Waiting for Ross #7

Waiting for Ross #7

Behind a locked door, closed up in the dungeon closet, encased in rubber from head to toe, bound and suspended in a sturdy leather sleepsack, Tim waited impatiently. Inside the layers of rubber and leather tightly encasing Tim’s head, Tim had become accustomed to the consistency of the familiar odor trapped in his nose. Initially, the pungent essence of Ross’s feet had been a reassuring turnon, and Tim’s cock had hardened painfully around the catheter. Just as if Ross were present, the recognizable scent evoked the accompanying visual details of the large, wide, masculine feet that Ross often demanded Tim service. The distinctive musk and the humiliation of being forced to inhale it through the hoods had made Tim horny, and he had continued to picture Ross’s feet in his mind. Whether naked or boot-covered, in past sessions Tim had spent many sessions examining them with his eyes, nose, and tongue. Memories of foot worship transported Tim temporarily outside his rubber prison as time stretched from morning to afternoon. Now, however, hours later, the staleness of the stench reeking from what Tim suspected was a heavily worn, unwashed sock merely added to Tim’s misery. Almost involuntarily, Tim shook and nodded his head up and down, from side to side, as far as he was able. He wanted fresh air, he wanted to be able to see light and hear outside noises - fuck!. He wanted out. In truth, he felt like he had never wanted anything more in his life than freedom from the encasement and bondage. It took all of Tim’s concentration and what little reserve of energy he had left to focus on staying calm. He struggled against the strong impulses rising up through his body, which wanted to fight for release any way it could achieve it, and against the thoughts in his mind, which urged him to shout through the gag, “PLEASE SIR I’LL DO ANYTHING! PLEASE LET ME OUT, SIR!” Squirming in discomfort, almost oblivious to the resulting shocks, Tim’s thoughts turned to his own culpability. His mind taunted him: “How could I have let myself get into this? How much longer is Ross going to make we wait? What if something happened to him? Shit! Fuck! I can’t take this anymore. Will I ever get out? This is no fantasy, it’s real, and I’m fucking stuck this way!” Fighting back tears, Tim heaved and moaned and begged silently, “Please, Ross, please!” In an effort to soothe himself, Tim took a series of deep breaths through the tube gag and the nostril tubes of the hood, but they drew in new surges of rancid piss to his mouth and foul foot odor to his nose. Finally, the effect of the extended restraint and confinement were complete: Tim’s every breath, thought, emotion, and constricted movement seemed to be an expression of his agonizing desire for release.

About 12 feet away from the closet where Tim was confined, invisibly locked away in a box that had shut closed to become part of the dungeon wall, Brad was in a different kind of agony: Rubber-encased and bound tightly, with the faint, lingering taste of Ross’s piss and cum clinging to his tongue and mouth, Brad had never in his life felt so horny. While Tim’s mind attempted to propel him toward freedom, Brad’s mind was paralyzed by his desperate need to cum. The cause of this milestone state of horniness was also the cause of the greatest frustration he had ever experienced: It seemed that no matter how determinedly Brad worked, the bondage that fueled his horniness also prevented him from getting the relief he craved. Brad loved the feel of the skintight catsuit, enveloping him in rubber from head to toe, and the squeezing pressure of the rubber sleepsack over it. Together, the two layers of rubber stretched and extended over every inch of his body to produce a tight, sealed encasement. Brad felt as though the rubber encompassing him also connected his entire body to itself, so that each restricted breath and movement he made sent signals to his inflamed cock. Whether it was rubber-covered toes wiggling, rubber-sealed mouth sucking air through the tube gag, ass muscles clenching the huge rubber butt plug, encased fingers fidgeting, or bound limbs struggling and quivering under the rubber seal, wherever the limited movements originated, every wiggle and twist and resulting creak of stretching rubber emphasized the totality of the rubber bondage and transmitted renewed energy to his ever hard, never tired cock. Brad’s legs, held fast against each other lengthwise by the sleepsack, were bent at the knee and folded back, with his ankles strapped to his butt. Brad’s arms were anchored to his sides in the inner sleeves of the sleepsack and also encircled by outer straps. Having cum countless times through the night while he was sleepsacked but otherwise unrestrained, Brad’s cock now needed more friction and pressure to cum again, more than Brad could manage in his bound up, boxed, and almost immobile state. In a rare moment during the night before, perhaps when Brad was sleeping, his cock must have softened and begun to shift its position under the rubber, so that now it was pointed down, trapped under the layers of rubber and uncomfortably erect. Fixed in place by bindings connecting him to the top and bottom of the box, Brad found he could not squirm or maneuver around enough in the limited space to reposition his cock or rub it against anything, yet the urge to cum was maddening. A compact mass of bound, rubber-sealed muscle and sweat, constantly on the verge of cumming, Brad wiggled and bucked intermittently, flexing his muscles as he stretched the tight rubber, gently thumping his bound form against the unyielding enclosure of the sides of the box.

Up one level above the clean and tidy appearance that belied what was hidden in the chambers and recesses of Ross’s basement walls, Ross found himself stirring on the leather cushions of his sofa as he woke from a deep and unintentionally long nap. Before falling asleep, he had showered and dressed comfortably in jeans and a T-shirt. Now, the contrast of his own rested, comfortable, clean state with that of the slaves in his dungeon entered his mind. His dick swelled at the thought of the two sweaty, rubber-sealed pigs below, and he yawned and checked his watch: after 3:00 in the afternoon, more than an hour past the time he had originally planned to release Tim. Muttering to himself, he wondered aloud: “Hmm... 31 hours so far. Go for 36?” And then there was Brad: over 12 hours in total already, 4 of them in the box. His dick surged at the thought of leaving Tim and Brad to stew in their own juices hours longer, and he lounged on the sofa a few minutes more. Ross considered the options: Matt and his partner John were due to arrive in about 3 hours for dinner at Ross’s house. It might be fun to have them witness the release of Tim and Brad. On the other hand, though, Ross had safety and health concerns about prolonging their encasement without tube feeding them, and he wasn’t prepared for that this afternoon. Also, his cock was hardening in anticipation of going into his dungeon and finding them waiting... trussed up, sealed, helpless and locked away, exactly as he had left them hours before. When Brad and Tim were partners, many of Ross’s friends had considered them among the hottest men at the bar, and also the most unattainable. Ross laughed silently to himself and adjusted his cock to give it room to grow further. The last 24 hours had brought an interesting turn of events to his dungeon, and now he was looking forward to the coming evening. He rose from the sofa and went to the kitchen to retrieve a cooler from his refrigerator and to check on the food that had been delivered for dinner.

Soon thereafter, Ross carried the cooler in one hand and fidgeted with his keys in the other while he proceeded down the basement stairs. He unlocked the outer metal door to the entrance. Ignoring for the moment the sound of Brad’s moans audible from within the box, Ross put down the cooler he had brought with him on a shelf in the bathroom and then proceeded to the closet. He inserted the key into the padlock and turned it, and then worked the latchkey and other fasteners in succession, including the deadlock and two bolts at the top and bottom of the heavy wooden door. On opening the door and peering into the dark chamber, he was amused to hear Tim’s quiet, gag-muffled mumbling, barely audible from under the two rubber hoods and outer leather hood. Ross listened closely. It sounded like Tim was reciting a mantra, as if he were praying for release. Ross felt his cock surge with pre-cum at the pathetic tone of Tim’s unintelligible pleas. Ross turned on the light and surveyed the bound, suspended form. Tim was hanging from the shoulder straps of the thick leather sleepsack, custom made for him, enclosing him thoroughly and securely with its tightly closed zippers, laces, and straps. His upper body was angled forward over his lower body, in one variation of the many positions Ross had left him during his incarceration, and the straps and tethers connecting the sack to the closet wall at various points reinforced his powerless state. Ross’s cock stiffened further at the site of his own handiwork. He cupped his hand over his crotch and toyed with the idea of alternating the suspension angle, tightening the laces and straps, and then making Tim endure a few more hours.

Inside his cocoon, Tim sensed his Master’s presence and increased his voice level, shouting the word “out” as loudly and understandably as he was able. Jerking and straining against the bindings, he gave in to the urgent need of his body to struggle for release. Ross laughed aloud at the pitiful sight and sounds of the encased form, jiggling around - up and down, side to side - in its suspension, and barking futilely under its layers of enclosure. Enjoying the spectacle, Ross steadied the bobbing head with his hands and then began working on it: Undoing straps, laces, zippers; removing nostril tubes, hoods, gag, and earplugs; and, finally, pulling off tape and eye pads. Tim’s face, dark with 2 days of unshaven stubble, was also smudged with streaks of rubber dirt and sweat, creased with marks of being hooded, and red with heated agitation. His head finally exposed, Tim blinked and swallowed repeatedly. He and Ross were exactly eye to eye.

“What’s your problem, slave? Why are you so worked up? Had enough? I thought this is what you lived for, pig.” Squinting to adjust to the light, with Ross’s face coming into full view, Tim coughed, choked a bit, and made a few false starts before he was able to form intelligible words. His urgent need to be released was suddenly replaced by anger. Without realizing it, he instantly said aloud the words he thought had formed only in his mind, and they came it out in harsh, raspy tones, as if from someone possessed: “Fuckhead... bastard! Sadistic jerk!”

Ross chuckled and pulled at one of the sleepsack straps fastened across Tim’s chest. “Huh! That’s an interesting outburst. Are you going to rotate your head now, and then spit green vomit at me?” Tim swallowed and said nothing. He didn’t think it was funny. “Well, if I’m such a sadistic jerk, how about I tighten up these straps, stuff a big, fat gag in that ungrateful mouth, and leave you like this until tomorrow?” Tim felt a strap tighten over his chest and saw Ross reach to a shelf for a solid rubber gag, the huge one Tim hated so much. Panicked, he began sputtering loudly, “SIR, PLEASE NO! Sorry SIR! Sir, please let me out, Sir. Out SIR! Out Sir! Out Sir!” Tim saw a smile on Ross’s face, and he stopped begging. Ross was amused, but he rubbed the tip of the gag over Tim’s suddenly sealed and silent lips. Now fearful and anxious, Tim twisted his head to one side to avoid the gag and jerked in the suspended sack as he opened his mouth and resumed his pleading, with shouts of “Out, please!” rebounding in the closet over and over. Ross’s cock pulsed at the sound and sight of Tim’s desperation. He paused for a few seconds but then dropped the gag. “Okay, stop squealing and hold still. I guess you’ve done pretty well. I’ll let you out in spite of your nasty, thankless comments, but you owe me some heavy explanations. For now, just be patient, little bondage pig.”

While Ross began working, Tim initially held his breath and stiffened his body in an effort to keep himself from struggling. Soon, however, he was overwhelmed by the sensations of growing freedom: Able to hear normal sounds, blink his eyes and see light, open his mouth and breathe unfiltered air, swallow without tasting piss, he reveled in the slackening of the tight encasement he had endured for more than a day. He gasped when the catheter was withdrawn, and then within a few minutes, he was no longer suspended. Next, he was free of the sleepsack and standing unsteadily on his feet with Ross’s help, totally unrestrained and uncovered except for the catsuit Ross called his “rubberskin.” All at once, he felt a rush of appreciation for Ross, but before he could consider how to express it, Ross pushed him to his knees at Ross’s feet.

“If ever I hear another fit of temper like that again, you’re out of here on your ass forever. Copy that, FUCKHEAD?” Tim lowered his head between Ross’s knees. Embarrassed and regretful, his response was barely audible. “Yes, Sir.”

“Are you a slave, or not?”

Tim raised his head slightly. “Yes, I am Sir.”

“Do you appreciate the training I give you, or not?”

“Yes, I do, Sir. More than anything, and I want it again, but not right this second, Sir.”

Ross laughed. “Okay. I guess that’s good enough for now. You’re going to have to work really hard next time to convince me, though.”

“Definitely, Sir.”

Ross opened his fly and pulled out his cock and balls. “Go to it, slave.” Down below, Tim began repeating the ritual that Ross had taught him to perform each time Ross released him from a long bondage session. Gently licking and sucking, he closed his eyes as he started servicing Ross’s large, hairy balls. Ignoring his own exhaustion and discomfort, his body still in skintight rubber, Tim worked diligently and enthusiastically without question, as he had been trained. Tim’s cock, stinging from having been catheterized, stiffened painfully. Up above, Ross closed his eyes and focused on the pleasant sensation. Both were engrossed in the moment, but each opened his eyes to find those of the other when a series of roaring moans erupting from the outer room stopped the action cold.

Brad’s intermittent but frequent activities over the last 4 hours had ultimately paid off. After straining, sweating, and writhing in ecstatic frustration, and then twisting, squirming, and sweating some more, and then struggling and worming around but actually making no appreciable movement, Brad, tightly sealed in rubber, bound and confined in the limited space of the box, had somehow finally succeeded in making himself cum. The prolonged exertion and build up led to a spectacular, torturous climax. Brad’s entire body was racked with orgasmic convulsions as he wrestled and worked against the restraints, and his screaming moans echoed throughout the dungeon.

Ross pulled his balls off Tim’s face and stuffed them and his cock into his jeans. “Get up and follow me. I have a surprise for you.”

Tim’s cock was already hard, but the sight of the rubber-encased form, muscular, bound, and folded up, coming into plain view when Ross unbolted and opened the box, brought on an uncontrollable feeling of horniness. Tim wanted to grab his cock, but he didn’t dare. He continued watching as Ross made quick work of releasing the mysterious bound slave from the box and unfastening the straps encircling his upper body and legs. The sleek, shiny sleepsacked figure stretched out on its back and groaned. It was glistening with sweat and grunting through its tube gag. Ross flipped it over, unlocked a padlock that connected the zippers, and then returned it to its back. Ross turned toward Tim. “He probably needs to get out of that sack by now, but I’m leaving that to you. I’m going upstairs. You have 6 hours. You are to tend to him first, and then clean both of you up. Next, get some water and food, which you’ll find in the cooler in the bathroom area. After that you should rest up, but save enough time to clean up the mess you both made down here, wash out and dry all the rubber gear, gags, and plugs, and put everything away. Then you’re both to suit up again, so that by the time I return, you’re both plugged, gagged, in head to toe rubber gear, and waiting on your knees for me. And no cumming while I’m gone! Understand, pig?”

“Yes, Sir!”

Tim hesitated as he watched Ross walk away. His thoughts raced. Why was Tim suddenly in charge of this strange new slave? And, why was Ross leaving Tim alone with him? What did Ross have in mind for later? He heard Ross locking the outer metal door to the dungeon, and the sound seemed to reinforce Ross’s instructions. Tim lowered himself to the floor and knelt over the sleepsacked rubber figure. The gleaming surface of the sleepsack sparkled with moisture, and an odor of rubber mixed with sweat and piss hung over it as it grunted and squirmed. Tim turned it to one side and began fiddling with the zippers and peeling off the rubber. It felt like Christmastime in the dungeon, as he unwrapped some kind of rubber surprise package.

Under the layers of rubber, Brad was too exhausted to understand much, other than relief at feeling the rubber sack being unzipped and loosened. Now that he had cum, the tight slickness of the rubber-sealed coating of sweat, piss, and cum that enveloped him felt disgusting, and the heat of being encased seemed unbearable. He was worn out from struggling to cum, overheated from being sealed up for so long, and extremely thirsty. His mouth was parched from breathing through a tube for 12 hours. He rolled over in response to the pressure of hands on his side. He felt the attached rubber hood from the sleepsack being unzipped and pulled down, the gag being removed, and then the hood of the catsuit opening. 

Straddling the muscular, rubber-covered chest, Tim finished opening the hood and pulled it down. The color, thickness and pattern of the hair being exposed seemed familiar to him, and then Brad’s distinctive forehead and eyes came into view. “Brad, you fucker!” he exclaimed.