Waiting for Ross #27

Focusing instead on the sensations of his pulsating cock, Tim ignored the other parts of his body that were stiff and sore – mostly his neck, but also his right shoulder and arm, buttocks, thighs, and asshole. Three days of jerking off 5-10 times every 24 hours had taken a toll on Tim’s masturbation muscles!

Seated at his desk, Tim pushed forward in the chair. It was just past 8:30 PM. He had been home for 15 minutes. Mail unread, laundry everywhere, dishes in the kitchen sink: Tim was oblivious to the waiting chores in his apartment as he sat in front of his computer. Today, jerking off in a stall of the restroom at work, he had cum only twice since leaving his apartment this morning, and the resulting horniness was building up, especially now that he was finally home, all alone with his hard dick. Dropping it for a moment, Tim paused to roll his head from side to side as he massaged his neck. Absentmindedly, he rubbed his hand against the stubble over his scalp. His cock throbbed at the reminder of his shaved head.

Riveted to his computer for the third night in a row, Tim was no longer mesmerized by the array of images depicting his recent rubber imprisonment in Ross’s dungeon. Yes, the photos of the rubberized victim, always severely bound and encased head to toe, still produced unending hard-ons. And no, he hadn’t lost interest in studying every detail, at which he marveled when contemplating the fetishism that addicted him to Ross. In fact, earlier tonight, anxious to get home to browse the galleries for the 100th time, he had rushed through his after-work visit to the gym and subsequent dinner with his parents. A similar state of affairs had also occurred the night before, when he had hit the gym in an exercise fury and then shortened his dinner with Brad, who had annoyed Tim with teasing remarks about his ‘hot new do’ and questions about Ross.

“Fuck,” Tim said aloud. Tim struggled to clear his mind of memories of Brad’s probing comments and the look on his mother’s face as she tried not to stare at his baldness. And, he did not want to think about how difficult it had been this week to concentrate on his responsibilities at work. The 7-day absence, followed by showing up with a shaved head, had elicited unwanted notice by his coworkers, and his boss Judy had been very quiet toward him. Plus, he had been spending a lot of time in the men’s room, where he worked hard to satisfy his perpetually hard cock, instead of in his office, where he should have worked hard to get his assignments done.

Tim tried to snap out of his reverie. His pectoral and ass muscles, hurting from the quick, heavy weightlifting of the preceding days, ached as he stretched and shifted in his chair.

Momentarily diverting his eyes from the rubber-hooded slave on his computer monitor, Tim looked down at the part of his body that usually controlled his thoughts: Demanding his attention, Tim’s cock rose up from the open zipper of his pants; it pumped independently, living its own life, eagerly seeking direct stimulation, telling Tim it was time again to charm the snake. With a mixture of disgust and horniness, Tim closed his hand around his sore, painfully stiff cock and squeezed. It looked and felt like the biggest boner he had ever experienced.

While Tim had not grown tired of viewing the pictures that documented his 10 days of service as Ross’s rubberpig, he had found that the continual self manipulation and beating off of the last 3 days satisfied him only briefly each time; 20-30 minutes post orgasm, his cock was always ready for more. In other words, Tim was dying of horniness. The constant pounding and repeated tossing off had become poor substitutes for the rubber-sealed bondage and control Ross had obliged Tim to endure. Furious at Ross initially when released, now, after only 3 days of freedom, Tim wanted to go back to the real thing. Wanking at galleries was not enough. His plans and efforts to move beyond the compulsion for rubber enslavement that Ross had activated were failing. The exhilarating freedom and sense of survival following his 10-day ordeal were fading in the heat of his current desires. His huff over Ross’s audacity, treating Tim for 10 days like some kind of rubber bondage robot, had passed. Imagining he was back in Ross’s dungeon – helplessly bound, gagged, sealed and locked away in a desolate purgatory of waiting for Ross – Tim pumped furiously until his cock exploded, erupting with enough cum to land on the keyboard, coat his hand, and stain his jeans.

An hour later, Tim was back at it, sitting naked at his desk and choking the chicken. So soon after cumming, however, there was less urgency to satisfy his cock as quickly. Rocking in place gingerly in the chair to grind the largest butt plug he owned deeper into his ass, Tim enjoyed riding the gentle wave of horniness enveloping him. The plug, being too big for regular wear, under normal circumstances would have resulted in instant orgasm upon insertion. With Tim’s current state of sexual overdrive, however, the super-sized discomfort merely engorged Tim’s dancing cock, which felt to Tim like it was directly connected to the plug underneath.

Tim jiggled his ass on the huge plug, and his smooth cock bounced up, full and hard, over top of the thick rubber stretcher squeezing his shaved balls. The weights attached to his nipple clamps bobbed.

Having been merciless with plugging himself at both ends, Tim sucked the saliva awkwardly to the back of his throat and swallowed hard to avoid drooling around the oversized gag he had strapped in place. Playing with his cock intermittently, Tim browsed the pictures and tried to ignore the nagging concern that entered his mind now that he was no longer totally consumed by horniness: He hadn’t heard from Ross since Sunday. Tim had been in such a snit when Ross drove him home that Tim hadn’t even tried to find out why Ross would be out of town or where he was going.

Aware that his use of the same ISP as Ross allowed him to check the status of messages, Tim clicked on his SENT folder and checked the two email messages, one sent last night and the other this morning. The system showed that Ross had opened both, and yet Tim had received no response. Tim reread the messages:

------------------------ 
Sir, 
Thanks for the email message with instructions and photos. Sorry I did not respond sooner. Hope your trip is going well. Also left a message on your cell phone. 
Tim 
------------------------ 
Sir, 
Getting ready for work this morning and just thought I’d touch base. Have been enjoying the photos! (Oink) Hope to hear from you soon. 
Tim 
------------------------

Tim wondered why Ross would read the messages but not respond. He composed a third message and clicked SEND:

Sir, 
Your pig is out of its mind with horniness and wishes it were sealed in rubber bondage in Your dungeon all week, left to squirm and sweat while waiting for You to return. Can’t wait until the weekend! 
pig

Tim’s cock, at full hardness, was leaking – precum or old cum? – Tim had been masturbating so much he could no longer distinguish between the two. He returned his gaze to the gallery. Taking in the full extent of activities and time span represented by all of the photos that were posted, Tim was impressed with how closely Ross had monitored Tim’s progress during the 10-day ordeal. While he had been encased and sealed up, bound tight and squirming in discomfort, unable to see or hear external stimuli, isolated and locked away, Tim had often regretted the situation bitterly, feeling angry and abandoned; thinking Ross was unreasonable; fretting that he would overheat, dehydrate, suffocate, or be permanently damaged. And yet it seemed obvious from the photos that Ross would never have let such things happen. It was clear that Ross, or one of his friends, had been closely caring for and watching over Tim the entire time. Ross had taken their shared rubber bondage fantasies to new levels – fuck, he had even surpassed them – in what now, in retrospect, appeared to be a realistic and safe manner! As hellish as the extreme, prolonged bondage had seemed to Tim at the time, Tim had to admit to himself that he felt fine and healthy; the only aftereffect was unrelenting horniness, leading him to want more! A sense of ungratefulness, unaccompanied by feelings of guilt, descended over Tim. He wished Ross would respond to his messages.

Scanning the photos for the umpteenth time, Tim’s attention was drawn to a file he had not noticed before, posted next to the gallery photos. Was the file, named “rubberpig in storage,” new? Or, had he simply overlooked it before, in a frenzy of horniness? His cock bobbing with excitement, Tim clicked quickly to open it, which activated the video player on his computer.

He would have gasped if his mouth were not stuffed full and stretched wide by the huge gag. Beating his cock while he squirmed on the massive plug and moaned around the gag, Tim watched the movie play on his computer monitor: A slim, muscular male, his appealing body totally encased in a skintight rubber catsuit, stood submissively at attention, with his head bowed in a slave-like pose. The camera panned into close-ups of a spreader bar locked between his ankles, a harness restraining his hands behind and high on his back, and a view of his head, sealed tightly inside a rubber hood with no openings except a tube at the mouth. The camera lingered for a few seconds at the mouth; with the audio, Tim could hear air enter and exit through the tube. Then the camera faded out of focus, transitioning to a scene that showed a zipper opened at the crotch of the slave’s catsuit, where it exposed a chastity device. The next few scenes, all focusing on similar frontal views, had obviously been skillfully edited to show the change from removal of the chastity device to the installation of a spike-lined pouch over the slave’s rapidly expanding cock and balls. Panning close-ups front and rear visually communicated that straps around the waist, through the ass crack, and over top of the butt-plugged hole were fastened tightly, trapping the slave’s compressed cock and balls within the encasement of the spiked jock before the catsuit was again zipped closed.

A pause in the sequence showed the slave flexing his knees, with accompanying audio indicating panting and moaning muffled by the rubber hood. The slave’s discomfort in adjusting to his new jock was obvious. Watching the video, Tim moaned through his own gag in enjoyment of the rubber victim’s torment.

Fading in and out from one shot to the next to signify sequential steps, the video then proceeded to document removal of the outer restraints and addition of a second layer of black latex, which enclosed the slave in a tightly molded rubber sleepsack, eventually sealed from head to toe with zippers and straps.

Tim continued stroking his cock as the video progressed forward to a point when the slave’s metamorphosis was complete: The tightly-muscled, rubber-catsuited male standing upright at the start of the video had been transformed into a prone, hogtied rubber mummy; supplementing the mummifying encasement of the rubber sack, the knees were bent and legs pulled back by straps connecting the slave’s restrained ankles to the top of his head, where a harness was fastened over the rubber hood and a thick collar encircled his neck. For about 20 seconds or longer, the camera remained still, capturing the squirming slave’s humiliating attempts to wiggle free from the arched position and shift the weight of his body off his crotch. With the time devoted to the scene, it seemed apparent that the cameraman was enjoying this particular sequence. As the picture finally started to dissolve, the struggling slave had managed to lean partially to one side, where he remained still, apparently resting; with a whoosh of air audible on the video, he appeared to sigh as deeply as the restraints and breathing tube allowed, as though in a state of acceptance of his uncomfortable predicament.

Whacking himself furiously, riding the butt plug, on the verge of cumming, Tim thought the movie was over, but the picture came back into view: The camera fade-in revealed that the hogtied rubber mummy had been transferred intact to the inside of a horizontal wooden box. Pulling back to show a lateral view of the open container, the camera then zoomed in on attachment points where the slave was immobilized by tethers to the front, top, and bottom sides of the box, the floor space of which allowed just enough room for him to rest on his stomach, on which he was trapped rigidly in place in the hogtie position. The last scene showed an anonymous, gloved hand closing the box, with the hogtied mummy inside disappearing from view. The camera zoomed back slightly, showing the gloved hand inserting padlocks into latches, and then the camera backed away further, giving a wider view of Ross’s dungeon. The video ended with the box in the distance as the dungeon light was turned off.

His right hand busily pumping, on the brink of allowing the meat-pounding to pass the point of no return, Tim reacted with a startle response as the noise of the telephone on his desk interrupted his wild masturbation. The caller ID showed Ross’s cell phone number. Tim let go of his cock and pulled madly at the straps and gag to get it out in time to answer the phone. Choking on the pooled saliva and sputtering into the phone, Tim cleared his throat and said, “Hello… um, Sir.”

Ross responded: “Hi, pig. What’s all that choking and coughing? Are you sick?”

“No, Sir. Um… My mouth was full when the phone rang.”

Ross chuckled and said, “Well, coincidentally, just before I called I was thinking of your mouth, as I aimed my cock at the toilet and took a long, noisy piss.”

Remaining silent, Tim felt his face coloring with humiliation. Tim was embarrassed to hear Ross talk about him like he was a toilet, and yet he knew that his cock fed on the idea of the control it represented. He stroked it, smeared precum over its head and then sucked the rest off his thumb as he heard Ross’s authoritative voice continue in his ear.

“What were you drinking, pig – your own piss, since you are temporarily deprived of mine?”

Tim was getting annoyed. He took his thumb out of his mouth and spoke up: “No, Sir. Um… I wasn’t drinking anything.”

As though sensing and enjoying Tim’s discomfiture, Ross sounded amused and playful. “Well, if not piss, then what was your mouth full of, pig?”

Tim hesitated. He was embarrassed to admit that he had gagged himself, and yet he knew Ross had a way of interrogating him about details, penetrating his thoughts, and exerting control whenever Tim tried to hide something. Tim cleared his throat again, swallowed and sighed. “I had a big gag in my mouth, Sir. I was so horny I put it in myself.”

Tim heard Ross’s deep, masculine voice take on an encouraging tone. “Excellent. Glad to hear it. My pig should be gagged as often and long as possible. Is there any other gear in place on my cute pig’s humpy little slave body?”

Tim smiled. Ross rarely complimented him on anything. Hearing Ross say “my cute pig” and admit he regarded Tim as “humpy” instantly extinguished Tim’s irritation.

Tim answered freely, almost proudly: “A huge butt plug, a ball stretcher, and nipple clamps.”

Ross suddenly barked through the phone in an imposing voice, “Hands off your cock, pig!”

Startled by the change in tone, Tim quickly let go of his cock, but then laughed at himself. “I really miss you, Sir.”

“How many times have you jerked off so far this week?”

“I don’t know. A lot. I lost track.”

“Sounds like you’ve had far too much freedom, pig. I thought you needed time this week to ponder your place in my life, but now I see I underestimated your interest in being my pig. Maybe I’ll have to devise a way to keep you busy the next 2 days.”

Tim wasn’t sure he liked the sound of that. “I was just looking at the pictures and thinking about you. That’s all.”

Ross’s voice became even deeper, taking on an intensely sexual emphasis. “Yes, so it seems. I just read your latest email. I am glad to hear you’re looking forward to being under my control this weekend, but I wish I had known before I left town that you wanted to stay in my dungeon while I’m gone. It could have definitely been arranged. You’d be bound, sealed in gear, plugged, tubed and under control right now, waiting for me for days, all locked up and alone, well on your way to becoming the 24/7 encasement pig I want full time for my dungeon. A week sealed, bound, and all alone in my dungeon with me out of town would have been excellent training for you.”

Afraid it would explode on its own, Tim stared at his cock and stifled a moan. Yet, intruding on his horniness, a nagging doubt entered his mind. “Sir, would that be realistic? Safe?”

Ross gave an amused snort. “Absolutely. I have very effective methods of monitoring you, and friends who would be glad to ‘baby sit’ without you even knowing about it until they alter your restraints, feed you, or piss into your mouth at my instruction. And remote systems are in place, monitoring and surveillance, alarm and sprinkler systems, other setups and arrangements. You’d be very secure and protected, with everything under my control, even when I’m miles away. And if anything did go wrong, you’d be rescued. I take very good care of my possessions, especially my rubber toys, and that’s what you’d be.”

Ross’s voice and words sounded so assuring. Tim wanted to jerk off badly. Tim asked, “But is it reasonable to be tied up all the time?”

Ross explained. “Not without close supervision. Right now, you’re still in a training phase, requiring some form of bondage and encasement in rubber 99.9 percent of the time, but that doesn’t mean you won’t exercise and be kept healthy and clean. Later on, the conditions of your captivity may change somewhat. You’ll have chores and duties to attend to as my slave. No one can live tied up 100% of the time forever, even a bondage pig like you. While I’m still breaking you in, though, the solitude and bondage will be extreme at times, very challenging physically and emotionally, but you already know that and keep coming back for more, bondage pig that you are. It’s not bondage until you want out. And I’ll give you plenty of wanting out!”

Tim could no longer resist. He grabbed his cock and pumped. Practically groaning as he said it, Tim blurted out, “Sir, I want to be your pig, and I’m gonna cum!”

“If you cum, I’ll hang up!”

Tim stopped himself just in time. Trying to catch his breath, he attempted to remedy the situation. He panted into the phone and said breathlessly, “Okay. I stopped. Sorry. I promise not to unless you say I can. I do want to be your pig, though.”

Ross taunted Tim: “Then why are you expressing doubts? And why are you being disrespectful, talking on the phone to me without being encased in rubber?”

Dying of horniness but disconcerted by Ross’s comment, Tim squeezed his cock. “Sir?”

Adopting a serious tone, Ross started giving orders. “Put down the phone, strap the gag back in place, take off the nipple clamps, then pick up the phone, and grunt once.”

Tim complied quickly, trying to ignore the fire ignited in his pecs and hastily inserting the huge gag and pulling the straps tight. He picked up the phone and put the receiver against the gag. “Mmph.”

“Outstanding, pig. Oink once for ‘yes’ and twice for ‘no.’ Understand?”

“Mmph.”

“We’ve had a nice little chat tonight, but you’ll find that such opportunities will be rare in the future. I prefer to hear you communicate in pig mode only, with oinks, and only then when I give permission. Is your digital camera operational, pig?”

Tim had to think about it for a few seconds before responding positively. “Mmph.”

“Good. I want lots of pictures of you while I’m away. Listen carefully. After I hang up, set up the tripod and use the camera’s timer, the self-portrait feature to take a photo of yourself as you are now. Then, leave the gag, stretcher, and plug in place, and get yourself all situated in your catsuit, the one from London with the hood and gloves attached. When you are finished suiting up, take another photo showing yourself in rubber, and then send both photos to me by 10:30. I’ll call you after I get the pix. You should remain encased, waiting by the phone for me. I expect you to pick up on the first ring and give me an oink. Don’t disappoint me, pig.”

Tim grunted into the phone, but Ross did not respond; he had disconnected.

Twenty-three minutes later, Tim sat at his desk, trying to focus on the computer keyboard through the pinhole eyes of the catsuit’s hood. With the combination of the lube he had used to get the catsuit on quickly and the sweat that had already started to accumulate under it, Tim’s slimy, gloved fingers, glistening with slickness, kept hitting the wrong keys. He fumbled madly, cursing himself for taking Ross so seriously. Yet, he met the deadline, sending the email with its attachments at 10:29. The phone rang soon after.

“Mmph.”

“That’s much better, pig. I want you in total rubber encasement, with no skin showing, whenever you read my email or take a phone call from me while I’m away this week. While you were suiting up, I’ve been composing some messages for you. I will send the first one shortly after I hang up. Each will have a unique subject line indicating exactly what time you are to open it, which I expect you to do at the appointed hour and minute, no earlier and no later. You will be required to follow all instructions in each message in order to earn the privilege of being under my control this coming weekend. If you screw up, the weekend plans are off. Now let me hear an oink indicating you heard me before I hang up.”

Tim had heard, but he wasn’t sure he completely understood. “Mmph.”

“Night, pig.”

Tim felt a mixture of relief and disappointment. Part of him wanted the sound of Ross’s voice in his ear to continue. On the other hand, though, the conversation and the hurried efforts to get the catsuit on, photograph himself and send the pictures, all had exhausted him, and he was looking forward to taking everything off, especially the plug and gag, so that he could jerk off and go to bed.

As he started to unzip the catsuit, Tim tried to remember what Ross had said: “… want you in total rubber encasement… whenever you read my email or take a phone call from me…” Ross had said there would an email soon after he hung up.

Tim groaned into the gag. Silently, he said to himself, “Okay, I’ll wait until I read the email.” Feeling silly, Tim re-closed the zipper, signed on to his email quickly and checked his inbox. There was one message from Ross, and the subject line read, “10:50.”

Impatient and feeling foolish, Tim waited for 5 minutes until the exact time of 10:50, and then opened the message. 
--------------------------------------- 
pig,

I’ve designed a nice little series of exercises to keep u busy tonight, and perhaps tomorrow night too.

To reiterate the ground rules, u must open each message exactly at the assigned time – our use of the same email service provider allows me to track this. If u fail, plans for the weekend are off. Each message u receive from me will include a specific instruction to photograph urself while performing or after following a certain directive.

The catsuit u are wearing now is ur base layer; it will stay in place all night, with ur ass plugged and mouth gagged as they should still be now. When a message instructs u to add more rubber, the additional piece should stay in place in successive photos unless I tell u otherwise. I envision encasing u in at least two or three more suits, a larger catsuit plus wet and dry suits, building the layers of latex as the night goes on. u might be instructed to add ur posture collar, a second or third hood, ur rubber muzzle, rubber body harness, thick latex gloves, rubber waist cincher – hell, u could end up with all ur gear in place by morning! I might have u photograph urself while u assume a particular position, open crotch/ass zippers to show the plug is still in place, or some other task suitable for a rubber pig.

For each task, unless I specify a different time frame in the message, u must respond within 5 minutes with the required photo proving u have followed orders.

As I said, this exercise is designed to keep u busy tonight, under my control while I’m away, like u said u wanted. u should count on staying alert, signed on to your computer and on the lookout all night for new messages while u are between photo sessions. I used the automatic send feature to schedule the times when my messages will be sent by the system, so that the computer is programmed to transmit them all by itself while I relax comfortably or sleep in bed.

I will check ur responses carefully tonight and tomorrow morning, to ensure u have followed each instruction promptly, filling my inbox with photos of ur rubber adventures right through the night.

Time for u to get started, pig. Strap ur rubber head harness on over ur hood and gag; then do a full frontal shot and send it to my inbox by 11:00. 
---------------------------------------

Tim groaned loudly through the gag. “Fucking bastard,” he thought. Tim checked the time; he had less than 5 minutes to look for the harness, strap in on, and then complete the task of taking and sending the picture. Nervous and sweaty, about to enter into personality disorder mode, Tim felt ambivalent about what to do next. One of his multiple personalities wanted to lead him away from Ross, putting an end to the entire Ross scenario, present and future. This part of Tim reasoned that, while it had been fun for a few months to dissociate and spend all his “free” time tied up and encased in a hot rubberman’s basement, he should now return to the real world, a ‘normal’ life of work, family, friends, and relationships where he was an equal. He should turn off his computer, divest himself of the fetish apparel, and go to sleep like a ‘regular’ person who has to wake up early for work the next day.

The other part of Tim’s dual identity, the inherent rubberpig inhabiting his mind and connecting his psyche directly to his surging cock, wanted to lead him further into Ross, past the point of no return, where Ross’s desire for 100% control would be fully realized. 
Tim considered what that would mean tonight: Staying awake all night, sealing himself under layer after layer of rubber, and documenting the process with photos – all while Ross slept comfortably. Tim thought, “I’d have to be crazy with horniness to go along with that.”

An image flashed into Tim’s mind: Tim pictured himself as had been months ago, before Ross – he was Brad’s partner, surrounded by friends and family who doted on them, building his career and their network of friends and interests, enjoying the essence of open gay life. As that image faded, a second one came into focus: Tim pictured himself as he had been last week, a rubber prisoner in a basement – he was Ross’s pig, the gagged, plugged, jock-spiked, latex-sealed rubber mummy in the video, sleepsacked and hogtied, boxed and abandoned, left to squirm in the dark discomfort of rubber isolation and immobility, a human rubberworm.

Tim realized the contrast of the two images symbolized his impending choice, and his indecision. He squeezed his latex-gloved right hand over his rubber-encased crotch. He pressed down hard, squashing his enlarging cock with his palm. Trapped at an awkward angle and compressed uncomfortably inside the tight latex of the rubber catsuit, Tim’s cock stiffened further, in apparent enjoyment of Tim’s torment. The root of his being, the cause of all his rubber troubles and source of all his rubber passion, it pulsed against Tim’s palm with each heart beat, reminding him that seconds were passing, and time was running out...