Tim wondered how much time had passed since he had been forced to take the load of piss. He had known it was coming – from that fucker, Matt. To get it over with, Tim had swallowed as quickly as possible, in spite of what had seemed like a protracted stream of distasteful warm fluid at the time. Although he had not articulated the expectation in his mind then, now, sometime unknown time later, Tim realized that he had been anticipating he would be released soon after the piss dried up. Obviously, he had been wrong.
Increasingly frustrated, Tim inhaled unpleasantly through the nostril tubes and moaned through the paraphernalia that bound his mouth and the tubes fixed to it. The words, “Fuck! I can’t even sneeze!” formed in his mind, where his thoughts threatened to run amok, trapped as they were in a brain housed by a tightly encapsulated, harnessed skull. Parts of Tim’s body, reacting to the all-encompassing nature of their tight encasement and constriction, were sending signals of discomfort to Tim’s rubber-insulated brain. He wondered how long it had been: A half hour? An hour? Longer? Tim squirmed vigorously, wiggling his upper and lower halves, merged into one unit by the tight hogtie-like position and the fusion of limbs to body. The frantic, hampered movements took on a life of their own, and each little episode of wiggling reinforced the presence of the huge butt plug, with its unyielding thickness and size, stuck up Tim’s ass. Tim’s cramped arms, bent at the elbows behind him, strapped down tightly, and jam-packed above his waist by the tight seal of the armless rubber bondage suit, were completely useless, as were his hands, encased in gloves, trapped in clenched fists inside tight little rubber mitts, and also sealed under the bondage suit. Tim’s aching legs, tightly wrapped together and bent up behind into a hogtie position, were totally disabled, and even his feet had somehow, unseen to him, been connected to each other. Tim’s rubber-sealed torso and thighs were encircled by belts and strips of rubber that secured them closely to the cot. As Tim struggled fruitlessly, his head bobbed, and he felt a pulling sensation at his feet, where the rubber tube that connected head to toe was anchored. But the energetic squirming, which had started as a futile effort to achieve some measure of control over the building discomfort, quickly backfired. Tim felt the heat and sweat escalating under the layers of rubber encasement and secure fastenings, which had been combined adeptly in order to accomplish their intended purpose, ensuring that Tim stayed sealed up and tied down, transformed into a rubber piss worm, bowed back and doubled over, fixed in place under latex skin, barely able to slither within the tight bindings.
Tim moaned loudly, forced himself to stop squirming, and waited. A moment passed, followed by another, and then another. His hearing impaired by the earplugs and tight encasement of the rubber hood, also depriving him of sight, Tim’s senses were focused on the hardship imposed by the rubber encasement and strict bondage position in which he was restrained. Tim felt desperate. He hated the thought of begging for help from Matt, yet he was sure he couldn’t bear this torturous position for one more minute. Maybe the internal, muffled sounds of his own breathing were blocking out the sound he wanted to hear. He held his breath and strained to listen, but darkness and silence were his only companions. Minutes passed. Tim arched his spine and pulled against the bindings. He moaned again, even louder than before. Under the tight hood, head harness, gags, tubes, and wrappings, he scowled as piss that had been lingering in one of the tubes seeped into his mouth. Tim swallowed hard. It was almost impossible to stay still and quiet in such an uncomfortable state.
More time passed, perhaps a minute, maybe two, maybe five, but nothing changed. Tim pulled his head forward and felt increased tension at the top of his head and between his toes. His neck, encircled by a wide collar, was starting to ache from the position in which his head was held. Tim raised his voice, making the loudest possible noise of which he was capable through the gags and tubes over his mouth, and then he waited, and waited, and waited... for nothing, for emptiness, as if he had entered a void. Now Tim was angry: at Ross, for making Tim submit to Matt; and at Matt, for his over- the-top bondage. Tim disliked Matt, with his incredible cocky attitude and expectations of being worshiped. So what if he looked like some kind of blond rubber god; that didn’t mean he deserved the kind of respect inspired in Tim by Ross.
Even more time passed, second by second, accumulating into minutes that were impossible for Tim to measure. A feeling of abandonment descended on him. “Fuck, those fuckers are probably gone.” Tim couldn’t believe it. “Fucking Matt! Fuckin’ left me this way, in this impossible position, hooked up to a piss bowl. Fuck, where is Ross? MAN, I CAN’T TAKE THIS!”
Tim struggled and called out, trying to form the word “Sir” as he shouted for help, and then waited, but there was no response. Other than the passage of additional time with no change in his situation, Tim had no way of knowing whether he was right, that he had been deserted, left all alone, encased and tightly trussed in place, plugged and tubed, sealed and immobile, in the isolation of Ross’s basement dungeon. As each passing moment confirmed it must be true, the actualization had a maddening effect on Tim: His dick, trapped underneath him, compressed and encased, was rock hard within the rubber cock sheath. Reluctant to enjoy the sensation, Tim squeezed his buttocks around the large plug inside his ass and squirmed to press his rubber-encased crotch into the cot to which he was so securely fastened. The lack of response to his pleas, whether they had been intentionally ignored or simply gone unheard, had given Tim an erection. The knowledge that he was totally sealed, bounded, and fucked, with no alternative to enduring it, and no prospects for release, made Tim’s dick throb within its tight encasement. “FUCK!” Tim cursed himself, and his own perverted sexuality, for leading him to this point in his life.
Tim called for help one more time, and then gave up. Through the fading haze of desperation and discomfort, as Tim continued to squirm, he recognized signs that his body was finally adjusting to the situation. The erotic sensations of the amazingly restrictive bondage, dictated by the tight hogtie position that originally, earlier in the night, had been so stimulating in spite of Tim’s feelings toward Matt, were returning. Tim’s bent and bound arms and legs stopped protesting their confinement and began to feel lifeless. The latex-sealed perspiration lubricated Tim’s catsuit-covered, rubber-bound body, transformed by the restraints into a compact mass of muscle, like a giant, hard cock. Tim felt restless, hot, sweaty and – FUCK – incredibly horny!
Teetering on the edge of orgasm but not wanting to cum, Tim moaned softly with pleasure as he squirmed slowly and cautiously. Seconds and minutes continued to pass, but now Tim was insensible to time. The skintight rubber, the all-encompassing connectedness and tightness of the restraints, the total helplessness resulting from the position in which he was trapped, and the pre-orgasmic state of his mind, cock, and stuffed plug-fucked ass worked together as a whole to carry him away. All at once, he felt enveloped by the purity of bondage heaven. The sensations of encasement and restriction seemed to transport him to a different plane of existence, a level of being that transcended the tight restraint that was producing such exquisite bliss. Now, he wanted to stay bound forever. Continuing his gentle, intermittent squirmfests, Tim wiggled enough to sustain the incredible sensations that came from working against the restraints, and then he stopped, just short of cumming. He rested in stillness, on the brink of orgasm, as his mind processed the resulting bondage high. Eventually, his consciousness floated upward, and he felt as though he were rising above his body in ecstasy. He imagined that he was hovering there as a celestial presence, suspended over his bound form, in a rapturous state as he observed the dungeon and its sole occupant: a horny, bound, rubber bondage slave, completely trussed to the point of immobility, turned into a human urinal against its will, destined to live in encasement, restraint, and confinement for the rest of its life.
No longer aware that he was squirming and moaning in bliss, Tim continued to float, and his imagination took him further upward, over the house, and then down into it, on the ground and upstairs levels. He imagined that Ross was home: changing his clothes in his masterly appointed bedroom, swaggering around the house in his rubber chaps and boots, and finally descending into the dungeon to look at his bound rubber pig. Still floating, with the powers of his bondage-induced otherworldly consciousness keeping him aloft, Tim imagined that he was watching Ross as Ross observed him. He saw Ross play with his cock as the shiny-black rubber-bound slave writhed in its bindings. The experience was so real to Tim that his mind conjured up a whiff of Ross’s natural scent, the subtle odor of his unwashed cock, and the unmistakable smell of cum.
Engulfed by his altered state of consciousness, Tim was surprised and confused when his mouth filled with warm fluid. Abruptly, the physical need to swallow brought him back to the reality of his encapsulated and bound state of being. Without warning, he had suddenly returned to the inside of his dark, silent realm of rubber and restraint. As the fluid filled his mouth unexpectedly, Tim knew it was more piss, and his aversion to the idea and his natural instincts to resist kicked in. Matt had geared up the tubes and sealed Tim’s mouth to them in an open position around the piss gag, but Tim’s jaw clamped around it reflexively, in a futile effort to block the flow. Refusing to swallow, he squirmed, moved his head within the limited range of motion permitted, wiggled his toes and ass, and struggled against the straps around his upper body. Finally, remembering he had no choice, he swallowed awkwardly, using two big gulps to clear his mouth, and then settled down, compliantly guzzling as piss continued to flow. But the quicker Tim swallowed, the stronger the flow seemed to get, and soon Tim was convinced that Ross really was home. “Bastard! That fucker is emptying a full bladder into me!” It tasted strong and thick, as if Ross had held it in for some time. Working diligently, Tim stepped up his rate of swallowing and pushed the thoughts of distaste from his mind to concentrate on doing his best to consume the never-ending volume of piss. He gulped it down as the flow continued, until the seemingly drawn out process came slowly to an end. As it slowed to a trickle and the last mouthful cleared Tim’s gullet, Tim let the thoughts he had been suppressing enter his mind. Ross’s piss tasted awful tonight, and now Tim’s belly was full of it. Tim’s love of bondage and rubber encasement, and his obsession with Ross, had led him to this. In spite of Tim’s reluctance, Ross had transformed Tim into... what? Tim imagined the sound of Ross’s voice as Tim formed the words in his own mind: a bondage pig, a piss slave, a rubber bondage toilet, a human urinal to be kept bound, gagged, encased and full of its Master’s piss.
As he swallowed the remaining drops entering his mouth, Tim felt overwhelmed by the taste of piss and humiliation of being bound up so tightly for use as a toilet by Ross and his friends. A full picture of the evening formed in his mind, from the time he had been polishing Ross’s boots, to the rubber encasement, bondage and urinal service that he had endured. Inside Tim’s world of bondage, rubber, and piss, Tim felt like he had no choice, as though he were a slave, and Tim translated the feeling into physical action: Squirming, wiggling, and moaning, Tim struggled within the tight confines of the excessive restriction. Writhing in rubber-encased ecstasy against the tight restraint, twisting and straining to flex his bound muscles, wiggling and contracting his ass to squeeze the thick plug and thrust his crotch into the cot to which he was so tightly bound, Tim gave in to his thoughts and the sensations of tight physical confinement. Excited by the bondage, aroused by his perception of being treated as a slave forced to serve as a bondage urinal for its Master, Tim’s gyrations reached an agonizing climax. He bucked and strained and his cock exploded within the tight sheath. The orgasm was quick, strong, and all-consuming, and for its duration, Tim existed solely to achieve its completion. When it began to subside, however, Tim’s orgasmic haze was penetrated by the pulsation of his compressed cock as it throbbed within the constriction of the rubber sheath and the contraction of his stretched asshole as it throbbed around the huge plug. Hot, sweaty, and helpless, with the encasement and bindings feeling even tighter, Tim tried to relax his muscles, but for several seconds, the intense spasms refused to stop. Tim’s cock, prostate, and ass felt exquisitely sensitive, almost painful, and before Tim knew what was happening, he was on the edge of a second orgasm. Plug-fucked and at the mercy of his cock, unable to control himself despite the extreme sensitivity, Tim thrust his crotch and squeezed the massive plug to drive it deeper inside. As the second orgasm took control, Tim’s body became a rubber bondage vessel, taken over by a seizure of squirming and writhing that milked him mercilessly inside his tight rubber prison.
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