This is one of my favorite fictional stories. Please enjoy it, and know that I didn't author it. Attribution goes to jakkz@skinhead101.co.uk
The Box
Part I - Knock, knock
Mark stood in front of the door. Number 34 it said, looked like the right place, it was certainly the right road, it just didn't look like anything special. Just someone's house on an ordinary road. The only thing he'd noticed about it was the motorbike parked ouside which he'd seen as soon as he'd turned the corner at the top of the road and started checking the house numbers.
He didn't know much about bikes, he didn't even have a license, but he found them exciting; some bikes just looked hot, and a cute guy in leathers and a pair of motorcross boots sitting on a machine like this always got him hard. So he knew this must be the right house, this had to be the guy.
Still standing by the door, he looked at his watch, 2.56pm. He'd said three o'clock. Mark licked his lips, his mouth felt dry - he was nervous. Should he knock now, or walk round the block and be spot on time? This guy had sounded a bit hard on the phone, maybe he'd think early was 'disobedient' or something. He didn't really go in for the master-slave setup usually, he was more the bondage-buddy kind of guy, but he was so into the session the guy had described he was willing to do it this once. Cheekily he'd said "yes Sir!" at the end of the phone call with a grin to himself; "I mean, it just sounds stupid to call another guy 'Sir'", he thought to myself.
He didn't want to screw up his chances with this guy so he stepped back from the door and continued down the road. By this point he now wasn't so sure he shouldn't just have knocked and gotten on with it, despite his nervousness his dick was semi-hard as he thought over what they'd talked about on the phone. Some of what he'd said couldn't be for real, I mean it was just way too intense - you couldn't tie someone like that. It was more like he was describing one of those Joe-T drawings you see; horny but just not possible. Hell, maybe this guy was just jerking off and wasn't going to be in, or didn't even live there. No, he had to live there, the bike was parked outside and the he'd said he was a biker. But if what he'd described was for real, he was in for it big time.
His cock responded to this and started rubbing on his jeans even more which made things worse still. Jeans, his old army boots, a plain t-shirt and his favorite jacket - nothing else, no socks, no jock. "Fuck, it's 3pm!" all that second guesses about whether to knock when he was early and he was now going to be one minute late.
He arrived at the house, having run the last thirty yards, stood there, checked the number again and knocked. Looked at his watch again. Just 3.01pm. Knocked again. Looked around behind him across the road, glanced at his watch again. Back to the door, he saw a buzzer. Pressed that instead. Behind the mottled glass of the outer door he saw some movement, then it opened.
Dry mouthed again, he weakly forced out an "Hello". This guy was a good six or seven inches taller than Mark, and broader shoulders but about the same age, maybe a year or two older. But it wasn't this physical stature, which was clearly superior to Mark's, that he took most notice of - it was that he was wearing the most stunning set of bike leathers he'd ever seen. Only thing was, they weren't leather at all, they were rubber, but styled like bike leathers, tailored everywhere out of thick, shining rubber. He was only a couple of feet away and he could smell it, the heat from the man's body and the heady smell of the rubber. Mark's cock leapt and he looked down at it showing through his jeans.
The guy hadn't said anything yet, he was just looked at the boy on his doorstep. Mark looked up again, almost thinging that this must be the wrong place, the expression on the man's face was set and he just looked down at him. "hello.....sir?" Mark said, forcing the words out.
"Better, boy. Inside!"
Mark went in and just stood in the hallway not sure what to do, or what to say, so he just looked ahead further into the house. The man closed the door behind him, he jumped and turned around to see the man grinning at him.
"So, you made it then, boy. But you're late"
"I didn't mean to be....Sir", he said still finding it difficult.
Then he just came at him, grabbed him by the elbows and turned him around roughly and pushed him against the wall, grabbing his wrists he forced them up behind his back painfully towards his neck. Mark resisted as best he could, he hadn't been expecting this but the man was stronger than he was. Holding him there, his shoulders throbbing from the strain he felt the man come close to his face.
"You will learn to do as you are told boy, is that clear?"
He wasn't sure what to say, he'd only been a minute late, what was the big deal?
"I said, is that clear, cunt?", he said whilst yanking the boy's wrists further up his back.
"Yes Sir", he said as quickly as he could and clenching his eyes against the pain.
He let go, pushing him to the floor and pinning him there under one knee, he unclipped a pair of rigid handcuffs from the back of his belt and snapped them on the boy in a single fluid movement. He let them ratchet on tightly so they dug into his skin, eliciting another yelp. Hauling him over onto his back, and crushing his cuffed hands behind him he looked the boy in the face. He looked startled and a little apprehensive, but that was good. He reached up and ruffled the boy's hair.
"That has to go!"
He grinned down at him, the boy was more clean cut than he usually got, still had preppy looking neat cropped hair and his jeans looked designer. Younger too, no more than 24 and nicely proportioned. He felt his arms and his thighs, all with the boy watching him puppy-eyed, but silent. He worked out a little it seemed, which fitted in with the cocky attitude he'd had on the phone, full of himself, probably a pushy bottom - well, usually anyway!
"Get up, boy", he barked at him as he himself stood up. Mark struggled back onto his front then onto his knees and finally, unsteadily onto his feet. He was looking down still when he noticed his dick was still hard. Suddenly embarrassed he looked up at the man to see if he'd noticed. He had.
"That's good boy", he said as he laughed at the boy's innocence, "Ready then boy?"
Mark just nodded and said "Yes Sir".
He took the boy by the collar of his jacket and pulled him along behind him through the house and out to the back door. He openned it and started to walk outside, still dragging the boy. At the step the boy hesitated, unsure about being led around outside, but he was just pulled along with a sharp tug, so he followed.
He led him into a brick out-house at the end of the yard, pushed him into one corner, then turned to lock the door and switch on the lights.
What Mark saw when the room lit up made his jaw drop. Everything the man had told him on the phone had been real. At the far end of the room, on a raised platform was a large black wooden box, no more than 3 feet along each side. It looked like a giant jack-in-the-box with the top hinged open, thickly padded and lined with rubber.
Several straps, some long, some short, hung from the lid where they were riveted on and indented into the padding. The outside was very plain except for the glint from the tops of the bolts that held the sides together, serious bolts, the wood must have been an inch thick.
He watched the boy take it all in, and stepped over behind him.
"No going back from this point boy."
"No Sir", he said absent mindedly and still looking at the box and around the room. Chains hung from the ceiling almost everywhere, some had shackles attached to the ends, another had a massive metal helmet swinging from it, there was a sling just behind the box, and a stout metal cage on the other side and closer to the door they'd come in through. Shelves about two foot above the cage had stacks of rubber sheeting or clothing, he couldn't tell which, and on the wall next to those every conceivable restraint had its own hook where it was stored.
Stored!
Stored was the word the man had used to him on the phone a lot, and he'd latched onto it. Mark had looked around through the contact mags and website for ages, literally months maybe even a year or more, for someone into just real, aggressive bondage, and long-term. Most he'd ever gotten anyone to do to him was overnight, and even then he'd had to plague them for it. He had almost met another guy a few months back, but he'd been more interested in causing pain. What Mark wanted was good honest bondage, but hard, unyielding, escape proof bondage for as long as he could get it. So when this guy said the word stored, his cock wouldn't let him say no.
At this point the boy turned his head to look at the man who'd roughly cuffed him just a few moments ago, grinned broadly and said "Storage time Sir?"
He liked this kid's cockiness, and was pleased to see he'd been right in thinking he was usually a pushy bottom.
"No boy, lights out time!"
"Sir?", looking suddenly confused only to feel a strong hand grip the back of his head and another come up to his face and cover it with a rag.
Again in one swift movement, he kicked the boy's feet from under him and held the rag there until he went out. The boy struggled a bit but only enough to realise his hands were still trapped and that the cuffs were cutting into him, a few unaimed kicks and he was out.
Part II - A first layer
Cold, and with a desparate panic the boy jolted back awake. He heard his breath, course ragged breaths. Darkness. Cold and damp. A hard floor, his body aching from laying on it. His skin was cold. He propped himself up with his arms, his hands feeling a tiled floor, he turned his head side to side. Looking. Nothing. Panicked. Where was he? He'd been knocked out, but where was he now?
Why did he feel so cold? He moved one hand to his jeans pocket, but just hit skin. He was naked. Cold and naked laying on a hard tiled floor, in complete darkness, his head still spinning and clouded from whatever had been on the rag.
He sat up, drew his knees to his chin and pulled his feet in, slowly he crept backwards, inching towards something he could lean against. He found a wall, and carefully propped himself against it, getting himself used to the glassy chill of it down his naked back. Gingerly he pulled his feet in further and wrapped his arms around his knees, more for safety now than anything else.
Now blinded. A searing pain through his head as the lights came on. He was just dazzled by it. Shielding his eyes now with one hand and gradually getting used to it from the pitch darkness, he tried to take in his surroundings. No longer pre-occupied with the cold, but just taking things in as best he could.
The room was indeed tiled, white ceramic tiles like a bathroom over the floor and walls. There was a door at the far end painted white, but with no handle or window just hinges that showed it opened inwards. The lights, two fluorescent tubes, were hung from the ceiling which was also tiled.
As his eyes got accustomed to the light he began to notice more about the room; the floor was sloped down towards him away from the door, and his butt was in a grate that ran along the length of the wall he'd backed into. Above him and to his left was a shower nozzle but he didn't see anything that would allow him to turn it on or off, and to his right a plain, white stool with a black, rectangular box on the top.
He sat there for a few moments wondering what to do, his head was clearing fast now and the only thing that it seemed possible for him to do was open the box.
Standing up he found he was a little unsteady on his feet, and felt a light headed as he caught his balance. He held his hands up to his face to rub some life back into himself, wiped his eyes and ran his hands back over his head.
"Fuck! Fuck!", he said out loud. He felt again all round his head, but it was true, his hair had gone, all of it. He looked down at his dick and that was hairless too. Checking himself all over he realised he'd been shaved everywhere. There wasn't anything left, not on his head, his balls, his ass, under his arms, even his eyebrows had gone. This was going way too far. Pushing the box off the stool he sat down and just held his now skin head in his hands and thought and tried to imagine how he could get out of this.
For a few moments he sat that cursing himself and beating himself up for letting his dick get the better of him and landing him in this situation. But then the box had looked hot when he'd seen in five minutes ago, or however long it now was. Must have taken ages to shave him down like this.
"Maybe this is the storage", he sneered to himself, angry that he'd fucked up.
"I can't get out, I guess I am trapped in here", he got up and paced over to the door to see if he could get it open.
Banging as hard as he could on it, and trying to shoulder it open for a while he realised it was useless. Try as he might it didn't budge, it felt too solid for him to force against its hinge and out. Now rather than just trapped, he was trapped and sore.
Almost in anger he was about to pick up the stool and throw it against the door, when he noticed that the box he'd pushed off it had come open on the floor. Picking it up, its contents fell out around the stool. Casually discarding the box in the direction of the door, rather than shying the stool at it as he'd intended, he bent down to pick up each of the things that had fallen out, his curiosity now held firmly by what he saw.
Several pieces of plain and quite thin rubber clothing, and looking at each he felt his dick begin to grow hard again. There was a pair of rubber jeans, with a zip around the crotch, which fascinated him, a long sleeved t-shirt and gloves. He held each of them up in turn, looking at them, turning them over in his hands and just feeling them.
He needed no further prompting to know what he had to do, carefully he pulled each item on. First the top, down over his head, and snapping into place over his chest. He wriggled it down his back and then set about straightening the arms so that it fitted over him perfectly smoothly. He hated it when he saw rubber guys out at the bars, who had just thrown their kit on sloppily, he always took his time and got rid of all the creases before polishing it up and going out. Anything to show off his gym toned body better deserved spending time on.
Next were the jeans, he had thought these would be tough without any talc or lube, but actually since he now had no hair on his legs it was quite easy, and the feeling of the rubber that close to his skin was amazing. So tight, and snug, but cooling one moment, only to be warmed the next as his skin heated it up. Right then and there he decided he'd always keep himself shaved, how could he have missed out on how great this felt for so long?
Pulling them up all the way he then couldn't decide what to do with his by now achingly hard dick, point it straight up, or down a leg? Getting too tempted to stroke it he just shoved it down the front and pulled the jeans up to meet the rubber top. He wished there was a mirror he could look at himself in right now, but just white tiles everywhere.
Lastly the gloves, they were quite long and tight so they made a good seal with the sleeves of the top when he pulled them on. Now he was all set. But all set for what. He sat down again and started to feel stupid that he'd just played around getting the rubber on when he should have been trying to get out.
But, the door then opened. It swung wide open, and he saw the man standing in the door frame. He still had on his rubber biker gear, and still looked just as hot.
"Here boy!"
Instinctively he got up and ran over to him and knelt down in front of him. He felt the man's hand rest on his smooth head and rub it around.
"Doesn't that feel better now boy?"
"Yes Sir"
"This is how you will keep it from now on, slaves don't merit hair. And you are a slave aren't you?"
"Aren't you boy?"
"Yes Sir I am Sir"
"Say it boy, tell me what you are boy"
"Sir....", he stammered still unsure, but then he took a deep breath, let it out slowly then, with his Master's hand still on his head, he continued, "i am a rubber slave boy Sir, your dog boy Sir"
He laughed a little, not in ridicule, but just at the pleasure of hearing the boy say it.
"You're a dog are you boy?"
"Yes Sir", now feeling embarrassed that he'd maybe been a bit too enthusiatic, "i mean if that is what you want Sir, yes Sir i think Sir"
"That's alright boy.", he laughed again at the boy's quickening enthusiasm. This was going to be fun. He took his hand away and brought it back with a wide leather collar which he buckled around the boy's neck.
"Follow!"
He pulled the boy from the room, on two legs, but he'd learn eventually, and back in the main part of the out-house with the box. As he led his around it, he felt the boy pulling slightly towards it, clearly wanting to get a better look at it. He'd get a much closer look soon enough, he thought as he smiled to himself and brought the boy to the far end of the room by the cage.
The cage had four heavy duty rings welded to the top side that he usually used to suspend it from the ceiling, but with the cage down on the concrete floor they served equally well as anchor points for boys being prepared. He pushed the boy against it, his waist just level with the top, then forced him to bend forwards across the cold iron bars.
As he moved around to the far side away from the boy, he could see the goosebumps come up all the back on his neck down to the rubber as the cold from the bars crept through his new skin. Pulling each arm roughly he buckled the slave's wrists into restraints already waiting at the ends of two chains from the rings furthest away from where the boy was bent over the cage, he'd shorten those later, but for now he just needed to get him fixed into position.
Down by the slave's bare feet were two similar restraints, he held the boy's feet firmly as he attached the leather straps tightly, feeling the boy gently shivering. With this done, he then unclipped the wrist restraints and dragged the boy's arms as far as they'd go and re-attached them to the chains thereby stretched the boy taut over the cage.
He had his head looking down into the cage between his out stretched arms, resting on the bars. He looked at the leather covered mat lining the inside of the cage and wondered who had last been in there and what had happened to them. He could make out smudges of lube on the leather from where a slave had sat with something up his butt. His cock twitched.
Standing behind the boy he took hold of the zip on the jeans and slowly drew it open, first down along the boy's ass then all the way forwards letting his dick hang out. As it fell out, long clear ropes of precum connected it back to rubber, and it hung there pointing straight ahead through the cage towards the boy's shoulders, his balls were a good size and hung there responding with slight movements as the boy's dick occasionally dipped and twitched.
Taking two lengths of rope he would each round the slave's legs just below the knee, making 4 turns on each. Tying a good strong knot to prevent the loops slipping he then tied off each piece of rope to the side of the cage, pulling the boy's knees wide apart and effectively holding them rigidly to the cage. This left everything hanging freely and spread his butt cheeks well.
He stood back, a kodak moment perhaps? The turns of the rope, white against the glossy black of the rubber looked hot, and the small movements the boy was trying to make to ease the strain on his legs forced out into that position were quite cute. Not quite ready yet though. He always used the same rope, magicians rope which was all cotton without any nylon core, which ensured the knots never slipped. A further length of rope he tied around the boy's balls, tugging them firmly with a couple of turns of the cord, and tying it off with a short length just loose. As he handled the slave's balls, he boy let out some gentle whimpers, clearly very turned on by being restrained, and bead after bead of precum now flowed out of his cock down the rope of older precum that had been attacted to the rubber. Some of it got on his hands, and when he put them under the boy's nose he started licking it off slowly but completely, savouring every moment of it. The boy clearly wasn't confused about his role any more!
"Good boy, good boy", he said softly
When he'd licked it all off he thanked his Master dutifully with the meekest voice he'd ever heard. But the boy had to take pain as well as pleasure, so what happened next probably came as a rude awakening. He cupped his tied off balls in one hand, the other still being licked even though it was already more than clean, and then mid-lick, squeezed hard. Instantly, the boy tried to double up from the pain as it built up in the pit of his stomach, but he couldn't and simply slammed his head into the bars. It's good when a boy's instincts cause him more discomfort.
He was obviously trying to get up off the cage as his feet were working back and forth as though trying to stand up. But he wasn't going anywhere; he started to howl and then he started to plead.
"Aahh, let go!"
"Let go of me!"
"Aarghhh, please Sir, please don't Sir!"
He let go, but not before squeezing just a bit harder which made the boy jolt and yelp wonderfully. He sagged back onto the cage, no longer trying to get off, his cock still standing out proudly, but the rope of precum had come off and there was now a pool of it just inside the cage on the mat. He pulled the rope round the slave's balls back, making them stick out behind him and pointing his dick straight down. He saw his body tense, anticipating what was to come next. He tied the rope off to a hook on the wall, fixing his slave's genitals in that position and then stood alongside his stretched out body, running his hands up and down the boy's back and then his head. Just watching his slave. Watching as in a few moments the boy turned his head to look at his Master, wondering why nothing had happened. Then a few more minutes passing, the slave getting daring, and starting to push back and pull forwards as much as he can to try and get some leverage on his cock.
Out of the sight of his boy, he reached up to the shelves above the cage and rooted around for something. This much the boy could now hear, but could not turn to see what it was. His movements, as limited as they were, became more inquisitive and adventurous as he determined to twist enough by some means in order to see what his Master was doing.
The he found it and brought it down in front of the boy's face, but just out of reach. The boy saw it and immediately clamped his mouth shut, whimpering and trying to pull his head as far away from it as possible. The gag was the size and shape of a small fist and made out of solid black rubber. The shape was a little strange, but the boy quickly recognised that this was meant to fit snuggly within his mouth completely. But the degree to which it would obviously have filled his mouth, and stretched his jaw had it been held closed around it wasn't the bit that frightened the boy; it was the thick tube that ran through the gag, going an inch further inside its victim, and hanging out about a foot on the outside. Surely if that went in him he'd spend the whole time concentrating on keeping his gag reflex in check, or he'd be in serious trouble.
The boy was adamant that this gag was not going in him, but his Master had expected this and from where he was standing alongside the boy, with the gag held in front of his face with one hand, he brought the other down firmly on the boy's tethered balls, illiciting an immediate and pitiful scream. But it was short lived of course, no sooner was his head thrown back in pain, and his mouth opened to scream than the gag was deftly shoved in.
Realising his position the boy fought hard to push the gag back out, but his tongue was held down firmly in the bottom of his mouth by the sheer bulk and shape of it. Now he really did start to panic, trying desparately to writhe out of his bonds and kick himself away from the cage over which he was securely stretched, but he managed only to pull on arms painfully and slap his dick against the cold bars of the door of the cage between which it was still pointing straight down and steadily leaking precum despite his fear.
He was unable to think properly now. Scared of what was happening to him. Fighting with the desire to trust himself in his Master's hands, and the will to curl up and protect himself. Knowing what the boy was going thought, he soothingly spoke to him, calming him down, reassuring the boy. Still though the slave was gulping air in hard through the gag's breathing pipe, almost choking it back out again, spluttering flecks of spit out with every exhale, but gradually getting used to its feeling in his mouth and towards the back of his throat. Fighting back the urge to vomit it out. But he would have to cope, it was in there to stay now.
But he wasn't finished with the boy yet either. Sooner or later he would be able to get the gag out if just left as it was, so he reached for a hood, thick rubber, almost rigid which he began to peel down over the slave's head. At first the boy thrashed around anew from this, but a couple of similar, sharp slaps to his balls brought him back into line quickly. Within a few moments, he was able to continue pulling the hood down over the boy's naked head, with only the sound of his breathing, now hard again, and the gentle rise and fall of his back as his chest pushed it up and down.
With a snap the hood found it home and fitted around his head perfectly. Although made from thick rubber, it was shaped and moulded at the front so that the boy felt his chip slip into a dip which might almost have been made to fit it exactly. The only holes in the hood were those through which his head had been pushed, and which now lined up with the high collar of the rubber top he already wore, and a round grommeted hole in the front through which his breathing pipe was threaded.
The hood effectively fastened the boy's jaw closed, tightly compressing it into the gag inside his mouth, the result being that not only was the boy's head covered in rubber, but it was virtually completely filled with it as well wherever possible. He patted the boy's head through the rubber and was pleased to hear a couple of pleasant sounding puppy moans come from within made slightly metallic sounded from the passage of the sound through the wide breathing tube.
If the boy had had a moment to consider what had gone before, he might have known what to expect next, but as it was he was busy relishing the feeling of the rapidly warming rubber now encasing his head and isolating him to a large extent from the sights and sounds of the outside world, the world within his Master's playroom. Often with rubber hoods, once on he could still make out shapes and bright lights as the rubber was stretched tightly over his face, but not with this one, it was just darkness. No shadows of the bars, or sparkles from the overhead lights reflected off the metal and rubber around the room which had filled his field of vision only a minute ago.
In an instant he was brought back to reality as he felt ice cold lube being rubbed against his exposed, and vulnerable butt, his Master's fingering expertly pushing in then letting them slip out, rubbing the lube around and in, and over and then adding more, pushing it in a little further. The boy's mouth fell dry and he caught himself only just in time before gagging on the tip of the gag's tube tempting to tickle the back of his throat. How could he concentrate on everything going on, how could he cope with the gag, his now aching legs and tightly rubbered body. Only his dick, his balls and his now well lubed ass were free of rubber, save for his feet now getting colder by the second as they rested on the harsh concrete foor.
Then nothing. His Master's touch had gone, no feeling. Nothing was touching him, except the steel of the cage and the ropes that bound him to it. Unused to the thickness of the hood and the effect it had on his ability to listen, he brought his head up and cocked it slightly to one side, intent to listen for any clue of what had happened to his Master.
And then he knew. Pushed firmly at his ass he felt the tip of a plug. Trying to relax and push back as he could, he wanted to get it in him. Just begging if he could, to be touched.
He turned the plug slowly, rotating it, pushing against his boy's eager hole, watching him greedily trying to get onto it. Then pushing hard, allowed the first of the plug proper to enter the slave. The shape of the plug made it position to get it inside in stages, three bulbs each larger than the next making the whole about 8" long and 2" at its widest. As the first slipped in, the boy clearly enjoying it, froze lifted his head a little, softly whimpering in pleasure, perhaps thinking that this was the extent of the plug.
He turned it again, then turned it the other way, enjoying the sounds this produced from the excited slave boy. But now pushing again further in, which caused the boy to draw in air quickly through the tube and suddenly open his hands, pushing his own head down into the bars, a picture of concentration.
Smearing more lube around the part of the plug still outside, he turned it faster now, but kept up the pressure inwards. The second bulb had not yet gone it, but he felt that only a little more pressure separated that moment from now. Keeping the boy at this point, wanting more, being stretching, eager and greedy to get it in. He let the moment linger, turning the plug the other way, keeping the force just short of ramming the second bulb in. And then he let it go, he pushed it, pushed the second of the three bulbs in and stiffened himself from the yelp that the boy tried to let out.
But he wasn't through; without letting the pressure up he slammed the third and final bulb into the boys now well stretched hole without giving him a chance to get his breath from the shock of the size of the second. As soon as it was shoved home the boy's muscles clamped quickly around the narrow neck of the plug, cruelling making his body keep it in by itself. This created a moment on near total panic in the boy's limited movements, but it got the worse of that ordeal over for him quickly - a luxury he would have less of when he would be moved to the box.
Whilst the boy was trying to recover from the pain of the intrusion into his ass, his Master busied himself untying the boy's balls and packing everything away again under the rubber jeans. If the found composed himself quickly enough he would try and force the plug back out to a more comfortable point; this wasn't going to happen! But by this time the zip was closed, trapping the plug inside him with no way out, and piping his painfully swollen dick awkwardly down one leg, adding its own lubricant to the sweat already building up there.
He looked at his rubbered slave boy, admiring now how much he was already transformed from the preppy sub that had knocked at the door, to a whimpering, aching, cum-hungry dog boy ready for the box. Well almost ready, he had his first skin of rubber on; but this was too thin and delicate to have any straps or restraints placed directly over it. The main rubber suit, key to holding the boy in storage had to go on next.
Part III - First frustration
The boy's visual record of his ordeal had ended as the hood had been fitted over his head; its thickness virtually unyielding to even the smallest attempted movement of his jaw. The shock of the massive plug had made him try and scream, but he'd not even been able to do this properly, rather instead sending a shock of pain through his jaw and neck as he involuntarily tried to throw open his mouth.
This, in turn had caused him problems with the gag, again almost choking him as it threatened to trigger his, as yet untamed, gag reflex. Now, for a few moments he was left alone, panting hard and testing the restraints occasionally with agitated struggles but of course he was still held firm. Through the thickness of the hood he could just about make out the sounds of his snorting breathing from the end of the thick mouth tube, that and the slight vibration it made across the rubber of his face.
His master watched this for a few minutes, the sporadic struggling that gradually got less and less frantic as the boy accepted his predicament; the coughing flecks of spit that came out of the gag and the way the boy trying to adjust his feet, still not yet covered in rubber, as his legs no doubt began to ache more and more from their almost rigid bondage.
Eventually he detected the boy sigh deeply and let his head fall gently to the bars of the top of the cage, finally admitting that there was no way he could free himself and that whatever his master wanted to do to him was going to happen whether he liked it or not. This was what he had been waiting for; the last voluntary submission the boy could make, or would make for quite some time. He now had him physically controlled by the restraints and mentally subdued my the boy's own admission that he was trapped.
He knew the boy would fight and struggle and perhaps even panic later on as the reality of his storage set in, but for now at least he wanted the boy reasonably relaxed if only to add another dip to the emotional rollercoaster of his captivity.
With the boy now breathing regularly, and the only movements being made were simply to settle himself more comfortably over the cage, he set about untying the boy's legs. As each knot came free he held the slave's flesh firmly where it had been held and rubbed it deeply, working his circulation back to normal; with one limb now entirely free of the bars of the cage he deliberately straightened it and placed the boy's foot back on the floor, ensuring that the slave knew that this was the position his master wanted him to keep it in whilst he worked on freeing the other.
Having unfastened both legs the boy had his feet together and slightly away from the cage to which the rest of him was still firmly secured. The pressure this placed on the plug pushing up inside him make the boy squirm and moan gently, either through pleasure because of the attention his prostate was now getting or discomfort because of the overwhelming size of it - he wasn't sure which. Either way, the sounds his slave was making were welcome and the sight of his butt moving slowly around the plug, the base of which could clearly be seen through the tight rubber, made his own dick swell. He allowed the boy to continue subtly adjusting himself to the size and shape of it, no doubt trying to settle it to some more comfortable or more pleasureable position, whilst he got out the next item of restraint the boy would have to endure.
Again, made from thick but well moulded rubber it was the size and shape of a small sleeping-bag and tapered towards the closed end. The heavy-duty zip that ran the length of it was supplemented by a set of wide straps that wrapped the whole way around it at regular intervals, held in place by loops rivited into the rubber.
Unzipping it and moving the free ends of the straps to either side he laid it on the floor underneath the boy's legs, lifting his feet momentarily to place them back just inside the narrow end of the opened sack.
Inside, the boy felt the difference in surface texture beneath his feet and began to wonder what was happening next, he had heard nothing much for a while now except occasional heavy vibrations transmitted up through the cage and his body. But he couldn't really tell what these meant or what was going on; the disorientation welled up inside him causing him almost to panic. No sound at all, rather than this surreal bass sound from time to time, would have been easier to take.
As one peak of anxiety began to subside he realised that the feeling in his legs had changed further. The texture under his bare feet was still the same, slick and smooth, cold at first but warmer now - he took this to be rubber. But now his legs felt warmer too, and somehow heavier. This change is sensation caught him off-guard as he'd been pre-occupied with his near panic from the disorientation. Instinctively he tensed and tried to bring his legs in under him, but in doing so he found out exactly what had changed.
A soft buzzing sensation he felt along the back of his thighs confirmed his fears; his master pulled the zip up along the rubber leg-sack slowly and deliberately from his slave's feet to the top of his legs. As the zip closed it pulled in the thick rubber behind it, binding his legs tightly together as it went. To the boy this felt cold at first as though this new rubber was in contact with his skin directly; and tight, tight as though it held the muscles of his calves and thighs firm, almost solid.
Running his hands over this new surface he searched out, expertly for any ridges or creases in the rubber, places where it had become stuck to the thinner first layer of rubber underneath. Where he found one he carefully eased it out and smoothed it away. He felt the tension in the slaves body, the flexing of his muscles under his hands as the boy began the process of getting accustomed to the restiction of his movement. For now his legs were at least still mobile, albeit as a single unit.
His master pulled firmly up on the zip to ensure it was all the way home, and then with a small padlock, secured it to a retaining ring fixed at the top of the sleeve to ensure it could not slip down. He now concentrated on doing up the five straps down the length of it, they wrapped around it snuggly at the ankles, just below the knee and immediately above it, another at the mid-thigh and a final one around the top just below the boy's butt.
With each fastened up tightly first, he then rebuckled each again, pulling harder to force them even tighter and more secure. When he was satisfied with this, and sweating from the exertion of it he stood back and took in the boy's situation. It was clear the boy was uncomfortable from the kicking of his bound legs, obviously trying to buck the leg-sack off, and the pitably wailing coming through the gag. He stood behind his slave, his legs either side of his captive's as though about to fuck him, and using one hand gently applied pressure to the base of the plug and kept it there. The boy didn't stop his moaning and whimpering, but the nature of it changed, his legs stopped tensing and flexing and fell instead to the floor. His head slowly moved as much as it could, back and sideways clearly overwhelmed by the pleasure the plug was giving him.
He had not expected simple pressure on the plug to make the boy forget the aching bondage in his legs so easily, he put the boy's eager acceptance of sexual pleasure down to his inexperience. But that didn't stop him going further. Now, instead of just pushing against the plug he held his fist against it and pushed it and ground it around. The response this got was immediate. The slave instantly fought frantically, trashing from side to side and howling fiercely into the gag. But this struggle was not some concerted effort to get free, this was totally different. It was a primal show of desperation, the tidal wave of sexual frustration caused by this attack on his ass was more than the boy could handle; this struggle was an instinctual need to get fucked by the plug buried inside him, it was a struggle his own body created to make the plug make him cum.
Enough of that; he certainly was not about to let the boy cum. He brought his fist away quickly, leaving no pressure on the plug and no movement against the boy's prostate. The struggles from this were almost as violent; the boy now fought pitiably against his restraints, not because he had become aware of his aching legs, but because he didn't want his master to stop playing with his plug. The boy kicked aggressively, progressively getting more angry and frustrated. The whimpering and pleading moans changing in nature again; no longer those of a horny worked up slaveboy, but those of a hungry desperate and denied captive. The boy's obedience and willingness to submit had momentarily left him as his body argued with his master for more attention.
Watching the struggling, his master knew it must be causing the boy a great deal of pain; what movement he had left in his upper body would only have meant that the twisting and fighting would leave him sore, and the way he thrashed his head around would probably have left him dazed in different circumstances. But this is exactly where he wanted the boy; aware of his dick, aware of his need to cum, aware of his own captivity, but equally aware that he could do nothing about any of them.
The fight subsided and the boy slumped, the whimpering had stopped and now all he could hear was the sound of the boy sobbing. He touched his broken boy's shoulders, holding them firmly in his hands. This sudden feeling of his master touching him caused the boy to raise his head and try to rub it gently against his owner's forearms. Not in any attempt to gain favour for a resumption of the plug fucking, but as a sign of trust and submission.
With the boy still sobbing he quickly released the rest of the restraints holding him to the cage and lifted him up from it. Even without the leg-sack he doubted the boy would have been able to walk either because of the plug or exhaustion at the struggling. He laid him out on a padded bondage table just across from the cage and let him lay there resting for a moment. He held his hand firmly down on the boy's chest to ensure he got the message not to move.
The boy kept as still as he could, totally unsure now of his surroundings and completely out of touch to which way he was facing or where in the playroom he now was. So aside from his shivering and gingerly stretching his arms down by his side, after their position pulled out above him over the cage, he kept himself motionless.
The next piece of restraint for his slave was a strait-jacket...
Part IV - The Box
His Master brought the strait-jacket back from the far end of the playroom where it had been stored with some of the other larger pieces of restraint he often used; his boy laid out on the table was still trying to keep still but had taken to gently and ever so slightly pushing his butt down into the padding and thereby gaining some little leverage with the plug. He let him do this for a moment or two until the slave started to moan and then firmly slapped the slave's dick through the restraints. This illicited what would have been a yelp and a well caught instinctive attempt to move his hands to his dick's protection. He would have been disappointed if the boy hadn't caught this reflex and he smiled to himself that already the boy was learning.
Getting the jacket on was not as difficult as it sometimes was when he'd gotten slaves to this point of the storage process; occasionally they had already decided they wanted out and wrestling the strait-jacket onto them took time and considerable effort. In fact the last time that had happened had made him rethink just how much of the impending captivity he let the slaves see before beginning the encasement. Certainly the desperate struggling and fight for freedom had its plus points and he still wasn't sure if should hood a victim early on since this deprived them of a view of the box up-close, and deprived him of seeing their reaction to it.
He had swung the boy around on the table so that his bound legs hung over the side and he was otherwise sitting up - with this particularly sensative boy the pressure this put on the rubber inside his ass probably kept him from resisting too much. Easing the thick, cold rubber of the jacket up the boy's arms he noticed him pull back slightly, almost a hesitant jesture, as he came to realise what was being put on him. He held the jacket in both hands by either side of the collar and pulled it up firmly onto the boy's shoulders, it felt icy cold even to him and he could see the boy shivering. Ignoring this he deftly turned the slave over again back up onto the table but now face down, restrained legs out stretched behind him. Sometimes they panicked at this point with their faces pushed down into the leather padding of the table, feeling their breath, hot and damp off its surface whilst the last hope of their freedom was strapped away. But this one didn't - perhaps it was better to hood them early.
The jacket was extensive and secure - the back strapped up and padlocked over each buckle, as with the leg-sack he fastened each first then returned to yank the final bit of slack from each before securing them. The 2" high collar of it, now flush with the rest of the boy's rubbered body fastened shut with two smaller straps - smaller but no less secure. The crotch straps of a regular jacket were, on this jacket, used instead to secure it to the leg-sack; the anchor points on the legs were reinforced to take the strain and set at angles to ensure the best possible alignment with the jacket. This made it possible to pull the jacket tighter down onto the slave whilst pulling the restraints on the legs up and more secure at the same time - they had been made to work together and held the victim well.
The arms he pulled thru loops in the sides of the jacket and behind the boy's back. Here they were attached and padlocked. A final strap was fastened at the front over the boy's wrists - padlocking this with a satisfying click he left off the pinion straps above the elbows as it would only get in the way later on.
The boy was now his; encased in rubber, restrained without any hope of escape, each part of him controlled, every opening plugged and each limb rendered useless. But not yet entirely dehumanized.
He felt his slave trembling, despite the thickness of the rubber, as he carried him to the box - some mixture of fear and anticipation, it no longer mattered which. Sitting the boy into the box he pushed his back flat against the rear side, and nudged his butt into the edge. The first retaining belt came across the boy's waist immediately below his folded and restrained arms. The strap, broad, thick leather buckled tightly squeezing the boy back into the heavy padding of the box. The boy squirmed a little. The next strap across the chest was difficult to get on as he get to bring the ends between the captive's arms and pecs, but once threaded through, this also was pulled firm and buckled. Not happy with the tension, he unbuckled it and, placing his boot on the boy's chest, yanked hard and closed it up again. This had the effect of winding the captive but still it was necessary to ensure he became as well fastened into his prison as possible.
Two smaller straps at the same height retained the boy's upper arms to the back of the box, effectively cutting off any previously possible upper body motion. This was the point where he usually hooded them, that way they'd see how cramped the box actually was on the inside with all the padding and besides, the wide-eyed look of panic on their faces as the rubber hood came down over them could be quite special. But with this boy, he didn't sound to have that much experience, and he'd wanted to make sure that if he did freak out, it wasn't until he was safely locked away and couldn't harm himself in the struggle.
This now was the hardest part, for him, as well as the captive. Taking hold of his bound up ankles in both hands and crouching in front of the boy he slowly pushed allowing the knees to bend upwards and steadily forcing the boy's feet back towards his butt. It was hard because of the tightness and thickness of the restraints already around the slave's legs, but by pushing back slowly it was possible to get the feet to almost touch the ass. The added benefit of his strain in the rubber was that the straps holding the jacket to the leg-sack at the back crossed over the plug so that when the boy bent at the knees these tightened and raped the boy's hole relentlessly pushing the plug right into him.
This was obviously driving the boy mad, as the sounds escaping from the gag were low and gutteral, sick with the need to cum. Just how he should be.
He fastened a leather cuff around the boy's ankles and secured it by two chains to the far back corners - this held the tension perfectly and preventing the slave shuffling his legs at all in any effort to get comfortable. Two additional chains clipped to the leg-sack straps at the knees and the side walls of the box, thereby preventing even any side to side movement of any part of his legs. Some captives had been able to swing their knees from side to side and thereby rub their dicks along the inside of the rubber - this in turn had allowed them to cum. Certainly he wanted them to cum, but on his terms, not theirs.
The last and final attachments were around the captive's head - a broad strap over the forehead, secured and locked, and a chin strap going diagonally up the sides of his head and attaching to the back of the box. With the snap of this padlock the boy was rendered motionless.
Looking at the boy held there, sucken into the padding, he saw him flex and heave at his bonds, but there was no real give anywhere and yet, from the stabbing grunts coming from the boy, each flex and each pull against the restraints was taking considerable effort.
The box itself now stood open on two sides, the front, where the captive had been loaded in and the top side. Each was hinged open and stood ready for closing up. He brought the front side up first, padded as the rest were, and closed it snug against the edges of the rest of the box. Clasps on the outside fastened over the edges, and once done up he turned his attention to the top. The top was a little different, still padded and designed to fit flush with the others, but in the center a number of different gauge tubes and pipes came through from the outside. Depending on the predicament of the victim he used these for various attachments to the restraints, but with this boy he used only one - a medium sized corrugated clear plastic pipe which he connected up to the breathing tube on the boy's gag.
He held the free end of the pipe, outside the box, to his cheek for a few moments, checking to feel his boy's breath was coming through properly. It was sweet and warm and in short, eager gasps.
Happy with this he brought the lid down and let it drop the last few inches.
Inside all the boy heard was a low thud, and then a distant sound of metal on metal, the padlocks being slipped into their anchor points, locked and let fall against the exterior of the box. The exterior. Outside, not inside here where he was. He had felt his encasement progress, but had no real idea anymore of what he looked like, he felt disoriented - was he still in the same room with the box, or elsewhere in some other device? Was he now to be left alone? Could he cum? He was desperate to cum, his dick was aching and straining for just one slight touch and he was sure he'd shoot.
He tried to struggle and pull against what held him, he fought and tried to beat it; he felt himself try and yell out as he put all his effort into not escaping, that seemed a remote fucking possibility, but just to get some movement over the end of his dick. Nothing he did brought any relief. The heat now was tremendous, the more he tugged at the rubber that held him firm, the more twisted and tight he wrung onto him.
With one desperate spasm of effort he tried to tense every sinue of muscle he had, and actually managed to force out a heavy scream from the excertion. But it was no use, he was no freer now that he had been before, just dizzy with the effort and swimming in his own sweat.
Defeated he sobbed at his own horniness, his hormones that had led him and his dick, no, he thought, these hormones that his dick had used to lead him here had now fucked him up completely. He was more worked up than he'd ever been, his dick hurt from the need to cum, his balls were numb and at that ecstatic point just before they churn and shoot and yet he had not one fucking single fucking way to fucking get off!
He much as his restraints enabled him to, he wept. He couldn't help it, he was that frustrated.
In the moments between the sobs he felt the plug get heavier and seem to pull downwards out of his butt. His insides, he reckoned, had had enough of it and were forcing it out.
But then he was pulled straight out of his sobbing as he distinctly felt the plug lurch back up into it, almost making him jump - if that were possible still. And then nothing. Another sob escaped him, the tears adding to the sweat bathing his motionless head. Then it happened again. Slowly the plug felt heavier and started to pull out of him, ever so gradually, then snap back.
This happened over and over, he couldn't keep track of how many times, he started to become lost in the feeling it gave him, rubbing gently, slightly, but definitely over his prostate.
Then it all stopped. He had been on the wave of anticipation of it pulling down again but it didn't. He wanted it to start again, he wanted it to keep doing it, keep moving. In sympathy he tried to suck in his stomach and release it over and over to try and mimic the movement, but it wasn't the same.
It started again, but more definite. This time instead of snapping back in, it rose as gradually as it fell, as though it were really fucking him. He knew his mind must be playing tricks on him, but it really felt like he was being slowly fucked by the massive thing.
When it started to get faster and deeper, he knew it wasn't just his testosterone picked brain that was making it up - the plug was actually moving. Fuck that, it wasn't moving it was fucking him, fast. Ramming into him hard, then pulling back slowly this time, stretching against the rubber straps of his strait-jacket and forcibly fucking him.
What he hadn't known was that the plug shoved into him earlier had a steel core, not big enough to feel, but solid enough to snag a good enough magnet if brought close enough. Aside from the strict bondage of keeping the boy's back and body entirely motionless, the point of getting his butt into the corner was to position the plug over a large electromagnet beneath the base of the box. By varing the strength and frequency of this he was able to control the movement of the plug inside the captive's butt. The rubber bondage itself prevented the captive from pushing the plug out, but the pull on the steel core was enough to pull against it, only to be forced back inside as soon as the power was cut.
In this way he could make it fuck whoever had been stored inside the box any way he chose; from a gentle, barely noticable pulse in and out, to a full-on rough fucking that would grab every ounce of the captive's attention in their need to get more of it.
He set it on moderate fuck and, after rechecking the breathing tube and feeling the stored boy's breath fast and desparate, he sat down to listen to the suffering. The sounds, the gasps, the strangled howls - he loved them all.
The fucking didn't stop now, it was hard but the shape of the plug hit his prostate head-on every time in shot back in and jolted his dick almost to the point of orgam again and again. It was relentless, it never changed its tempo, it never tired of course, the fucking thing, it just kept on going, hard and fast and totally without feeling for his dick.
He didn't want to hold out, he wanted to cum, and when after fuck knows how long of being pounded it tipped him over the edge he felt his dick just explode, his balls pulled right up, tight and churning, load after load, he couldn't breath, he couldn't breath. He pulled and pulled on the gag to try and draw air in, but nothing. Fuck, fuck fuck.
He had heard the slave begin to climax and at just the right moment had stoppered the breathing tube. If the boy's orgasm wasn't going to be powerful enough, this would ensure it would be totally unforgetable.
As his dick kept shooting, but he still couldn't breath. He fought hard, harder than he had before, his life depended on it. But the fucking kept going and he was still on the crest of his orgasm.
Feeling he'd denied him long enough, and stopping short of making the slave faint, he opened up the pipe and felt the rush of air being dragged into it. He smiled to himself, and left the boy in the box, stored and packed away to enjoy the agony of the severity of his bondage post-orgasm. By this time tomorrow he'd be ready enough to do it over again and he wouldn't have moved an inch!
