Reset and Reboot
Tim woke slowly in the stark reset chamber, his body still humming with residual echoes of the previous night’s total immobilization. The digital clock on the wall glowed precisely 06:00. Six hours. Ross’s meticulously allotted window for “restoration.” The room was minimalist yet perfectly calibrated: matte black rubber flooring that yielded slightly underfoot, a surprisingly luxurious bed with a thick mattress and comforter, full length mirror, porcelain sink and shower stall stocked with unscented soap, shampoo, lotion, shaving and enema kits, a toilet, a mini-fridge containing protein shakes and sports hydration drinks, and a compact gym corner with dumbbells, resistance bands, a pull-up bar, and mats. A plain white tank top and gray athletic shorts—cut exactly to his size, no underwear—lay folded on the bed beside a single card in Ross’s crisp, authoritative handwriting: “Six hours. Restore the slave body. Protein shakes and hydration drinks only. Full workout. Thorough hygiene. Don the catsuit. Sleep. Every second is monitored.”Tim sat up, rubbing his wrists where his hands still felt stiff from his hours of bondage. Six hours of something almost like freedom, he thought, a sharp spike of hesitancy cutting through the fog. I could refuse. Bang on the blast door until someone comes. Demand to be released. I have a job, a life, responsibilities waiting outside these walls. His cock twitched traitorously at the mere thought of what would follow obedience. The doubt felt real—almost urgent—but the deeper, well-conditioned craving for total encapsulation quickly swallowed it. Ross had trained him too effectively. Tim knew he would obey.He began the routine with clinical thoroughness: long, hot shower, complete body shave to maintain the smooth slave aesthetic Ross demanded, meticulous enema and hygiene of every intimate area. The water felt like decadent luxury against skin that had been sealed for so long. Two thick, surprisingly tasty chocolate protein shakes followed. Then the workout—push-ups, pull-ups, squats, planks, resistance work, then full weights with presses, raises, and more squats —pushing his muscles until they burned. He caught his reflection in the polished wall and felt a flush of submissive pride mixed with shame. This body exists only to be encased, stretched, and used. Another shower. Finally, the garment bag.The new catsuit was a masterpiece of black rubber—thick yet supple, designed for complete head-to-toe coverage. It featured an attached hood with reinforced eye, nose, and mouth openings, integrated feet, an anal zipper, and button-up codpiece and nipple flaps. Tim worked it on with ritualistic care. The rubber started cool and slick with talc against his warm skin, clinging immediately to his calves, thighs, and ass as he rolled it upward. It gripped his cock and balls in a tight, compressive sheath that made him half-hard. Torso, arms, the long zzzzip of the back zipper. The attached hood slid over his head; he aligned the openings carefully. As the rubber warmed rapidly to body temperature it became a living second skin—squeaking softly with every movement, sealing him in its glossy, restrictive embrace. He buttoned the codpiece, tested the anal zipper, and lay back on the cot. Tim’s cock twitched in interest. The rubber creaked and whispered as he settled. Exhaustion claimed him quickly. He slept sealed in latex, already anticipating what Ross had planned next.
The Circuit – Hole Training
Jason returned exactly six hours later. The imposing man filled the doorway in his own reinforced black rubber catsuit complete with shiny leather lace-up military style boots, thin rubber gloves and a very tight, leather executioner’s hood, exuding quiet dominance. “Circuit time, pig. Hole training begins now.” He led Tim into the adjacent blast-door training chamber. “So this is what is behind the second blast-door…there are more doors that I haven’t seen yet…” thought Tim as he walked in. The air smelled of rubber, leather, and lube. Multiple cameras covered every angle. A large digital clock on the wall glowed 12:00.
“Time to start your circuit training, pig. Master Ross demands encapsulation over multiple layers to ensure proper mental stimulation, and I am going to enjoy watching your ordeal. Frustration is mandatory.” Jason looked at Tim and smiled a devious smile and Tim felt his legs get weak.
Jason started with the leather bondage suit. Smooth, supple black leather slid over Tim’s rubber-encased form. Legs first—the cool hide warmed quickly as Jason laced the thighs and calves with firm, even pulls. Each lace produced rich, erotic creaks. The leather compressed the underlying rubber, creating layers of restriction that made Tim’s breathing deepen. It’s getting so tight... do I really want this again? Torso and forward-positioned sleeves followed. Jason laced the chest panels and arms methodically; the smooth leather hugged and creaked constantly, molding Tim into a stiff, creaking prison. Horniness built despite his inner hesitancy.Leather fist mitts enclosed his hands next—thickly padded, laced and buckled so his rubber covered fingers vanished into complete helplessness. Leather booties went over the feet, laced snugly with more creaks. The Mr. S Leather hood was laced tightly over the rubber hood; the supple leather creaked as it compressed his features, eye and mouth holes aligned.Then a heavy leather straightjacket went over the bondage suit. Jason slid Tim’s arms into the long sleeves, crossed them tightly across his chest in the self-hug position, and tightened every buckle and lace. The leather creaked loudly, compressing his already suited torso into near-total immobility. “Fuck... it’s hugging me so hard. I’m so restricted... part of me wants to stop, but my body is betraying me”
Jason positioned him face-down on the fuck bench. Wide padded leather belts secured his booted ankles, knees, thighs, waist, and torso with loud creaks. Tim’s ass remained perfectly elevated. Jason unzipped the anal access zippers across the leather and rubber suits, applied generous thick lube, and slowly inserted the heavy ribbed training plug. Its thick veined silicone dildo featured realistic ridged textures and a wide coronal flare. Each ridge popped past Tim’s ring, stretching him progressively wider; the final dramatic flare locked it deep with insistent pressure against his prostate. The silicone warmed rapidly from body heat, spreading a deep, training warmth through his core. It’s starting... opening me up for Ross’s use.The fucking machine was aligned with clinical precision and then attached to the silicone invader. The auto-lube system stood ready with its reservoir and peristaltic pump. Jason started the three-hour clock. The dildo pressed forward. Tim’s eyes watered instantly as the flared head stretched his ring wide, followed by the ridged shaft. The first strokes were intense—bordering on painful. The machine thrust deep and steady, ribs and flare grinding his prostate while the auto-lube squirted wetly on every withdrawal. Leather creaked rhythmically with every impact. Rubber squeaked beneath. Sweat built between the layers.”Ok, pig. See you in 3 hours give or take. If the fucking gets too intense, get up and turn it off.” chuckled Jason as he checked the straps keeping Tim secure on the bench and then exited. The blast door closed with a resounding and final boom.
For the full three hours Tim endured exquisite edging: painfully stiff and leaking, desperately horny, eyes watering from the relentless intensity, but never permitted release.
“I’m so close... please just let me cum... I need it so badly…it hurts. Fuck. “ The fucking machine continued training Tim’s hole with its methodically movement, silently ignoring Tim's mental pleas.
Hesitancy, desperation, and aching need warred inside him as the visible clock ticked down with cruel slowness. Tim squirmed but Jason did a secure job to keep Tim bound and secured in his rubber and leather compression. Tim continued to squirm and soon attempted to fuck the bench but his cock couldn’t get any purchase on the bench’s padding because at his crotch, the bench was simply a hole to offer easy access if or when Tim’s cock was needed. Once again, Tim could feel the heat and stiffness of his cock throb, and once again, his cock led him to inescapable bondage and sexual frustration.
By the end, his hole felt thoroughly stretched—puffy, hot, open, and still clenching hungrily. There was a pool of lube underneath the fucking maching. The blast door opened. Jason returned, looking fresh and dominant. Jason’s assessment was measured: “Mild disappointment, pig. It took the session well enough, but we expected more stretch by now. But don’t fret, we have time ahead to achieve the maximum dilation.”
Circuit Training - Suspension Electro Cum Dump
Ross entered the chamber and observed the trussed figure in silence. Ross was wearing a matching rubber outfit including the leather boots that Jason wore. However, Ross was not wearing a hood - his freshly shaven face showed off his devastating looks, and Ross had his leather chest harness over the rubber that showed off his powerful pecs and lats. No words were spoken to Tim.
Internally, Ross calculated the next layers of conditioning with clinical detachment.The final preparations unfolded with deliberate, ritualistic precision. The outer leather layers were removed carefully, leaving only the sweat-drenched, black rubber catsuit clinging to Tim’s body like a second skin. The thick, heavily ribbed electro plug—flaring prominently at the base—was slowly but firmly driven deep into Tim’s well-stretched, still-warm hole. It locked in place with insistent, unrelenting pressure, the ridges and flare stretching him continuously while the wiring promised future torment. Conductive loops were wrapped snugly around his cock and balls. A second, tighter rubber hood slid over the first, further sealing his senses. The Mr. S Leather hood was re-laced even more severely; the supple leather creaked audibly as it compressed his features into a smooth, anonymous mask, eye and mouth holes precisely aligned. The heavy funnel gag was buckled firmly into place, followed by the restrictive muzzle strapped tightly over everything.Two tight, smooth supple black leather sleepsacks followed. The inner one was worked over Tim’s rubber-encased form and laced from toes to neck with slow, methodical pulls. Each pass of the laces produced rich, intimate creaks as the cool hide compressed the sweat-slick rubber beneath into an ever-tighter, rigid cylinder. The larger outer sleepsack was then applied, doubling the inescapable leather embrace and further muffling the world. All D-rings were aligned with exacting care.
The Hoist System
The custom hoist system engaged with engineered perfection. A heavy overhead steel gantry spanned the chamber, anchored deeply into the reinforced concrete ceiling and walls with vibration-dampening mounts. A motorized trolley glided silently along sealed linear bearings. From it descended a powerful electric hoist featuring a high-torque motor, electromagnetic brake, and redundant safety cables. A braided steel cable—nylon-coated for silence and durability—connected to a heavy stainless-steel spreader bar fitted with multiple quick-release carabiners and attachment points.Jason and Ross methodically attached heavy-duty ropes and carabiners to the sleepsack D-rings at the shoulders, torso, hips, and legs, ensuring even load distribution to prevent any dangerous pressure points. The hoist motor whirred softly as the system activated in controlled stages:
Initial tension: The cable took up slack with a gentle pull.
Slow ascent: Tim’s feet left the floor first. Weight gradually shifted fully into the ropes and leather. The sleepsacks creaked as they settled under the new load.
Full vertical suspension: The hoist continued until Tim hung perfectly centered and vertical in the middle of the frame.
Lockdown: The electromagnetic brake engaged with a solid, final click. Redundant safety cables automatically secured.
Micro-adjustments: The trolley and individual winch lines fine-tuned the position, creating a subtle but constant teasing sway while maintaining absolute stability.
A padded blindfold was then fitted over the hooded eyes, plunging Tim into absolute, velvety darkness. Tim felt cushioned headphones slipped over his hoods further cutting out any sounds. Sensory deprivation took hold immediately and completely.With vision and hearing gone, the world narrowed to touch and taste, and the relentless internal sensations. Hearing was heavily muffled by the layered hoods and the suspension’s slight isolation and Tim could hear his heartbeat inside his head. Touch was reduced to the constant, all-encompassing compression of the double leather sleepsacks and the underlying rubber. The hoist held him in perfect vertical suspension—weightless yet fully supported—creating a strange floating sensation that made every tiny movement feel amplified. The sleepsacks creaked softly and continuously with even the smallest shift of his body. The rubber beneath had warmed fully to his skin temperature, becoming slick with trapped sweat and squeaking quietly against the leather with each breath or involuntary twitch. The wide feeding tube was snaked into the funnel gag. Two dozen thick, opaque frozen milky cum cubes were poured into the reservoir above. They landed with soft, heavy plops—cold, dense, and utterly anonymous.Tim hung there, suspended in darkness.At first there was only the cold weight in the reservoir and the profound quiet of deprivation. Then the slow melt began, and with it the psychological storm.The first cold, viscous drops trickled down the tube and into his mouth. Tim swallowed on pure reflex. The thick, musky, slightly bitter-salty taste of semen coated his tongue and slid down his throat. Whose is this? The question detonated in the void of his mind. Jason’s? Thick and heavy from the way he watched me get machine-fucked for three hours? Ross’s own superior, calculated load—saved specifically to mark me as property? Or strangers? Anonymous donors Ross collected or ordered just for this purpose—men whose faces and names I’ll never know, whose cum I’m now forced to process like a living receptacle?The sensory deprivation magnified the humiliation tenfold. With no visual anchors, no external sounds to distract him, and his body compressed into near-immobility, Tim’s mind had nowhere to hide. Every detail of the taste, texture, and temperature became overwhelming. The coldness of the early drops warmed quickly in his mouth, becoming body-temperature slime that coated his throat. He swallowed again and again as more cubes melted unevenly—sometimes long pauses that left him waiting with mouth open around the gag, other times sudden small rushes that flooded his throat and forced rapid, humiliating gulps.This is what I am now. The thought looped relentlessly. Not a man. Not even a proper slave with limits. Just a rubber-leather urinal hanging in the dark, drinking unknown loads while my cock strains uselessly. Doubt burned through him like fire, hot and all-consuming. Yet it fed directly into a desperate, exquisite arousal. His cock—already painfully stiff inside the tight rubber sheath—throbbed harder, leaking steadily. He wriggled helplessly in the hoist. The sleepsacks creaked loudly in protest. The motion pulled on the ropes and drove the flaring electro plug deeper against his prostate. Fresh waves of electro stimulation surged through the plug and loops—teasing hums, sharp stinging bursts, rolling prostate pressure. I need to cum so badly it hurts... I’m right on the edge... just a little more... but nothing. Ross controls it. I don’t get to decide.Time lost all meaning. In the deprivation, minutes stretched into eternities. The hoist’s subtle sway became a torment—every gentle movement reminded him of his complete helplessness. The leather sleepsacks continued their constant soft creaking. The rubber underneath grew slicker with trapped sweat, squeaking quietly against the hide. The electro unit delivered completely unpredictable patterns, keeping his prostate constantly stimulated while denying any release. His cock remained achingly hard, throbbing in time with his heartbeat, leaking but never allowed to spill.The cubes melted slowly over the long hours, creating a marathon of psychological erosion. Each swallow was a deliberate, conscious submission. My mouth hole belongs to Ross. My throat exists to process whatever he decides to feed me. He imagined the donors in vivid, humiliating detail: muscular leather men stroking into collection cups, Jason’s thick cock pulsing, Ross watching with that cold, aristocratic satisfaction. The anonymity made it worse—and hotter. I’m drinking strangers’ jizz while blind and suspended... and it’s making me leak like a desperate gimp. Hesitancy still surfaced in weak waves—This is too degrading... I used to have dignity... what have I become?—but each time it was crushed under the weight of overwhelming submissive arousal and the physical reality of the suspension.Deeper layers emerged as the hours passed. Gratitude twisted perversely with the doubt. Ross planned every single cube. He chose this exact degradation because he knows it will rewire me. Identity dissolved further with every swallow. I’m not Tim anymore. ..am I? I’m Ross’ rubber gimp urinal. My only purpose is to wait, to stretch, to accept, and to serve. The sensory deprivation stripped away everything else, leaving only the creak of leather, the squeak of rubber, the trickle of cum, the throb of his denied cock, and the endless internal monologue of ownership. By the later hours, as the final cubes melted into a slow, lingering diluted flow, Tim floated in a profound, almost trance-like headspace. The hoist held him perfectly. The electro continued its dance. Cum trickled. Darkness, compression, and taste filled his universe. He wriggled one final, slow time—deliberate, almost reverent—clenching around the plug and savoring the aching stiffness of his cock. Desperate. Horny. Tim waited—alone, suspended, fed, edged, and perfectly owned—in the long, exquisite darkness, always waiting for Ross.
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