Waiting for Ross #5

Like Tim’s body, now Tim’s mind seemed beyond his own control. In Tim’s isolated, dark, sensory-deprived world of restraint and confinement, what little noise could have penetrated the locked basement closet was deadened by ear plugs and layers of rubber and leather. There were the internal sounds of Tim’s own breathing and beating heart, blood pulsing through his firmly sealed head, and there were the indistinct, stifled sounds of creaking leather and stretching rubber, as Tim fretted and squirmed in horny discomfort within the suspension of the tight cocoon. Yet his mind, craving release, convinced him he heard external sounds - a door opening, a deep voice, the sound of a step, Ross’s laugh at the site of Tim’s continuing predicament - any indication of Ross’s presence. Anxious and hopeful, Tim would stiffen his body and hold his breath, to wait and listen carefully, but no further sound came, and there was no release. Instead, the almost intolerable sensation of electric current began another cycle, coursing through his cock and ass, and Tim would realize his mind had tricked him once again. As he continued to wait for Ross, thoughts formed less often in his mind, and sounds, or the lack of them, had less and less meaning.

Inside Tim’s sightless world of enclosure and blackness, three hoods compressed cotton eye pads, taped in place over his eye sockets. Tim’s eyelids would flutter, unable to open, and his eyeballs would roll in response. There were internal visions of total blackness, when Tim directed his eyes to look forward under the trapped lids. There were also flashes of phantom light, little personal displays of fireworks exploding before his eyes. Between sessions of electro-torture, Tim’s exhausted body involuntarily drifted into a half-awake, half-asleep dream state. With never enough time for sleep to set in completely before electricity shocked him awake, his fleeting dreams were disconnected yet vivid, as if he could really see. Sunny, bright images of release and freedom of movement flashed through his mind, but they were followed by the reality of enduring darkness and immobility. In one instant Tim was walking home unhindered through the park near his apartment, while in the next instant he had been jolted awake into total darkness, startled by his own involuntary struggles against the real-life bounds of his extraordinary prison. And, finally, he would dream of his bondage, the tight restriction, the layers of restraint, and wake to find it was all true.

When Tim’s awareness had been intact, feeling the results of being sealed in skin tight rubber for so long, basting in his own juices, sucking piss through his gag, he had wiggled and slithered in discomfort, within the compact, tightly sealed and suspended cocoon. Now, however, with awareness fading, and Tim’s control of his own mind alluding him, discomfort no longer seemed to matter. In fact, he often had no awareness beyond a detached feeling of acceptance, that he had become the bondage object that Ross had trained him to be: a mindless mass of bound, encased, electrified, twitching muscle, insensible to time passing as it acted as its own urinal.

It was at this point, when Tim had actually stopped waiting for Ross, that Ross unlocked the door of the dungeon closet and opened it. Ross had wasted no time when he and Brad arrived home. Within minutes, Brad, stripped naked, was already dealing with the severe restraint of a rubber arm binder and the limited shuffle that Ross’s heavy leg irons allowed. Moving awkwardly, Brad was guided slowly forward by Ross pulling his balls until he was in front of the open closet door. With a full view of the bound, suspended form, Brad exclaimed, “Shit! How long did you say he’s been this way?”

Ross answered: “Almost 18 hours. He’s done 24 like that. This time I’m shooting for 30. By the way, now that you’re in my control, you’re to address me as ‘Sir.” Understand, slave?” Ross saw Brad’s knees buckle and his legs shake. The arm binder behind Brad’s back forced Brad’s pectorals up and out, and the clamps Ross had placed on his nipples looked like they were about to pop off. A bead of pre-cum visibly enlarged, bubble-like, and then dripped heavily from Brad’s very stiff cock. “Yes, Sir. Feel close to cumming, Sir.” Brad straightened his legs and thrust his pelvis forward. Ross noticed that Brad’s cock was so determined to point upward that it stayed rigid against his stomach even when Brad moved.

“Slaves do not cum without permission. Surely, you know that. Apparently you like what you see?”

“Wish it were me, Sir.”

“That can be easily arranged, slave. I have more than enough gear for both of you. Won’t take long to get you rubbered up and sealed tight, but first I need to take a big piss.”

Ross disconnected Tim’s mouth tube, connected the funnel, and quickly filled it to the brim with piss. Raising the funnel slowly, Ross watched patiently as the piss drained through the gag into the hooded face, and he listened with approval to the rhythmic swallowing sounds. He noted that Tim drank compliantly and made no attempt to struggle or beg for release through the gag. It seemed apparent that in the hours Ross had spent at the bar, Tim had become resigned to his fate. Ross was pleased as he turned off the closet light, locked the door, and led Brad over to the dungeon bathroom.

Within a half hour, Brad’s transformation was almost complete, and Ross stroked his hard dick as he played with the final touches. Kneeling down, he adjusted the two zippers to bring them together at mid-back and then fastened the small padlock on them. He rolled Brad from stomach to back and studied the result: Sleek, shiny, and black, the rubber sleepsack was packed full with Brad’s lithe, muscular body. Arms immobile and flattened against each side within internal sleeves, it fit Brad so tightly there were no signs that underneath, Brad was also encased in a head-to-toe catsuit. Ross was also satisfied with the way the sleepsack’s attached hood gave the appearance of a skintight full-body seal, with no openings except the air tube protruding from the gag within. There was nothing Ross enjoyed looking at more than a totally encased, tightly sealed rubber bondage slave, and nothing he enjoyed listening to more than the sound of the slave’s breathing. Whistling through the air tube, it was a constant reminder of the slave’s only link to life outside of its rubber encasement. From the rate of breathing and wiggling, Ross suspected Brad was on the verge of cumming, even though Ross had warned him that the rubber would do little to dull the thorough ass belting Brad would get as punishment if he did cum before Ross gave him permission. Brad’s erect, compressed cock, trapped to one side and glued against his body, was visible through the two layers of tight rubber. Ross imagined that the big, thick, black rubber butt plug he had required Brad to insert was also contributing to Brad’s dilemma.

Ross toyed with the idea of connecting the funnel to Brad’s breathing tube, but his own cock by now was also very hard, and it hadn’t been that long since he had emptied his bladder into Tim. Ross was looking forward to how Brad would react when Brad realized that he would need to gulp piss in order to breathe, but Ross decided to delay that bit of fun until morning. Instead, Ross laid on the rubber matt on the dungeon floor beside Brad. With his head next to Brad’s, he knew his words would penetrate the rubber of the two hoods. Ross stroked his own cock as he talked.

“Having fun in there, slave?” Ross heard Brad respond with grunting, ecstatic moaning, and some unintelligible words that he guessed were “yes, Sir.”

“I’m going to answer the question you asked me back at the bar. Remember? You wanted to know who my slave is, whether you know him. Well, you do. My slave is Tim, your ex. Seems like you’re back together again, in a manner of speaking.” Ross snickered when he heard Brad respond, this time with more agitated moans. Ross pumped his own cock vigorously as he continued. “Hmm.. I think you and Tim are really fucked. I’m gonna sleep well tonight, all cozy and comfortable in my bed upstairs, knowing you’re both down in my dungeon, tightly bound, encased and sealed, sweating your plugged asses off.” Ross could see Brad tensing his ass, presumably squeezing the plug and trying to stimulate his cock.

“Desperate to cum, I can see. Well, here’s the deal. You’re basically stuck at least until morning. I’m leaving you down here just like you are. There’s no way you can get out unless I let you out. You can struggle and roll around all you like, as much as the tight rubber allows, but there’s definitely no way to escape and really no where to go down here. You’re perfectly safe, but you may get a little uncomfortable while you’re waiting for me to wake up tomorrow, especially as time wears on. Part of a slave’s job is learning to endure that discomfort. Understand? That is what you want, isn’t it? Oh, and by the way, I sometimes sleep until noon or even later.”

Brad’s ecstatic groans and exertions seemed to increase with each word that Ross spoke. “Very excited in there, I see. Good, slave, very good. Well, I have more exciting news. You can cum as much as you’re able if you want, but you might find that lying still and waiting for my return is your best option. I’ve heard from other slaves it can get pretty hot in there, especially if you move around too much. If you must cum, greedy bondage pig that I suspect you are, I recommend you wait at least until morning.”

With that, Ross saw Brad’s entire body stiffen. He heard a series of yips, like animal vocalizations, and then a long bellowing sound. He saw Brad’s muscles tensing under the skintight rubber and heard him gasping through the air tube. He watched as Brad twisted and squirmed, his body fused into one rubberized unit, working hard against the bondage to maximize its pleasure in an orgasmic fit that seemed to last a surprisingly long time.

As Brad’s moans finally began to subside, Ross decided to delay his own orgasm until he was snuggled in bed. Ross got up, turned off the lights, and left the dungeon. He knew he would sleep well, dreaming of his dungeon captives, his two rubber bondage pigs, the two slaves waiting for Ross.