, Tim massaged his painfully hard cock and studied one image in which the slave appeared particularly photogenic. From head to toe, the cocooned male form gleamed with the sleek, shiny blackness of impossibly skintight rubber. Tim suddenly realized that in viewing the photo, he was seeing himself from Ross’s point of view, standing over his totally encased rubber pig, sealed in rubber and trussed helplessly, exactly as Ross preferred. The rubber hood gripped so perfectly that Tim’s head looked skull-like, with the visible outline of his compressed ears tightly sealed in place and the only opening a small tube at the mouth, which Tim knew was part of the gag concealed underneath. In contrast to the long lines of the narrow sleepsack, the tightly encased rubber mummy was constricted by a wide, black rubber posture collar and multiple rubber belts encircling the molded cocoon from shoulders to ankles. Even in the picture the tightly fastened rubber straps looked extremely restrictive, and Tim’s cock further solidified as he correlated the image with the physical sensations he remembered. Tim thought about Ross’s distrust of rubber sleepsacks as a sole basis for inescapable bondage: “If the pig squirms vigorously enough, rubber can fail.” The rubber sleepsack in the photo, with its extra thickness and integrated reinforcing straps, was the only one Ross felt confident did not require an outer layer of leather in order to prevent escape. With recall of that knowledge, Tim’s engorged cock stiffened painfully straight as he rubbed his thumb over its inflamed head and pulled at the smoothly shaved root of the tender shaft. Although undetectable in the photo, Tim also knew that he was gagged, butt-plugged, catheterized, and sealed in another layer of rubber under the tight sleepsack.
As he worked his cock, Tim counted the six belts on the sleepsack and examined the wide bondage collar and its D rings, all plainly visible in the picture. Tim’s thoughts, reconstructing his incarceration as a horny memory, returned to the situation depicted. He remembered that Ross had later boasted that he had kept Tim that way for 2½ days. Studying the picture further, Tim knew that the entry into the sleepsack, through a set of rear zippers invisible in the picture, was probably fastened with a padlock. The small crotch level zipper in front, concealed by one of the straps, allowed Ross access to Tim’s urinary catheter, which Ross kept plugged except to drain Tim’s bladder, sometimes into Tim’s mouth, at varying intervals. Ross used the air tube extending from the concealed gag through the mouth hole of the hood for cautious infusions of fluid, water, piss, or Gatorade, to keep Tim hydrated. Careful preparation for 24 hours beforehand with enemas and a liquid diet had ensured that Tim’s ass could remain plugged for the duration of the encasement.
Tim recalled further details. About three or four days into Tim’s 10 days of ‘probation’ in Ross’s dungeon, Ross had changed the rules. After catheterizing Tim’s dick and discontinuing the blogging sessions as punishment for cumming without permission, breaks became fewer, and the time between breaks grew interminably. Afraid to make a peep after the severe punishment Ross had administered early on when Tim made noise without permission, Tim endured the longer stretches of uninterrupted confinement in silence. And Ross rewarded Tim by making them longer and longer, culminating in the 2½ days in the rubber sleepsack. Tim’s familiar mantra entered his head: “Fucking bastard.”
Tim clicked on other thumbnail photos in Gallery V to enlarge them and found that several of them, some with captions, documented his multi-day imprisonment in the rubber sleepsack.
The caption under the photo Tim had been studying read,
“Day 1 – Preparations completed: Tightly hooded, gagged, collared, locked in a sleepsack, sealed in 100% total rubber encasement, arms trapped inside inner sleeves, heavily bound outside with rubber belts from shoulders to ankles. All holes plugged underneath. The pig is in rubber bondage heaven.”
In the next photo, showing another view of the rubber sleepsack, Tim was standing in Ross’s vertical steel cage. The caption read,
“Day 1 – Contemplation: Forced to stand locked in the vertical cage, the pig slave endures in silence (as trained). The slave was left as shown for 12 hours to contemplate its love of rubber encasement.”
The next photo showed Tim, still strapped up tight in the rubber sack but lying inside a horizontal wooden enclosure with one side open to the camera. The caption read,
“Night 1 – Overnight storage: With no letup in the 12+ hours of tight encasement and bindings, the rubber slave has been transferred to a horizontal wooden box for overnight storage. The greedy pig can’t get enough. Sweet rubber dreams, pig.”
Tim thought, “Fucking bastard makes it seem like it was all my idea.” The next photo, without caption, showed the door of the box, closed with latches and padlocks.
Tim quickly read the captions for two more photos:
“Day 2 – Still wallowing in hog heaven in his rubber cocoon without break after 24 hours, the encasement pig is committed to solitary confinement in the isolation chamber, his favorite place to spend a day.”
“Night 2 and Day 3 – Still strapped tightly in his rubber cocoon at 36 hours and counting, the pig wants more, so it is enclosed in an outer leather sleepsack, attached to a hoist, and left suspended and ignored for an additional 24 hours. This pig can’t get enough! OINK!”
Tim studied the last photo showing his own mummified form, helplessly suspended in Ross’s dungeon closet, where Tim had spent up to 36 hours in previous bondage sessions waiting for Ross. While this session had lasted only 24 hours, it had been excruciating for Tim, and now he better understood why - he had already been in the rubber sleepsack for 1½ days, and then Ross had put the leather one over top and left him that way for 24 hours more! “Fucking bastard. 'OINK' yourself.”
Tim studied the last photo showing his own mummified form, helplessly suspended in Ross’s dungeon closet, where Tim had spent up to 36 hours in previous bondage sessions waiting for Ross. While this session had lasted only 24 hours, it had been excruciating for Tim, and now he better understood why - he had already been in the rubber sleepsack for 1½ days, and then Ross had put the leather one over top and left him that way for 24 hours more! “Fucking bastard. 'OINK' yourself.”
The burning sensation in Tim’s cock increased as Tim struggled to achieve the orgasm he thought would put an end to his interest in Ross forever. He was very close to cumming, as he had been several times before, but each effort, punctuated with ass clenching and pelvic thrusting, ended in frustration. Fuck! He just had to cum one more time.
Tim clicked on a picture he had not previously viewed at the very top of Gallery V. It was a photo of Ross, in full Rubber Master Regalia. Exuding brawn and ego, Ross posed standing with legs parted wide, hands on hips, biceps bulging, and a commanding, arrogant expression on his masculine, chiseled face. A sleeveless rubber tank top, under a rubber vest, tapered down Ross’s torso to a large belt and buckle, below which Ross’s prominent crotch and muscular thighs were encased by rubber jeans. The reflection of the camera flash on the stretched surfaces of the shiny black rubber emphasized the muscularity of Ross’s pectorals and quads. His face was framed top and bottom by a rubber military-style cap and dark goatee. His commanding posture, the tattoo and black band on the left arm, and the high black boots completed the hyper-masculine effect. The setting was his dungeon, with its dark background, a glimpse of a white urinal, and chains hanging from the ceiling. At his feet, between his spread legs, was the familiar form of the encased slave, strapped up tight in his rubber sleepsack. In chalk-white letters, the word “pig” was visible on the rubber hood over the slave’s forehead. The photo perfectly captured Ross’s superiority, overpowering dominance, and absolute control of the bound rubber slut at his feet.
Tim moaned as he pounded his dick repeatedly.
Minutes later, exasperated that he still hadn’t cum, Tim stopped stroking his cock and took in more details of the photo of Ross and his rubber pig. Tim knew that wannabe rubber slaves, browsing Ross’s rubber site across the country, were probably salivating, groaning, pumping, and shooting cum all over this picture while they wished they were the pig encased and bound at Ross’s feet. Tim had to admit that Ross was devastating. His Rubber God persona, almost too fantastic to be true, was evident, yet Tim knew all too well he was the real thing. Tim wondered how many of the wannabes would be able to deal with the reality of Ross’s requirements: the extended bondage sessions, staying put, comfortable or not, no matter what, until Ross decided otherwise; the isolation and confinement; the unending head to toe rubber encasement; the total control of body and eventually mind, when you reach the stage where you never wanted anything more in your entire life than to be released.
“I’d be crazy to go back for more,” Tim thought, his cock poking up between his legs. Tim suddenly remembered the email from Ross, the one that had started this marathon jack off session. Tim had been so consumed with the galleries that he hadn’t really read the full text. He clicked on the folder and retrieved it:
“pig,
“Go to the URL above to see photos of ur 10-day stay in my dungeon. u hereby have my permission to enjoy them while I am out of town this week.
“I am pleased with the progress u made in these 10 days. u have finally learned to keep quiet, an essential quality if u expect to be my full time encasement pig. From now on, I will count on u to endure captivity in my dungeon in total silence, speaking only at my request, and remaining quiet otherwise, with no pathetic squealing or grunts of objection from ur little mouth, which will be gagged and sealed most of the time. u were very quiet during the ride home earlier today, and I take this as a sign of further compliance. From now on, on the rare occasions when u are in my presence outside the dungeon, such as in the car this afternoon, u will not speak without asking my permission, and u will keep ur head down, concentrating ur gaze at my feet unless I permit u to look up or elsewhere.
“We still need to work on cum training. u are such a bondage pig that ur greedy cock has been able so far to overcome all of the devices I’ve used to try to control it. While I would like to keep u catheterized permanently as one possible solution, in the long term this may not be healthy; plus, I fear the day when u will cum even while catheterized, which also may not be healthy. I am going to look into acquiring electrified shock or spike-lined devices, to deter ur pig’s cock, through use of pain, from seeking enough pleasure to cum while locked up. The goal is to achieve a physical and mental state in which u cum only when I permit it, and to achieve that perfect balance of allowing u to cum often enough to keep u healthy but seldom enough to keep u horny and craving the bondage u were born for.”
Tim grabbed his cock again, now rock hard, and pumped furiously as he continued to read Ross’s message:
“u should expect to have no free weekends from now on. Also, except for this week while I’m out of town, u will be ‘on call’ on weeknights, meaning that u will always be ready to respond to last minute orders from me to clear ur evening. This is part of our plan to continue progress toward 24/7/365 encasement, eventually moving u to full time slavery in my dungeon. I have already dropped hints with ur boss, my good friend Judy, that having u ‘work’ for me may simplify our relationship. I may check in with her this week with a phone call. I’ll be interested to hear from her or u as to whether ur coworkers like ur new ‘do’ – shaved heads are in style these days anyway.”
With his right hand hard at work on his cock, Tim rubbed his left hand over the stubble beginning to grow on his smooth scalp while he read the last paragraph:
“I will return on Friday. Be ready. u should be freshly shaved from head to toe, well cleaned out and corked with a fat butt plug. As soon as u finish work, go home and get encased in ur favorite rubber suit, with that big plug underneath, and wait in ur apartment for me. See u Friday, pig.
-R”
As though Ross were speaking aloud inside Tim’s head, Tim’s cock responded, erupting with an excruciatingly strong, quick orgasm that produced almost no cum. It seemed Tim had wanked himself dry.
An hour later in his bed, Tim’s mental agitation was winning out over the physical exhaustion that should have led to immediate sleep. Thinking about Ross and his staggering presumptions were keeping Tim awake. “Fucking egotistical ballsy bastard,” Tim said aloud. The 10-day stay in Ross’s dungeon had been really tough. Ross had been relentless with the tight bondage and solitary confinement. “Fucking bastard.” There had been countless times when Tim, alone for hours in Ross’s dungeon, had thought he was losing his mind, about to go crazy while waiting for Ross to give him some relief. And now Ross wanted him to live like that. “Not in this life,” Tim thought. Ross couldn’t be for real. But, just in case, Tim resolved to limit his time in Ross’s dungeon to what Tim wanted. He had to overcome his reluctance to speak up and tell Ross that the 24/7 notion was unrealistic. Yes, at first he had wanted it, such a horny idea, but after the 10 day preview, now he wasn’t so sure. An arrangement made up of occasional weekends, maybe even some weeknights, would be enough. Tim would keep his job and his own apartment. And his hair!
While Tim lay in bed, eyes closed, trying to formulate his response to Ross’s email message, his mind, alert and active, insisted on reprocessing the events of the last 10 days. The galleries flashed in his head, showing hugely enlarged photos of the humiliated rubber pig, with their crude captions suggesting he was practically begging for more. The image of Rubber Master Ross towered over him, and the words in Ross’s email message, which it seemed Tim had memorized instantly, were recited automatically: “… part of our plan to continue progress toward 24/7/365 encasement… full time slavery in my dungeon.” Tim snorted, “NOT!” Ross couldn’t be serious. But Tim’s cock, hard again, was rigid against his stomach. “…deter your pig’s cock, through use of pain, from seeking enough pleasure to cum while locked up… keep you horny and craving the bondage you were born for.”
About to cum a seventh time since arriving home just hours earlier, Tim twisted in bed and groaned loudly as the painful orgasm took hold. Pinching his nipples, stretching out his legs, flexing his feet and pointing his toes, Tim enjoyed it to the fullest extent possible while he rolled from side to side and the spasms ran their course.
Minutes later, as he recovered from cumming, Tim began to feel totally relaxed, his cock finally satisfied. His anxiety about Ross dissipated, eased by the thought that he had all week to compose a reply to Ross’s ridiculous message. Convincing himself that Ross had been joshing, deciding to think about it later in the week, Tim fell into a deep sleep.
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