A surreal moment caught Ross off guard; for a split second, the certainty typical of his consciousness, that feeling of total control over his environment, seemed altered. There was the sensation of his cock, swollen to hardness within the rubber jock under his tight leather jeans. The sudden increase in his erection, combined with the resurrection of the long-ago familiar stroke of the palm and fingers of the rough, masculine touch of Jack’s large, strong hand, roughly grazing the buzzed hair on Ross’s head, confused Ross’s senses.
With no intention of letting Jack be the source of the stimulation, Ross causally pushed Jack’s hand away from his head. Complying seemingly without notice, Jack moved his hand down to his side but continued to stand close behind Ross, seated at a desk in front of his computer in the guest room of Jack’s house. Acting on Ross’s advice, Jack ignored a new series of grunts, barely audible from within the storage compartment under the window seat in the corner of the room. Jack stared over Ross’s shoulder at the images on Ross’s computer screen.
Pointing to a particular photo, Jack asked, “Is that the guy you told me about? Have you finally found your mythic slave? Is he the bondage pig you’ve been searching for all these years?”
Knowing Jack was trying to get a rise out of him, Ross ignored the judgments inherent in the words Jack used to form his questions. “Yep, he may be the one,” Ross explained. “Though he gets a bit moody, running hot and cold, confused at times. But there’s no doubt he’s a bondage pig – my best pig yet.”
“Hard to tell what he looks like from those,” Jack said.
“These are all from the last few hours. Self photos he sent to prove he stayed awake all night, following my orders to encase himself in layer over layer of hot rubber right through the night.” Ross checked his watch, noting the three-hour time difference. “It’s still early back east. He has one or two more duties, little rubber assignments, with a few pictures to take this morning before he’s allowed to remove all that gear and go to work.”
Folding his arms and reinforcing his wide-legged stance behind Ross, Jack tried to sound serious: “Poor guy. I’d feel sorry for him if he’s your slave. He’ll be sealed airtight and tied up all the time, never to see the light of day again!”
Ross snorted. “I always let him out… eventually!”
As they both laughed, the increased noise of exaggerated, elongated pleas coming from the storage space was notable. “Mmmmmmmm! Mmmmmmm! Mmmph!”
Jack replied, “Sounds like Mark hears us talking. Are you sure he’s all right?”
Ross responded, “It’s his problem if he’s not. He knew what he was getting into.”
Jack explained, “I thought he’d be perfect for you. That’s why I hooked you two up while you were here.” Jack continued, “Thought you’d hit it off. He’s a good bottom, and says he’s looking for the kind of fulltime thing you always talk about.”
Ross responded, “He told me he had been looking forward to my visit, anxious to serve a real Master for a change.”
Jack laughed. “Fuck you.”
Ross responded, “I don’t think so!”
Jack moved forward, leaning his arms heavily on Ross’s shoulder, and smiled. “I’m just teasing you, Ross. You know I can’t resist. Do whatever you’d like with him, as long as he survives, healthy and intact. I don’t play with him much anymore, but this is my house!”
Ross knew Jack was right. The competitiveness between them, the struggle to exert power over each other, dormant while they lived on opposite coasts, was threatening to rise to the surface during Ross’s visit to Jack’s west coast home. Ross wondered if the rubber prison to which he had subjected Mark was a manifestation of their old rivalry, the struggle to prove that one could top better than the other.
Putting thoughts of Mark out of his mind for the moment, Ross positioned his mouse pointer over one of the pictures of Tim. “This one lives for it, a born bondage pig, meant to be sealed 24/7. He’d know better than to whine.”
Jack asked, “Is he ready to move in with you?”
Ross responded. “I thing he’s on the verge, and I can be patient. Anyway, if he doesn’t work out, I can find another pig with a click of my mouse.”
Jack leaned further down, with his mouth at Ross’s ear, and talked in a mock whisper, though it was nothing more than an excuse to get closer. “They’re plentiful in this city. But even here, you might have to search quite a while for someone willing to stay tied up in rubber gear, locked away alone in your basement for days, weeks, hell, if it’s left to you - months at a time!”
Ross turned and pushed Jack’s face away. Turning back to the computer display, Ross said, “Well, I have invested a lot of time in him, not to mention the customized gear. You know my addiction to tight gear. There’s nothing better than the sight of a tightly encased rubber pig ready for service.”
“Does the pig have a name?”
Ross actually had to think about it for a moment before responding, “Tim.”
Jack said, “That reminds me. The custom made item you ordered should be ready today. We can go to the shop and pick it up after breakfast. I assume it’s for Tim.” Ross nodded yes. Leaning closer again, Jack scanned the photos. “Still can’t tell what he looks like.”
Indulging Jack’s curiosity, Ross began clicking through the portfolio of Tim that happened to be on his laptop. There were more photos than he would have guessed, easily hundreds. Ross browsed quickly though them, trying to locate one that revealed something of Tim’s identity and cuteness. The images flashed across the computer screen. Photo after photo of Tim showed a rubber-hooded male figure, small and slim but well-proportioned; bound, sealed in gear, plugged, tubed and under control; imprisoned in rubber and leather straitjackets and sleepsacks; squeezed into armless pod suits and bound tight in sacks and bags; totally encapsulated and mummified, sometimes in contorted, uncomfortable-looking positions; sealed in a rubber dog suit; encircled by collars and restraints of rubber and leather and steel; tied with ropes; suspended in closed areas, locked in boxes and a lowered into a pit; encased in head to toe rubber, doubled up and bowed back in a tightly hogtied mass of rubber and straps and tubes.
The photos gave the impression of a slave essentially into no limits s/m, a genuine 24/7 encasement pig, totally dominated by its Master. Ross’s enjoyment of controlling the rubber-encased slave with extreme bondage was evident in the images displayed on his computer and in the bulge displayed in his crotch as he searched through the photos.
Jack resisted the urge to grab Ross’s crotch. Instead, he chuckled and said mockingly, “I can see he’s very cute.”
Ross laughed also. “Well, you know I don’t like my slaves to show much skin!” Ross continued clicking and searching, until he finally found the photos he remembered. “Here are some.”
Jack leaned in for a closer look as Ross zoomed in successively on a half dozen photos of different views showing the same situation: a tightly muscled, totally naked and hairless male was trapped in a triple rigid restraint system, a metal stock enclosing wrists and ankles, each held separately and locked tightly in a rigid line at floor level in the combination ankle/wrist component, which was bisected by a short iron bar connecting it to a wide steel collar encircling the subject’s neck. Trapped in the severe device, Tim had been forced to pose in different squatting and kneeling positions, seriously restricted by the difficult posture required by the unyielding metal restraint. Ross explained, “I wanted to photograph him rubberless the first time he was totally shaved, head to toe.” In addition to documenting Tim’s hairless state, the variety of positions and photographic angles showed his ass cheeks pushed apart by the mammoth black base of a huge butt plug; his mouth stretched wide and jammed full around a large ball gag tightly strapped to his newly shaved, shiny, bald head; his cock penetrated by a catheter tube, its end closed off by a small cork; and his ballsack encircled by a thick leather stretcher tied to the center of the rigid bar at his ankles and wrists. A frontal close-up shot, with Tim sitting uncomfortably hunched forward, revealed clamps on his nipples. A rear view showed Tim in an ass-up, face-down position: his ankles, knees, shoulders, and head were against the floor, allowing the camera to focus between his legs on spikes lining the inside of the ball stretcher.
Jack studied the set of photos. The physical posturing enforced by the rigid array of connected metal looked contorted and sadistic. The plug, tube, gag, and ball spikes appeared cruel. The facial expressions, distorted by the huge ball filling the mouth, looked stretched and agonized. Yet, in spite of the obvious discomfort the slave was in, or perhaps because of it, he had a raging hardon in all of the pictures. His erect cock stuck up and out, straight and very stiff, with the yellow catheter tube protruding. Taking in the well-proportioned muscles and body, cute, masculine feet and handsome (though distorted) features, Jack ascertained that Ross’s ‘pig’ would be a good-looking young man under normal circumstances.
Jack commented, “I guess he is pretty cute. Do you always keep him cath’d?”
“I like my pigs totally plugged and tubed at all times, all holes under my control...”
Interrupted by loud, rhythmic groans, Ross stopped in mid-sentence.
“Mmmm mmmm mmmmm mmmm. Mmmm. M-M-M-M-M!"
Ross said, “Speaking of pigs, sounds like your friend Mark is oinking.”
The agonized groaning continued for 20 seconds or so, followed by low moans and the faint sound of gasps of heavy breathing, and then silence. Soon after, however, muffled little yelps were audible.
“L-P!” “L-P!” “L-P!”
Jack said, “Sounds like ‘UNCLE’ to me. He probably wants out.”
Ross checked the time. “Not yet. He has 6 more hours to go. He committed to 16 hours in there.”
“L-P!” “L-P!” “L-P!”
Jack began walking to the corner. “I’m gonna check on him. I’m curious anyway to see what you’ve done with him.”
Ross clicked COMPUTER OFF and stood as his system began shutting down. He turned to Jack. “I just checked on him before you came in, and he was fine. I’d leave him be. Let’s go to breakfast. He’ll calm down when he realizes we’re gone.”
But Jack had already bent down to unlatch the cabinet on the front of the window seat, only to find it was padlocked.
Jack asked, “Where’s the key?”
Unwilling to give up control, Ross hesitated. His second thoughts about staying with Jack during this trip, and playing with Jack’s friend, were rising to the surface and filling his mind with doubt. Ross weighed his basic need to have 100% control against his friendship with Jack. Slowly, Ross reached into a pocket and handed the key to Jack. Soon thereafter, the door under the window seat swung open. Inside the dark space, in the small compartment originally intended for storage, the first visible sign of Mark was a tightly hooded, rubber-encased head, completely sealed, with a tube protruding at the mouth.
“Uh, uh, uh, uh, uh, uh, uh…”
As the door opened completely, Jack felt as though one of Ross’s photos had leaped out of Ross’s computer to become a real event. The situation was ‘pure Ross’: Jack’s friend Mark had been transformed into a rubber life form of unrecognizable species. Although its eyes were covered by the latex of the hood, the tightly bound rubber creature tried to turn its head to the side, aware that its container had been opened and trying to see. Struggling uselessly against the bindings keeping it in place, it squirmed and snorted, redoubling its efforts to groan loudly for attention.
“Uht, uht, uht, uht, uht, uht, uht…”
“He’s saying ‘out, out.’” Jack looked at Ross with a quizzical expression.
Ross said, “Last night after you were gone Mark went wild over a picture he saw on my computer of my pig all bound up and boxed. He asked me a million questions about it, begging for it, licking my boots and sucking my cock, all the while pleading for me to do the same to him, so I gave him what he asked for.”
Jack squatted down to study the vulcanized form as it wiggled and squealed. “So why isn’t it time to let him out?”
Ross gestured with both hands. “As you said, this is your house. Go ahead. Let him out if you want. He told me he wanted the same as my pig, 16 hours overnight that way. I warned him that my pig is well trained in advanced bondage, but Mark assured me he could take it.”
“UHT!” “UHT!”
Jack inhaled, taking in the scent of rubber emanating from the storage space. He observed the squirming movements, which suddenly seemed to be fueled by anger, and listened to the pleas for help, which suddenly sounded pitiful, almost annoyingly so. Jack issued a loud, sharp command for Mark to shut up and keep still.
The bound rubber form became motionless and silent, quietly breathing in and out through its rubber tube. In addition to the latex aroma, Jack felt rubber heat radiating from Mark’s encased and bound body. A line of escaping perspiration squeezed out from under the bondage collar around his neck, but otherwise Mark appeared to be a perfectly sealed rubber pig, salt-curing in its own sweat, concealed under the layers of tight rubber.
Jack wanted to free Mark’s mouth, but only its tube was accessible, protruding through a hole in the muzzle harnessed to Mark’s head. Intertwined with tethers connected to anchors at the top and sides of the enclosure to prevent movement, the muzzle and bondage collar, fastened tightly over the rubber hood, were strapped firmly in place and secured with padlocks.
Jack asked, “He’s been that way all night?”
Ross responded, “He wanted it, assured me he’d be okay, and I’ve been checking on him periodically. He panicked two or three times, and I had to talk him through it, telling him to remember he got what he asked for, quite an intense predicament, all sealed up, sacked, strapped, with his legs bent back like that.”
Mark started whining anew, and Jack ignored him as he studied Ross’s work. Mark was on his stomach, with limited ability to shift his weight from side to side as he wiggled and squirmed as much as the anchoring ropes allowed. In addition to the cocoon effect produced by the rubber sleepsack Ross had used to mummify Mark, a collection of rubber belts encircled Mark’s encased body. His knees were bent, and his legs were doubled up, held in position by belts encircling lower to upper legs and ankles to thighs.
Just as Jack stood up, Mark began to moan and struggle again in earnest. The decibel level of Mark’s objections increased as the bound rubber cocoon bucked and jerked inside the small space. Stepping aside, Jack said, “Okay, Ross, let me see you talk him through this.”
Ross quickly walked over to the window and squatted beside the storage compartment. He reached inside and clamped his left hand over Mark’s muzzled chin, collapsing the tube of Mark’s gag with his fingers. Calmly studying his watch, Ross felt his own cock surge as he observed the struggles of the rubber mummy while it kicked, squirmed, and sucked rubber at mouth and nostrils, helpless in its efforts to breathe within or escape from its tightly sealed cocoon. At the 30-second mark, Ross released the tube. Mark gasped and moaned loudly, panting and wheezing through the tube in relief. A few deep breaths followed, until Ross clamped the tube again promptly. Ross spoke loudly. “I decide when you breathe. Remember, pig?” Mark responded quickly with two muffled grunts, in an obvious attempt to say, “Yes, Sir!”
“And I decide when you get out! Copy that, pig?”
Mark seemed to grunt in agreement, but Ross kept the tube clamped anyway, for 40 seconds this time, to emphasize his point. Standing behind Ross, Jack observed the action in silence. Ross’s no-nonsense approach with Mark was having an effect on Jack’s cock. His earlier concern for Mark was giving way to horniness as he watched the bound rubber cocoon squirm, helpless to do anything about its breathless state until Ross released the tube.
While Mark caught his breath for the second time, Ross put his mouth next to Mark’s rubber-sealed head and talked loudly. “If I were to treat you like my pig at home, which is what you said you wanted, here is what I’d say to him: You had six more hours to go until your temper tantrum, which gets you a two hour penalty. Looks like you’re staying put, sweating it out, just the way you are, for eight more hours, after which you will have the privilege of taking the contents of my full bladder through your mouth tube before I let you out of this.”
Ross quickly stood up and closed the door of the storage compartment, but within seconds a muffled braying sound penetrated its walls and filled the room. Ross looked at Jack, giving him a smirk, and reached into his pockets to fish out the keys to the padlocks on Mark’s muzzle and collar.
Within a few minutes, Ross had extracted Mark from the storage compartment, unfastened the bindings, and released him from the sleepsack. Standing before them in his catsuit, which glistened with rubber-sweat, Mark peeled off the rubber hood. A red, wet face greeted Ross with an apologetic look.
Mark coughed a few times, clearing his throat. In a quiet voice, he said, “Guess I’m not at the same level as your pig back home.”
Ross had a sudden onslaught of tender thoughts, full of Tim, missing Tim and his acceptance of control, and Ross was annoyed at himself for the sentimentality of it. He replied bluntly, “That’s right. You’re not in his league. Now go get cleaned up and we’ll take you to breakfast.”
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