BDSM and More

—

Sometimes when I wake up, I can’t move. My body is fine, but I’m unable to make a muscle function. And when I think about it, I know exactly why. And now, nearly five years later, the events still haunt me…

I was 16 at the time, tall and lean, with sloppy dark blond hair and a cocky attitude. I was bursting with attitude and hormones, but mostly hormones. I was, like most 16 year olds, a walking erection. I jerked off four or five times a day, and looked forward to having sex with … well, whoever.

I awoke when I tried to turn over and couldn’t. I was obviously not at my cousin’s house anymore. I usually slept flat on my back, but not like this.

My arms where at an unusual angle, out to my sides and up at a right angle, placing my hands just above my head. Something tight grasped my wrists. My eyes tried to adjust to the dim light, blinking away the dryness of a long sleep. But my mind was clouded by something — something thick and restrictive.

Memories of early childhood fevers and delirium returned to me. But then I recalled the fight against a general anesthetic from having my appendix removed. That was it. I had been drugged.

As the room became more evident to me, so did my condition. I was nude, flat on my back, but lifted forward at a slight angle. I was shackled in some way — firmly I must add — at the wrists and ankles, a belt of some kind across my middle, pressing me against a padded tabletop. Each leg was lifted somewhat and spread slightly to each side, like an gynecologist exam table, opening my always-eager 16-year old crotch to whoever put me here.

There were things in the room around me, but the grey light was too dim to make them out. The only light came from windows set high above me on one wall. I seemed to be in a loft of some kind. I struggled to make out sounds or smells, but found myself grasping for sensations that weren’t there. It was dusk outside, I thought. Or maybe early dawn. I didn’t know. Not where I was, not what I was doing there.

I tried to move, to check the bindings, and noticed a steady pressure in my rectum. Blinking and looking down, I noticed a whitish tube that ran from a small bag hanging from stand beside the table to between my spread legs. The pressure in my ass was familiar but not really uncomfortable. Like when I put a finger in my ass in the shower. Warm and filling…

A warm current of something was dribbling into my ass, and I wondered why. The thoughts that came to mind worried and oddly thrilled me. I was getting very nervous, but before I could dwell on it, lights snapped on.

Blinded, I squinted down at a motion nearby, something beyond the rim of the lights set on me. Someone was there, moving toward me, slowly.

“Who is it?” I called. I struggled again against the shackles, but I was trapped. I feared for my life, but my muffled mind couldn’t think clearly to react to it.

Nothing was the reply. Instead, they turned and moved a cart near me. I tried to see what was on it, but could only make out some kind of machine atop it. It resembled a small air compressor, I thought, or maybe a paint sprayer of some kind. I had no idea and my young mind was racing, grasping to make connections that explained why I was nude, exposed, and completely vulnerable.

The pressure was getting to my filling ass, and my cock was begin a slow crawl up my stomach, inching toward my face. The light played off my lightly colored pubic hair, while a nervous sweat was beginning to cover my smooth chest.

The lights in my eyes grew suddenly brighter, and while I squinted, the figure moved forward, down between my spread legs. I was suddenly acutely aware of my position and exposure, but as the figure bent and pulled the enema tube smoothly from my ass, sliding it out slowly, erotically, I watched horrified as my dick grew stiffer, arching up toward my face in small jerks, a thick-headed six inches sprouting from a boyish clump of pubic hair.

My legs strained against the binds as the slim tube was slipped from my clenching pucker, a few drops of lube following it out. As the warm fluid slid across my spread asscrack, my cock flexed, filled to bursting from the uncontrollable drives of a horny boy.

The figure placed the tube on its stand and wheeled the stand to the side. Then, moving again to a location between my legs, the figure lowered. I began to make out a few details. He was male, young, and very attractive –and oddly familiar. I’d seen him before, but where? His light hair was cut very short, and he wore only a loose t-shirt and running shorts.

Unconsciously, my eyes glanced at the high-cut shorts, looking for a glimpse of naked dick. Startled, I looked away. Again, I tried to place the face, but my mind was fumbling …

My dick! my mind screamed. The man, with a firm hand, had reached out and grasped my rock-hard cock, squeezing firmly. I groaned, the sensation of another man’s skin on my throbbing meat thrilling me, and I lifted my ass up to meet his slow caress. A single drop of pre-cum appeared at the tip of my purple dickhead. I gasped as his fingertip rolled it around the crown of my cock. My ass clenched and my thick dick twitched in his fingers.

Slowly, he began stroking my boner. Painfully slowly. Dry, short strokes that teased me. I moaned low. He looked up at me struggling on the padded table, and smiled a knowing smile.

He was doing something to me that I had dreamed about for years, since I had learned what cumming was like from an eager-to-teach cousin. He had showed me, late at night in the dim light of our uncle’s pool, what it was like to jack his 14-year old and my 12-year old dick to cumming. Since then, I was hooked. In three years, I had read and seen plenty on the `Net about how to cum. I loved it all, especially with a large, condom-covered carrot shoved inside me. But that was always by myself. This was something new.

After a few minutes, I was about to go mad. The slow jacking of this menacing man was about to make me pop. I needed to get off, and my balls began to climb up in my sack, bracing themselves to blow their load.

Seeing this, he slowly stopped, placing my dick gently on my stomach. I moved, wriggling to get my dick closer to him, lifting my ass up as far as I could, offering my hard cock to him. “Please,” I heard myself say.

That was exactly what he wanted. My lifted, exposed ass was quickly touched by his thick finger. Without warning, his tough, callused hands spread my ass further. Roughly, a single finger slid up inside me. I froze, but the lube was doing its job. Effortlessly, he shoved it in to the third knuckle. I moaned again, and a new string of pre-cum eased out of my stiff, twitching dick.

Finger after thick finger invaded me, rubbing, searching, exploring my insides. I groaned and wiggled around the table, wanting for the stranger to touch my dick again. But for several minutes, all I received was two or three fingers probing my rectum, shoving their way against my aching prostate.

“Do you want to cum?” he suddenly asked. The voice was matter-of-fact, almost playful.

“Yes,” I said. “Please, yes.”

“Are you sure?” he asked. His hand returned to trace a fingertip along the ridge of my cock. It flexed and added to the growing puddle of pre-cum on my stomach.

“Please, man,” I managed. “I need to cum.”

He smiled. “Okay,” the deep voice spoke. “But you have to agree that I get all of it.”

Not sure why he would want to swallow my spooge, I was in no condition to question. “Yes, take it all.”

He half-laughed. “Oh, trust me,” he said. “I will. All of it.”

Moving toward me, his lips abruptly enclosed my dickhead, tongue dancing around the edges. I gasped and started in the restraints. Oh my God! I was NOT going to last at all. He slurped loudly at the pre-cum on the tip, teasing me more.

Sitting up, he looked at me and said, “You’ve never cum like you’re going to tonight.” I nodded, my cock close to bursting. His two fingers inside me prodded against my prostate and my cock lifted off my stomach, straining to the point of pain.

Lightly, he traced his tongue across the underside of my dick, base to tip. I couldn’t deal with it anymore. Panting and crying out, my prostate battered by his fingertips buried inside me, my solitary dick lurched and twitched, untouched, as I cried out in the restraints.

“Oh fuck, man!” I shouted, my shrill voice echoing in the large room. “Fuck!! I’m about to cum. Oh God, it’s too much, fuck! Touch my dick, dude, please! I’m going to cum!”

He only smiled.

“Uhhhh! Uhhhhhgg … oh please!!” My dick was ready to burst. My balls were pulled tight against my cock. The only stimulation was his fingers deep in my hole. Bucking my hips, I ached for him to touch my cock, my asslips clenching his fingers.

Just as I was about to fire, the stranger’s other hand smoothly slipped a wet, slick, clear tube over my cock. It was a bit longer than my dick, maybe seven inches long, and roughly the same diameter inside so it touched and slid all around my rigid cock. The interior was coated in a clear substance that was very, very slick and slightly cool. Attached to the end of the tube was a length of clear flexible tubing that ran to the machine I had seen earlier.

The slick surface of the tube sliding across my rigid cock put my right over the edge, and my body locked into an arched position against the restraints.

“FUCK! I’M COMING!!”

Not caring where I came, my cock spat the first jet of semen far into the end of the tube. A thick, ropey jet that actually made a splattering noise against the plastic tubing.

At that moment, he turned the machine on.

The electric compressor-like noise startled me at first, but my next hands-free shot was already on the way out. My cock and whole body tensed again, and I grunted my way through another squirt of thick jism. Just then, the machine’s suction pulled my first load clear of the tube and eagerly slurped up the second as it exited my pulsing dick.

The next shot was about to come out when the machine started a new maneuver. Jerkingly at first, the tube moved on my dick, sliding toward the end. As it did, it dragged the smooth jelly-like surface across my cumming dick. I stared in disbelief at this contraption as my third shot of cum exited my cockhole and was immediately sucked into the rubber hose.

At the far end of the hose, situated on the side of the machine, sat a jar about the size of a juice glass. With soft slurping noises, my cum dropped into the waiting container, quickly spilling across its bottom.

“Oh man! Oh fuck!!” I watched, fascinated, along with the stranger, as his probing fingers and the steadily stroking tube produced several more jets of cum, all slurped into the container. The machine worked me with painfully constant rhythm. It didn’t react to my bucking, my thrashing and swearing. It didn’t see the pleasure-laced agony it produced in me, didn’t marvel at the enormous ropes of cum it pulled from my stiff young cock.

As my tender dick spewed jets, then trickles, of cum, the tube continued to work its way up and down my shaft. Unlike a hand or a mouth, the tube’s interior surface covered and stimulated my whole cock equally, stimulating the entire length, base to tip; then as it moved toward the end, it focused all of its attention on my thickened, reddening dickhead. Then, it slid downward again, sending me into further fits of ecstasy.

I moaned and grunted my way through it all, the stranger’s fingers wiggling within my slickened ass as my stretched pucker clenched down, flexed, and clenched again with each eruption. The stranger twisted his hand again and again within me. I’d never felt anything like this. My hips jerked forward involuntarily, feeding more of my spunk to the machine. It continued to ingest all I gave it, never tiring of my grunting spasms.

Slowly, my body began to relax from the orgasm, the cum slowing to twitching dribbles. A few sticky drops were all that remained, and they too were quickly devoured by the machine. I was finished.

I moaned, satisfied, as the strangers fingers slipped from my ass, bringing a small glob of cum to my dickslit. I had barely even seen or felt it leave me when the machine pulled it into the hose. The machine had covered the bottom of the jar with a shallow layer of the cum it pulled out of me, maybe a bit more than a tablespoon at best.

As my breathing started to slow, I noticed that the tube was getting warmer and that the speed of its pistoning on my cock was not slowing. I shuddered and shifted in my harnesses. “Uhh… dude…” I said, hoping the man was just distracted, maybe jerking himself after watching me writhe through the most powerful orgasm I’d ever had.

“Dude…”

But he wasn’t listening, he was focused at my ass, doing something I couldn’t see. Slowly, a cool, metallic object — an exceptionally fat, metal butt-plug of some kind — slid deep inside me, stretching my ass wider than it ever had been before. I cried out and tried to stand in my harnesses, trying futilely to escape the cool mass as he worked it into me. And just then, my abused ass clamped down over the tapered base. It was obviously set inside me for a while. I dreaded the feeling it would make coming out. He looked up from between my legs, and smiled again.

“You said I could have it all,” he said ominously. “I know you have more. So I’m taking it.”

I didn’t understand what he was talking about. And didn’t care either. The stroking machine was still working my dick at a steady pace, dragging its slick interior over and over again on my hypersensitive cock.

“Hey, man, I’m done,” I said. “Could you turn the machine off now?”

He shook his head. “No, don’t think so. And you’re far from done.”

The sliding on my dick was driving my crazy. I tried to pull myself free of the continuous sucking, but there was no escaping its attentions. I was trapped. It sucked me more.

“Uh-uh-uh, pl-l-leasse, m-man…” I said, my body wracked by spasms of intense sensations traveling up my dick. It was maddening. From the time my orgasm began, the tube had slid up and down my cock, and it continued on and on still, relentlessly stimulating my spent cock. My mind was filled with sensations, and I couldn’t decide what I my body needed to do — cum, piss, cry out, laugh, scream. It felt like I needed to do them all, and yet, I could do nothing but whimper and shake on the table.

“No way, man. I can’t cum again. Not yet.” I was worried and getting uncomfortable. The machine didn’t care and kept sucking me.

The young man had stood and walked to another machine nearby. The machine had a few large dials on it, and a meter of some kind. I noticed two wires running across the floor from the new machine. One went to the tube on my cock, the other … went to the butt-plug buried inside me.

“I think you can,” he said in a low voice.

“No,” I said. I looked at my still hard cock inside the wickedly sliding tube. The inside of the tube was smeared with my cum, and my still-hard cock was becoming numb despite its attentions.

“In fact, you’re about to cum harder than you’ve ever cum before,” he said, reaching for a switch.

I didn’t understand. Normally, I would need at least a short break before cumming again so quickly. And never had I been able to continue to jerk myself more than a few seconds past orgasm before the feeling became unbearable. But now my body couldn’t escape the stroking, the nonstop sucking, of the machine attached to my teenage cock.

“No, man, please…” I begged. I just wanted the sucking to stop. I couldn’t stand it anymore. “Please, just turn it off, I –”

He flicked a switch.

I screamed.

I came.

If you can call it cumming, that’s what I did. Not from the stroking, not from the pistoning. But my body reacted like it was the cum of my life.

I can’t begin to describe the sensation that coursed through my ass and into my cock. The butt-plug, pressed hard against my aching prostate, began to fire small but powerful half-second currents through me. They traveled inside me, through me, and out the sucking tube. The machine went into a high-suck mode, the tone growing higher like a vacuum cleaner sucking against your hand, as it pulled against my aching cock.

“FUCK!!! OH MY GOD!!!! AHHHH!!! UH-UH-UH..!! AHHHHHHHH!!!!! SHIITTTT…!!!”

Hips bucking wildly in time with the currents, I came like nothing I’ve ever known. A huge gob of cum erupted from my cock. Felt it as it shot from the tip of my dick — “poured” is more like it — and heard the machine slurp it up eagerly.

“AHHHH…!!!!!”

Then I came again, another huge jet. Then another. And another. It was maddening pleasure, too intense to be enjoyable. It felt like my cum was a long piece of silken yarn, and with each twitch of my cock, the machine drew and yanked long strings of it from deep within me.

“EEIIIYYY!!!! NO PLEASE STOP IT!! PLEEEAAAASSE-suh-uh-uh-uh!!”

Each time my body wracked in jerking spasms that coincided with the pulses in my ass and cock. Each pulse of electricity clenched my ass on the tapered plug, driving it hard inside me, against my prostate, pushing my inner button over and over, making me jerk involuntarily. And with each jerk, my cock spewed more cum. I saw my volleys of cum filling the two empty inches at the end of the sucking tube. I could no longer speak. How long had I been cumming…?

“Guh-guh-UHHH! Guh-GUHHHH!!!!!”

I watched as much as possible, stunned and screaming, as my pulses of semen filled the end of the tube, outstripping the machine’s ability to drain it all. Finally, after a solid ten seconds, the currents stopped — and so did my cumming.

Panting, I collapsed against the table, my trembling body becoming wet with sweat. For several seconds, the machine sucked and slurped up my cum, finally emptying the tube again. And then the tube slid once again. And again. Just as before, it stroked and sucked my young cock.

“See,” he said. “I knew you had it in you.” He smiled smugly. “And now you don’t.”

“No more, please,” I begged. “Please…” I wanted to cry, but there were no tears, just trembling, the shaking of my teenage body as the machine tried to drain me over and over again.

“Oh, you can stop at any time,” he replied. “The machine can be stopped two ways.”

“Okay … what do you–” I gasped, writhing under the merciless stroking and sucking of the tube.

“Oh no,” he explained. “It’s not about me, It’s the machine doing it. It wants your cum even more than I do. And once started, it won’t stop until you meet one of two criteria.”

I moaned and shifted again, trying to get this sucking tube off my tender young dick. It was killing me with torrents of post-cum stimulation, never slowing, bouncing over and over on my cock, suckling to get more cum out of me.

“Either you can just wait the full hour the machine is set to run,” he stated. My heart sank at the words. “Or fill the glass.” I looked up. The jar was not even a quarter full. I couldn’t do it.

I shook my head. “No, please, I can’t… I can’t cum anymore…”

He shook his head, disappointedly. “Again, I think you can.”

And he turned the knob on the machine, and the currents started again.

My body locked and jerked. Screaming in agonizing orgasmic passion, I came again.

“N-n-no!! Stop! I can’t — UH-UH-UH!! AHHH-RRGG!! SHIT F-F-F-UCK SH-SHI-I-I-I-IT!!!!!!”

My balls were pulled tight against the base of my cock as another stream of jism coursed out of me. The machine pulled it up into the wiggling hose and dribbled it in the waiting jar. My ass clenched against the thick base of the enormous plug in my bowels, driving hard inside my guts as it ticked more and more electric current through my spasming cock. I didn’t even feel the stroking anymore, just something coursing through my stiff dick. I couldn’t tell what was actual cum and what we the effect of the electrical current. It didn’t matter anyway. To the machine, it was the same. It pulled more of the silken yarn of cum from my rubbery red cock.

The twitching stopped, and I struggled to watch more of my cum, clearer than before and not nearly as much of it, disappear into the hose of the tube. The machine decreased its vacuuming, but the tube continued to slide again.

And again…

Whimpering, I panted in my restraints, the tube working my cock as though I never came at all. I felt light-headed and the muscles under my balls ached, feeling thick against the plug buried in me.

The stranger examined the collection jar and shook his head disapprovingly.

“You’re going to have to try much harder,” he said quietly. “I think you’re holding back.”

Emphatically, I shook my head, but it was difficult as my body thrashed in revolt against the insistent sucking. “N-n-no! I’m-m n-n-not! Pl-eas-s-se…”

“Maybe you need more time,” he said.

“Y-y-yes!!” I cried out, shivering not from any cold, but in dread of the next orgasm, out of the sensations racing over my adolescent dick. “Yes-s-s, pl-p-please…”

“Very well,” he said, moving toward the machine controlling the pulses. “You’ll have plenty of time.” He smiled wickedly. “A full thirty seconds … of cumming.”

My chest clenched tight. Thirty seconds? That was three times longer than the first two times, and now my —

“FUUUUUUCK!!!! UH-UH-UH-UHGGAH…!!”

The low-voltage currents lashed through my cock and took everything I had left in me with it. Thrashing in the shackles like an animal in a trap, my cock fed the last of my cum to the sucking tube.

But when the first shot seemed enormous to me and barely anything spewed from my battered cockhead, my heart sank. Again and again, my cock twitched, releasing dribbles of clear spooge into the tube. There was little left, and the machine was taking it all.

“Ugh… ugh… uhh…” My body was locked in a flailing I could not control, as my crank was subjected to the never-ending assault of the tube and the currents from deep in my ass.

Aching and throbbing, my red dick tried to offer more and more to the eager tube, but nothing was left in me. Pain shot through the base of my dick with each jerking spasm. But my body refused to offer any more cum.

I screamed over and over, begging the man to turn it off, to make it stop. But he only watched the tube, studying the tiny dribbles of semen that trickled from my puffed cock inside. Slowly, drops fell into the collection jar.

I’d lost track of how long I had cum, but it didn’t matter. When I had finished cumming, the machine forced my body to keep cumming, on and on … the full thirty seconds he had told me.

Then it stopped.

Barely able to move, I watched the tube slide across my dick again. And again. Only my right leg moved in protest to its onslaught, quivering in a futile effort of lift my penis away from the tube. The thought of cumming held no appeal to me. Only release, only to be free of the machine’s sucking.

What felt like minutes passed. I thought maybe my dick would go limp, would slip from the tube, relieving my agony. But the sucking tube managed to keep it hard, to keep it ready to receive more stimulation. Even as it tried to shrink in discomfort, the vacuum in the tube pulled it full, and the lubed surface ran its sensations into my aching penis, leaving me to shake on the tabletop.

In the few years I had been sexually functional, let alone active, I had never had more than two orgasms in a half hour period. My young body had never been subjected to anything like this. A week of cumming, an eternity of sucking, all packed into a span of 16 minutes. I didn’t know what more was left inside me, but my mind was screaming in my head, but my body, wracked with spasms of cumming and of over-stimulation, could not react to any thoughts — only the raw sensations on my pathetic cock.

The sucking machine took me through another two orgasms, each ejaculation smaller than the next, until only a few drops trickled out — even though the sensations grew more furious and my screaming more intense.

The stranger examined the growing collection of my young spunk. It was milky on the bottom, but the top layers where growing clearer with each dribbling ejaculation.

“Not bad,” he said, almost comforting. “But we’re still not there yet.”

I tried to speak, but managed only a guttural moan. My eyes pleaded for him to stop, to make me stop cumming. But he only looked back at me, a strange curiosity in his eyes. His arm moved; it was about to begin again.

Over the almost soothing din of the machine, milliseconds before the currents began. I heard the relays click. I watched as my hips lifted again against the restraints. The sliding tube increasing its suction on my cock. The ticking of electrical current took assault on my prostate once again, making the muscles far at the base of my dick, deep under my aching balls, begin to twitch and contract.

The sounds I made were not human. My cock strained and jerked within the clear tube, the head flaring with each spasm, slit gaping, seeming almost to cry out silently at its orgasmic agony.

The pressure built quickly within me, and moved toward my cock, past my tightened balls. It was a wad of cum, massive, enormous. I felt it moving up my dick, and despite the torture of the past sessions, I ached for release, to feel the cum pass through my hard penis and watch it slurp into the bouncing hose, dribbling into the cum-collecting glass.

My hips thrust in mid-air, driving my cock toward the tube, searching for release, aching to feed more of my forced cum to the suckling machine.

“Uhh-uh… Uhhmmmm… guh…ming…UGGHHHH!!!!!”

It was almost out of me now, the tube waiting, impatiently rubbing my dick over and over, sucking to pull the wad clear of my pitifully spent balls.

My cock grew enormous and hard in the tube, lifting the hose a bit as the tube traveled the short length of my violated cock. I was going to cum again. Again…

“SCREEE-UH!! UH!! IT’S… UGH!! NO!! GOD PLEASE NO!!!! UGH!! UHHHHGGGHGHGH…!!

I tried to watch the huge wad jet out of me and into the tube. It felt as though it was three times bigger than any of the others. My body screamed and beat itself against the table, my hard teen dick waving lewdly, and the tube still firmly attached and sucking away.

“JUH!!! N-N-N-N… AHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!!”

My cock lurched in the tube.

“F-F-F-FUCK! GAHH!! UHHHHH!!…”

Nothing.

My dick lurched again and again in the tube, my hips thrusting uncontrollably toward the ceiling, but nothing came out. Only more of my screams.

The stranger turned a dial then on the machine.

Without a pause between, the new pulses ticked through my adolescent crotch.

Stronger. Much stronger.

Every muscle in my young body flexed with the pulsing in my ass. Legs flexed against the ankle straps, my arms tight in the restraints, back arched, hips bucking.

“EEEEIIIIIIYYYYYYYYYYYY!!!!!!!”

Second after second ticked by, my body wrenching, squeezing whatever it could to offer the machine. It nursed on my tender dick as I screamed again and again in torment.

Then I heard the slurping began. I watched a pitiful dollop of cum leak from my dick. And the machine took it from me, into the hose, into the glass. Over and over, the machine stroked my cock, tried to make me cum. It sucked cruelly me as I dry-came into the tube.

“Uh… d-don’t-t… ah-ah-mm…k-k-kuh…Guh!!…Guh!!!!”

It sucked me past what any cum could be, past what any 16-year old — or any male — should ever endure. My eyes lost all focus and I looked down, amazed that my dick remained hard within the sliding tube.

The pleasure of cumming was gone, gone like all of my semen down the hose of the sucking tube. My young body — “young, dumb, and full of cum” –had offered all the cum it had; and the machine wanted more.

I jerked and tugged, thrashing my pathetic dribbles into the vacuuming tube. I couldn’t take it anymore. The sensations were too much, too intense. As the ticking kept my body in the throws of the longest, driest, most agonizing orgasm I could imagine, my mind faded out. My vision grew dim, swallowed into unconsciousness as the machine swallowed my brutally coerced semen. Mercifully, I passed out.

And even then, the cumming continued…

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My Master is a stickler for details. The lists and schedules that now define my life reinforce this, and that he is in total control of me: mind, body, and spirit. From our first encounter there was no doubt who was in charge. During initial discussions, he was very careful to allow me enough leeway to ascertain that I was committed to the choice I was about to make, but the contract that I would eventually sign would be ironclad, literally, and there would be no returning to my previous station once the document was signed. There were three meetings planned.

The first was in his living room, our initial face-to-face encounter after weeks of communication by e-mail. My first sight of him put me at ease.

Even before he spoke, there was wisdom and stability in his demeanor.

He offered me water, nothing else. We sat opposite each other on a large, soft sofa. We were both cautious, but both equally sure of speech.

He had many questions regarding my current situation and how I would be properly taking care of what he called loose ends. He wanted to make sure that I didn’t owe any money to anyone, or have any personal or legal ties that would interfere with transferring me into his keeping.

Slaves can be allowed very few expectations - it is the nature of slavery.

But he was willing to assure me that I would be kept healthy and clean.

The details of my servitude I would learn later, but there were three elements that were nonnegotiable… 1. I would effectively “disappear” permanently from my current existence, 2. I would be kept in naked bondage at all times, and 3. The arrangement would be permanent!

There were no pretenses, there was no physical contact; we talked only, and I was allowed to say anything and ask any questions. After a couple of hours of talking, we set the date of the next encounter, and I left, letting myself out. The second meeting would be in his dungeon. I would be allowed to see my future quarters, to view the bondage and training equipment, to study the contract I would be signing and, once again, to ask questions and clear up any doubts I had. We lived in the same town.

I had ridden the bus to the nearest stop, a few blocks from his house. I didn’t want to leave. I knew he was the one and I was ready to begin my slavery journey, but there was much work and introspection to be done. I would learn more as time passed of his thoroughness, his caution, and his dogged attention to endless details. His attitude toward my bondage was simple - once in, never out. We were both serious about this. For years I had fantasized endlessly about that click of the lock that would permanently “bind” me to my Master’s dungeon floor or wall. I even fantasized the collar or cuffs being welded or riveted into place. The bondage we were considering was permanent and we must both be very sure of our commitment. And so, during our second encounter, although

I was required to strip before entering the dungeon, there was no physical contact between us. The dungeon was in his basement. Simple wooden stairs led down from his kitchen. I followed him as directed. We reached the bottom stair and stepped onto a concrete floor. The basement was typical looking, long and narrow, a laundry area off to one side, numerous shelving units containing household supplies, tools, At the other end of the lengthy, rectangular room there was a large padlocked wooden door. Master stood to one side and had me stand and face the door. To this point he had not spoken. “This side of the dungeon door,” he spoke softly and slowly, “is something that you will only see twice!” I was engrossed in the massiveness of the door, the iron hinges, the solidity of it, and it took a moment for his words to register. I would see the door again for the last time on my third visit, at my incarceration.What lay behind the door would become my world, my existence.

Beside the door was a small table where I was instructed to leave my clothes. Master Rick stood patiently and watched as I removed my shirt, trousers, underwear, shoes and socks, and placed them neatly on the table. The floor was cold to my bare feet. My nakedness made the door seem larger. A simple cloth hood was placed over my head but left loose around my neck. I heard him unlock the door. He took my arm and led me in. I was instructed to take 5 short steps, then stand still. There was faint light coming from somewhere. Looking down, I could just barely see my toes from under the hood. The air was warmer inside the dungeon, the same concrete floor not as cold. I was then instructed to sit on the floor.

I sat cross-legged, my hands carefully placed on my knees, listening. The door closed behind me and I didn’t know if Master was in the room with me or not. I looked down at my dimly lit cock, which had been steadily achieving erection since I had walked through the wooden door. I knew instinctively not to touch. Master had made it clear in our first session that total control of my genitals, their pain, their pleasure, and all their functions, would be an essential component of my slavery! I wasn’t cold, but I shivered gently anyway from the solemnity of the moment! I lost track of time as one does in such situations. I tried to connect with smells and sounds as these were temporarily my only inputs. Other than the faint scent of leather, the air smelled clean. I became aware of some type of ventilation system gently and quietly circulating air - no other discernible smells - no other sounds - and only a very faint light evenly distributed around me.

The door opened and Master reentered - he HAD left me alone. He walked slowly toward me, stopping beside me. He removed the hood from my head and I saw for the first time my surroundings. I began to turn my head when Master said curtly, “Look straight ahead.” The back wall of the room was literally covered with every type of implement of bondage, restraint, and correction that one could imagine, all hanging from carefully placed hooks and arranged neatly. Soft spot light aimed downward cast a gentle but eerie light on the collection. There were the expected metal and leather restraint cuffs, handcuffs, leg-irons, metal and leather collars, spreader bars - several lengths - and one that looked adjustable; there was a shelf of dildos, some of metal, some of plastic, and a formidable one that looked like a policeman’s night stick, I assumed made of wood.

There were leather harnesses and straps lined up neatly, cleaned and polished to a fine shine. There were a group of shelves that held plastic storage boxes, the contents of which I could not discern. Master pushed me gently toward them the better to see. They contained an unbelievable collection of small clamps, connectors, locks, bits of chain and other assorted bondage paraphernalia - some I recognized - others I could only guess at their use. Master turned me around as he touched a switch on the wall.

The rest of the room became slowly flooded with gentle down light which came from recessed fixtures around the circumference of the otherwise dark ceiling. “I will leave you for a while now,” he said. “You may walk around, you may look, but you may not touch anything,” he added, and quickly left, closing and locking the door. I was certain that he would be watching me on a remote monitor and so I was uneasy as to what to do with my hands. I clasped them behind me and left them there as I walked around the room. Later on I knew that bondage would be employed to restrict my movements, including being able to touch myself, but now I would restrain myself voluntarily to demonstrate that I was earnest in this matter.

Yes, I was trying to impress him - we both still had the option of backing out of the deal. The point of no return for BOTH of us would be at the third encounter. The details of the transaction would be revealed to me later on, but it had been made clear to me that when I stepped through the door of this room again, if I chose to do so, it would be for the last time. For now, however, we were both still struggling with that final decision. He volunteered to me that he had never had a long-term slave. Like me, and most of us I assume, his encounters to date had been short - overnights, weekends, and a few week long encounters. Once he had a slave for a summer.

My longest session ever had been 4 days…all in blissful bondage. But he, like me, in his very core had always fantasized about a permanent situation, a full-time slave, true ownership, and TOTAL control. He, also like me, was fascinated by the idea of “permanent” bondage. I had spent many hours in self-bondage over the years, wearing leg irons, ball cuffs and the like, and pretending that someone else possessed the keys, engaging passionately in self-stimulation, and at the same time wishing there was someone in control who would not allow it; a Master who would allow me to ejaculate only at his whim, and according to his schedule; to be alternately “milked” mercilessly, then denied even an erection for weeks on end; or to be required to maintain constant erection, but NOT allowed to relieve it; to yield total control of my pain and pleasure to another! Now the prospect of my fantasies coming true caused me to shiver.

It wasn’t cold in the room, I was shivering from excitement. My cock continued to harden. The room was about 20 feet deep from the door to that back wall covered with implements and tools. It was wider by 1 or 2 feet, roughly square, with a polished concrete floor painted flat black. The ceiling was high, maybe 11 or 12 feet and completely black also. From its center, and from four more points equally spaced about the ceiling, there hung large metal rings, suspended on heavy lengths of chain about a foot down from the ceiling. I stared for a while at these rings.

They caught the light and stood out ominously against the opaque ceiling. They looked like they could hold an elephant I mused to myself, and I’m sure they’ll be holding me one day, I allowed myself to fantasize. The ceiling held the only lighting, a series of recessed fixtures circumvented the room and cast their light eerily downward, flooding the walls, and leaving the center of the room unlit by comparison. There was one more fixture in the center of the ceiling which looked like a traditional flood lamp, but it was not on.

I fantasized that it could be employed to spotlight the center of the room when something interesting was happening there! Everything I saw spurred rampant fantasies. My mind was racing. Every inch of me was tingling with excitement and childlike delight! The other three walls were basically bare except for numerous heavy iron rings positioned as various heights. I imagined myself chained to these rings, my legs stretched across the room and spread wide apart, a metal collar chained to the ceiling, arms stretched and chained to opposite walls! Chain and metal has always played heavy in my fantasies, and I could see easily that Master shared these fantasies with me. I could not have designed a more perfect dungeon to fit my bondage desires! I turned my attention now to the four corners of the room.

Each of the two back corners had large pieces of dungeon furniture. In one corner there were two items; a padded punishment horse, over which a slave could be stretched for whipping or ass-work, and, leaning against the back wall what seemed to be a portable work table or stretcher. It was basically a table top without legs, and it had holes around the outside edge, obviously for tying down a slave! I assumed that either it had attachable legs, or that it could be suspended from the ceiling when in use. The other back corner housed a traditional, but very elaborate leather sling. It was hanging from a hook high on the wall, but could obviously be moved to anywhere in the room as needed. In one corner along the door end of the room there was a commercial shower and wash area, a 3x3 concrete basin with 1 foot sides, and with a large drain in the center.

Overhead hung a hose with various attachments, one of which I was sure would be used to clean out my insides. There was a small shelf on the wall which housed what looked like enema equipment, soap, and other cleaning solutions. The corner walls behind the shower area had extra rings to which a slave could be attached and kept immovable. I fantasized being washed, shaved, and generally kept clean at this little corner facility.

There was no traditional toilet, and I assumed that this single drain would serve all my waste elimination needs. Near the shower area, at about crotch height, a single metal bar protruded about 18 inches straight into the room. It was obviously adjustable in height, but otherwise rigid. At its end was a heavy, chrome ring. The ring, upon closer examination had two halves which could be opened, but it was tightly screwed together with Allen screws - obviously a device for holding a slave’s balls and keeping him attached firmly to the wall at the same time.

Apparently the slave would straddle the bar with his back to the wall, and his balls would be encased by the heavy metal ring. There was but one corner left to explore. It alone was NOT well lit. Master had obviously wanted me to see it last. As I turned my attention toward its darkness and began to strain my eyes to see, a spotlight magically came to life and shined upon a metal cage.

Master WAS watching me and choreographing this whole scene remotely. The cage backed up against the corner, and as I examined it more closely, I could see that its bars were embedded in the concrete floor and that its two back walls were the walls of the room. It was a permanent fixture. Entry into the cage seemed to be on its top side. The whole top seemed to be on hinges, and there was an ominous hasp and lock on the side opposite the hinges. It looked awesomely stable and I longed to touch it. But I dared not.

Later on I might venture an occasional breaking of a rule in order to illicit the punishment I long for, but for now, I’d better not take any chances. After all, Master was watching. The cage was approximately four feet square. The bars, each at least two inches thick, were about five inches apart.

I could easily place my hands or feet through the bars. On the rear walls of the cage were numerous extra metal rings. I imagined me inside the cage, secured to the rear wall and with my feet and hands cuffed outside the bars. I wondered how much of my future time would be spend cramped inside this cage…would it be for occasional punishment only, or would it, in fact, be my new home? So far, as I have mentioned, Master only has spoken in generalities. “Details come later,” he always added secretively.

Of course, now as I took in all these dark and ominous surroundings, those details allured and tantalized me. My eyes reluctantly left the cage and followed along the side wall to a curious installment. Near the cage, about 3 feet from it, a single metal pole, about 4 feet in height, rose from the floor some six to eight inches away from the wall. There was an adjustable mechanism near its center, and a screw fitting at its top, obviously for attachments of some sort. It was bolted firmly to the concrete. There were two D rings welded on either side of it near the floor.

I literally shook, and for the first time, my hands came down to my side. I quickly put them up behind my neck. This was an impaler! I had seen these in online catalogs, and the photos had been a source of endless fantasizing.

The slave’s feet would be attached to the rings near the bottom. A dildo would be connected to the screw fitting on top, then adjusted upward and into the slave’s ass, impaling him and securing him immovably to the spot. Pre-cum dripped from my erect cock. I was mesmerized by this device and the fantasies it dredged up within me. Suddenly the door opened - my viewing session was over. I was instructed to sit on the floor again in the center of the room. I was handed an envelope with my name printed on it and the words, SLAVE CONTRACT!

A very bright overhead light came to life and I was instructed to read the document, taking as much time as I needed, and to indicate that I was finished by standing. I would be allowed to ask questions afterwards, but for now I was left alone again, with the envelope. Once again, the door was closed and locked! I sat naked on the floor and slowly opened the large brown envelope. Releasing the metal clasp, I removed the three crisp pages of the document that would define my future life. Thumbing through them I noted that there were numerous blanks to be filled in, and several places for both mine and Master’s signatures. I would be allowed as much time as I required to study it, but I would not get a copy to take with me as I had secretly hoped - and I dare not ask for this. I began to read…

SLAVE CONTRACT

To whom it may concern: The slave contract described herein is entered into on this ___ day of ___, in the year ___, and is entered into willingly and freely by the two parties involved. Upon signing, this contract is absolutely binding, and may not, under any circumstances, nor for any reasons, be either revised OR revoked. To this end, the Master, _____, and the slave, _____ both, with their signatures, will attest that the elements of this contract are understood and accepted. There are three components to this contract, each of which must be agreed to, and signed for the entire contract to be viable.

POINT ONE: The slave, ___ agrees to leave his former life, severing all ties, real or imagined, and to grant full ownership of his being, body and mind, to the Master, ___. Ownership shall be defined as follows: The Master will have total control and direction over the slave and shall own him outright. The slave will no longer have any rights or privileges other than those specifically granted by the Master. The slave will not make decisions or have opinions. The slave will not have possessions. The slave’s life and existence will be totally under the direction of the Master. The slave will be kept clean. The slave will be appropriately exercised, nourished and watered. Otherwise, the slave will have no guarantees and will exist completely at the Master’s disposal, and be guided and directed by the Master’s whim. With regard to POINT ONE, I, slave ___, do accept, and willing comply. slave’s signature and date: _____ With regard to POINT ONE,

POINT TWO: The slave, ___ agrees that he will be kept completely naked perpetually; that he will never again be allowed to touch any part of his body with his hands or feet without the Master’s express permission and direction; that absolute control will be maintained over his genitals, body orifices, and ALL body functions; and, that various bondage implements, and restraints will be regularly employed to enforce these requirements. With regard to POINT TWO, I, slave ___, do accept, and willing comply. slave’s signature and date: _____ With regard to POINT TWO,

POINT THREE: The agreement described herein, and entered into between slave, ___, and Master, ___, will be PERMANENT. It will not, and can not, ever be revoked or revised for any reason save the death of either of the parties involved. As a safety measure, two witnesses, who are associates of the Master, will witness and sign this document.

Both of these witnesses will have full access to the Masters house and property, and should the Master die, fall gravely ill, or for any other reason be unable to fulfill his portion of this contract, the witnesses shall assume joint ownership of the slave herein described, and they shall decide jointly as to his fate.

He may be moved to another residence, sold, or disposed of in any manner the witnesses find mutually acceptable. This agreement between the Master and the Witnesses is further outlined and attested to in a separate document, and is alluded to herein to allay any anxieties the slave might have regarding the future health of his Master. With regard to POINT THREE,

CONCLUSION: The involved parties, having thoroughly read and understood this entire contract, shall below affix their dated signatures, as guarantee of same, and that all parties fully accept the terms outlined herein:

After reading the entire document several times, I put it back into the envelope and laid it beside me. My thoughts were racing! Reading the contract was such a turn on. But I must be sure. I must be careful. I ran over and over in my mind, would I miss this, would I miss that? But my core slave self consistently took over.

My entire life had led me to this moment. I would go home and think some more before the THIRD ENCOUNTER, but I was sure that I was sure! I retrieved the envelope and stood up, and waited several minutes for his return.

The door opened and I was escorted out. I dressed at the small table beside the door. We went upstairs. I was offered water and asked if I had any questions or comments. I didn’t have questions, just an intense longing that totally consumed me. I looked him in the eye for some time. I needed desperately for him to touch me, to man-handle me, but that would come, according to his plan! He seemed to understand my need to search his eyes…for that is where the soul is. Perhaps his soul would mesh with mine…it certainly felt so. Perhaps I was making the right choice.

Ninety per-cent of me was sure. But I must be sure not to let my cock lead me into something that I would regret. I would have two weeks to wrestle with the other 10 per-cent. In one week I would return for the THIRD ENCOUNTER! I would strip, be bound, and become the permanent property of my new Master.

There was much to do, and much to think and fantasize about. I left his house and took the bus back to my apartment for the last time. We met, the four of us, in Master’s living room.

I eyed the two witnesses carefully, knowing that they were full participants in whatever future Master had planned for me, including inheriting me if Master died! After brief, perfunctory introductions, we moved to the dining table, Master indicating where each one of us should sit.

At my place there was that envelope I had seen on the last visit. My heart did the first of several leaps it would make over the next while…and so did my cock! They all sat the same way as if it were planned (perhaps it was)…their elbows informally laid on the table, their hands clasped before them, and gazing blankly, but seriously at me. I put my slightly trembling hands on the table on either side of the envelope, trying not to look too relaxed, and awaited instructions.

After a few moments of silence, Master produced a pen and laid it on the table beside him. Looking me right in the eye, he asked, “Are you prepared to sign the document?” “Yes…” I tried to say, but it stuck in my wndpipe and I only let out a pitiful squeak. Quickly clearing my nervous throat, I continued, “Yes Sir.” “Open it,” he said. I fumbled it open, laid the envelope aside and spread the contract out on the table before me. “Read it again,” he instructed. I did…

As I read through it carefully, for the last time before signing, pertinent words leapt off the page and sent pangs of both fear and excitement through my entire being: kept clean, Master’s whim, completely naked perpetually, absolute control over genitals, bondage implements, restraints… I made my way slowly through Point One, Point Two, Point Three, The CONCLUSION.

I was finished reading, but I hesitated for a few tense seconds, exercising my last little bit of control, but merely putting off the inevitable. I had already decided to sign. I swallowed deeply and slowly and, finally, looked up at Master indicating that I was through. He immediately handed me the pen. I took it in trembling hands and signed all the places indicated.

I pushed the document over toward him. He carefully inspected all of my signatures, signed it himself, and, in turn, passed it to the two witnesses. Their heretofore solemn faces now sported the slightest smiles. This had obviously been a tense moment for them too! But it was over. The contract was signed and witnessed and I was his and, in fact, theirs. “Wait here,” Master said to me, then escorted his two friends to the door. They spoke briefly and softly. I didn’t even try to listen. I was engrossed in my own briskly racing thoughts. What had I done? Was I sure? Too late! I could run. I was still dressed. I could “escape” out the back. But I sat and waited as commanded.

When he returned his demeanor was different. He looked at me sitting at the table. I thought that I should perhaps know what he expected, but I didn’t. “Stand up,” he commanded, not harshly, but firmly. He was taking command. This is what I had longed for. “Follow me,” he added tersely. I did. We stopped at the door to the basement. He turned to face me. I was following him so closely that I almost ran into him. Stumbling slightly, I regained my stance just in time, even though my knees had turned to butter! He put his hands on my shoulder to steady me. “Relax,” he said, “You’re doing the right thing.

Now, just trust me. Before we go downstairs,” he continued, “let me give you some instructions. Listen very carefully, you will only hear this once, and there will be no speaking for quite some time after this!” He paused. I regained my composure, looked at him longingly, and listened intently. I am his slave now, I thought. He owns me!

It felt good already, even though I didn’t know fully as yet what it meant. I would learn. “Initially,” he explained, “your captivity will consist of a transition period, with varying schedules and routines. You will lose track of time as you know it now. After this you will be settled into a regular, very detailed schedule. Nothing will ever be explained to you, you will never be made aware of anything other than what to do and when to do it.

You will learn through punishment and reward just what I like and what I expect, and when you have pleased me! There are two rules: 1. Never speak unless I tell you to!, and 2. Do what I say immediately and without hesitation. Do you understand?” “Yes sir,” I said, and my cock stiffened. He allowed me to continue to gaze into his eyes. I knew in that moment that he would sense all my needs, that I would not need to ask questions! I would work so hard to please him, but I would also welcome punishment for not pleasing him. I shivered again with delight. He lowered his hands from my shoulders where he’d kept them. He reached around me, pulled me to him and hugged me reassuringly. I loved him. “Alright then,” he said, “come, it is time.

I followed him down the basement stairs. At the bottom of the stairs there was a 5 gallon plastic utility bucket, unmarked and covered with a lid, and a small black satchel. Motioning to them, he said, “Bring these along.” I picked them up, one in each hand, and we walked the length of the storage space and up to the huge wooden door. The small table where I had placed my clothes had been replaced by a garbage can with a plastic liner. At his instruction, I put down the bucket and the satchel and began to remove my clothes. Getting naked was always a rush for me, especially if someone was making me! This was the last time I would strip. I did it slowly, savoring the rush, welcoming the coolness against my skin, the cold floor against my bare feet.

Putting my clothes and shoes into the garbage sent me over the edge. My cock was totally stiff now. Master looked at my cock, then looked me in the eye and said, “We’ll have to get that under control, won’t we?” I shivered again. He swung open the large door. I picked up the bucket and the satchel, and followed him inside. He closed the door and secured it with a huge combination lock. There was the answer to one of my questions; if I changed my mind and wanted to escape, even if I were not otherwise bound,

I would not have the combination to that massive lock. I was completely caught now, naked and locked in his dungeon. My knees were butter again, I almost fell from the weight of my load. He directed me to put the bucket and the satchel down, took me under my arms for support and led me over to the cleaning area. He directed me to step into the wash basin. I noticed a single chain hanging down from over my head. He cuffed my hands with simple metal handcuffs. He then operated a mechanism on the wall beside us which lowered the ceiling chain. The handcuffs were attached to the chain and pulled up just over my head. “Kneel”, he said, and, with some difficulty, I did.

Pulling my head forward, he wet my hair with warm water. He sat down in front of me, took out a razor and began to shave my head. I was weak with the joy of it. He was cleaning and shaving me, getting me ready to be bound into his service. It was a delicious sensation to know that I know longer had to make plans or have any concerns at all, other than to please him. I was now completely his! He shaved my head, and then continued down my body, carefully removing all hair, down to my toes. It was an unbelievable sensation to have someone else handling and touching EVERY inch of me.

I had been shaved before in scenes, but nothing like this. He was meticulous. The overhead chain was connected through a mechanism that could be adjusted by pulling either of two chains hanging against the wall. Like Venetian blinds, he pulled me up or let me down, turned me around, had me kneel, and adjusted me as necessary to accommodate his careful work.

When he had finished shaving me all over, he stretched me up tall, standing on my tiptoes, and stood back to admire his work. I turned around several times, balancing on my toes. He was viewing his handiwork, and surveying his new property. He lowered my hands to about chest height and turned me around, instructing me to lean against the wall and to spread my legs apart as wide as I could. Sitting on a stool behind me, he inserted an enema nozzle into my ass. From an overhead bag he filled me up several times, stretching my gut like it had never been stretched, forcing me to hold it, then having me squat and release. This continued until I ran clear.

I had never been so clean inside! Satisfied that I was clean, he stretched me upward again. He then washed me all over with soap, rinsed me and left me hanging there to dry while he busied himself in the back of the room. I couldn’t see what he was doing, but the tinkling of chain and the rustling of leather and rope kept me hard with anticipation. My hands tired quickly - my wrists were hurting, but blood was still flowing and I welcomed the slight discomfort as symbolic of my captivity.

When I was dry he lowered my hands and released them from the cuffs. I was naked and unbound in my Master’s dungeon, but not for long. He re-cuffed my hands behind my back and, while I was still turned around, he took what looked like a caulking gun and, inserting the tip into my ass, filled me up with lubricant. It oozed out as he turned me around to face him, feeling squishy between my cheeks. He then retrieved a small leather device from his pocket, a harness, which fit snugly around my balls, forcing them down into their sack, and separating them with a tight leather strap. My cock was left free.

It had been hard since I walked through the door. Master made no effort to control it. I wondered what would happen to my cock. Would he tie it up too? Would he contain it in an anti-erection device? Would he punish it for being hard? It longed for release…to be touched, but he ignored it! He walked across the room and adjusted the lighting so that the middle of the room was flooded, the periphery dark.

He directed me out of the wash basin and instructed me to lie on the floor with my head near a small black heavy-looking, drum-shaped metal object. A huge metal mallet lay near it. He position me with the metal object behind me and close to my neck, and pulled the satchel over toward my face. I shivered uncontrollably as he removed a heavy iron slave collar slowly from the satchel. He put it down on the floor at my nose and stood back briefly, allowing me to savor the collar. “Look at it carefully,” he instructed. “You will never see it again!”

As I stared at it and trembled slightly, the sinisterness of what he had just said bore down heavily upon me! I would not see it, but I would feel it, ever-present, around my slave neck! The collar was made from curved, solid metal bands, about two inches wide, and at least a quarter of an inch thick. It was hinged, and met on the opposite side with tabs that contained holes through which a lock could be placed.

On the hinged side there was a permanently attached length of heavy chain. The rest of the chain remained inside the satchel. Around the collar, equally spaced, there were four iron D-rings to which other chains, locks, ropes, etc. could be attached. It would be heavy, but I would bear it. I would have no choice. It would further bind me to him, a thought I relished. He lifted the collar and moved it towards my neck, pulling more of the attached chain from the satchel. I followed his hands with my eyes. The chain jingled. The D-rings jingled.

I lifted my head slightly as he unceremoniously placed the collar around my neck. It was cold, and immediately very heavy. It clanked slightly as he closed it and touched the tabs together behind me. He was fumbling with something behind me that I assumed was a huge lock.

It was not until he picked up the mallet and began to bang away at the small anvil behind me that I realized it wouldn’t be a lock, but a metal rivet that would keep the collar in place. My balls strained in their leather bondage, my hard dick bounced freely as I startled and shuddered from the loud noise.

My hands pulled at the cuffs behind my back. He had said “permanent”, but little did I know just how permanent he meant! He helped me to stand, and as I stood up the gravity of my new PERMANENT collar hit me. It would take much getting used to. I would never forget that I was wearing it. It bore down on my shoulders, still cold. It would eventually warm up to by body temperature, but it would never become lighter.

The attached chain extended from the satchel as I rose, adding to the weight of the collar. Master directed me over to the wash basin, and followed me carrying the satchel. He put the satchel down beside the plastic bucket and had me turn around. Sitting on a stool as before and spreading my legs apart, he removed the leather bondage from my balls and replaced it with a locking metal ball cuff attached to a small length of chain. He then removed the handcuffs and directed me to remove the lid from the bucket. It was about half filled with a white powdery substance. Master sprayed some water into the bucket, gave me a stick and instructed me to stir the mixture.

When the water was completely incorporated, he directed me to pick up the bucket and the satchel. I followed him to the center of the room, placing them beside a small square of cardboard on the floor. Master pushed the cardboard aside, revealing a round hole cut into the floor. Either the hole had not been there before, or it had been carefully concealed. In either event I had not noticed it. It was about eight inches in diameter and approximately twelve inches deep. My knees buckled under my load as I mentally pieced together his plan. Master took the chain attached to my collar and pulled it from the satchel.

At the other end of what seemed to be about a fifteen feet chain, there was a small, iron anchor. The anchor was roughly the size of the hole. His intentions were clear. He placed the anchor into the hole and instructed me to pour the liquid cement in to cover it. I poured, shaking as I did. I stood and watched as he smoothed the cement, removing the excess with a trowel. He placed a small metal frame over the hole which would hold the attached chain up off of the cement until it dryed, and directed me to follow him. I did, swinging the short chain from my balls, and dragging the long length of chain from my neck. We walked over to the corner which held the cage.

I was obviously going to spend some time in the cage, a thought which sent pulses through my throbbing dick. How much more adrenilized could I become???

We walked to the corner that held the cage. Master carefully led me with the chain that was attached to my collar, making sure not to pull against the still wet cement. I noticed when I stepped into it that the cage was slightler larger than I had previosly assessed it to be. There would be room for me to sit upright in it.

The top was opened and temporarily secured with a small hook against the wall. Master turned me facing the corner and had me bend over with my legs spread apart. He squirted more of the cold lubricant up my ass, then told me to sit in the corner with my back toward the wall. It was then that I noticed something that had not been there before, a LARGE dildo, bolted into the floor, out from the corner about 8 inches.

It was dark in color, perhaps made of rubber or plastic - I couldn’t tell. Master was patient and I took my time. I knelt facing it at first, getting a good close look at it. It was between 6 and 8 inches in length, pointed then tapered out toward the bottom to a narrow spot around which my asshold would tighten, essentially attaching me to the floor by the ass! Now I knew why Master had put so much lubricant in me. I’m no virgin, but it took some time for me to get the thing completely in me. Master gave me no instructions except to “sit on it”, so I squatted, held onto the upper edge of the cage and slowly lowered myself onto the dildo, gradually moving my feet forward as I took in more and more of it. I had to raise up and try again several times before I could get my asshole to relax sufficiently.

Eventually my ass did relax, sucked in the monster, and closed down gratefully around the narrow section near the floor, effectively attaching me immovably to the floor. I lowered my hands and leaned back again the corner wall. It was very cold to my back. I wiggled slightly, feeling the fullness of the object within me, and realizing that I couldn’t move my torso in any direction.

I was held fast to the floor. Before I had much time to think about it, Master took my feet, spread them apart, and placed them into iron stocks. The implement consisted of two metal bands with curved sections at either end that, when closed together, formed ankle cuffs. The device screwed together at three places, by each ankle, and in the center.

Each of the screws was topped with an eye hook. Master then connected a short length of chain from each eye hook to the short chain hanging from my balls, pulling my feet back away from the bars of the cage and forcing my knees into the air and apart! This forced my back against the corner. Master then pulled two straps from behind me and used them to attach my upper body to the wall; at my waist, and at my chest. He then adjusted my collar so that the attached chain was in front, and using the D- rings on either side of my collar, he attached the back of my neck to the wall.

At the outside upper corner of the cage there was a narrow slot, just big enough to hold one link of the chain. He stretched the chain out from me until it was straight, then secured it into the slot. This would keep me from pulling on the chain and disturbing the still drying cement. Instructing me to keep my hands out of the way, he reached down between my legs and grabbed my cock…finally, I thought, he going to do something with my dick, but what? Holding my dick in one hand, he pulled a plastic sleeve onto it, securing it with a strap that went under my balls.

He used medical tape to tighten the device around my dick, especially near the head. I could still get hard, but not completely. On the end there was a small nipple to which Master attached a long piece of tubing. The tubing was long enough to reach across the room and empty into the basin drain.

I doubted that I would ever be soft enough to piss, but in case I needed to, I could. Another piece of tubing, slightly larger, was place near my mouth and taped into place. It led to a gallon jug of water just outside the cage. I would be watered and could piss all I needed to. Master obviously intended for me to be here a while! Only my hands needed to be secured. “Raise them up and place them against the wall,” he instructed, showing me where to put them. He slowly lowered the top of the cage and I could see two cut out areas along the edge, just the size of my wrists. The top of the cage barely grazed the top of my head as it closed down into place, securely locking my hands against the back walls about 8 inches away from my neck on either side.

For one last touch, Master connected a chain from the iron leg stocks to the outside corner of the cage, pulling my feet forward as far as they would go and slightly stretching my balls. My knees were free - but not for long - Master tied a bungee cord loosely around each knee and pulled them apart, securing them to the bars of the cage.

I could stretch my legs slightly for a little exercise, but they were always quickly pulled back by the bungee cord. He left the light on in the center of the room. I could only sit still, impaled by the dildo, strapped helplessly to the inside of an iron cage, and await his return. Master did one last check of all my bindings, checking for circulation.

I would obviously be there for a while. He reached down and fiendlishly pulled at my tits, mashing them between his fingers and twirling them relentlessly. My cock strained in its plastic sheath bondage. My asshole tightened around the dildo.

My balls pulled hopelessly at their iron bondage. My feet cramped, but when I wiggled them for relief, the chains pulled at my balls. I could only look straight ahead and watch the cement dry - obviously Master’s plan for my next few hours. He left the dungeon, closed the heavy door behind him. I heard the massive lock click, and faintly, his booted steps as he walked away.

My ass longed to rid itself of the monster. My hands, hanging helplessly began to ache. My balls were stretched and sore. Any slight movement I made pulled on the chains connected to them. My feet and legs cramped from being held rigid in one position for so long. My entire body went from uncomfortable, to sore, then to painful…pain that was unendurable, and yet I had to endure it! There were no choices for me any longer.

Master would decide how much pain I could take, and just what I could and WOULD endure! I lost conscientiousness several times. Each time I roused from pain-induced stupor,

I wished to be unconscious again. I wished most of all for Master to return and to release me from this cage. I knew full well that release from this current horror would only be replaced by some other horror. This was what I had longed for all my life - total slavery - permanent bondage. Whether or not I could “take it” mattered not in the least. I would endure it. I had signed the contract. I no longer had choices, and I had to learn to quit wishing and hoping. I would simply endure. This was my fate. To even mentally question this was futile.

This monster up my butt was there to teach me about futility, about hopelessness. The iron encircling my ankles and my balls were my new teachers. The collar around my neck was my guru, leading me to acceptance of the fact that I was now the property of another. My attachment to Master’s dungeon was permanent. I was now a part of the dungeon, cemented to its floor. I have no idea how much time passed before Master’s return. The water jug was empty. The cement was long dry. I had watched it turn color, from dark when wet, to a powdery white when dry.

The door opened. He paid me no attention initially and went to the center of the room to check the cement, removing the frame which held the chain and pulling with all his weight against the floor. He knew it was dry and that the chain was secure. This show was for my benefit. My dick sprang into action and labored against its bondage as I watched him. He walked slowly over toward me, looking at me without emotion. After standing and staring for a moment, he unlocked the top of the cage which released my hands. I couldn’t move them at first, then slowly, painfully, I lowered them to rest on my knees. I dare not touch anything else for fear of being punished - as if I were not ALREADY in pain. He released the iron from my ankles and disconnected the chains from the iron ball ring which he left in place.

The chest and waist straps were removed. “Get up,” he said, knowing that I could not without assistance. He placed his arms under mine and pulled me up off of the dildo. My ass stretched painfully as it came past the wide point of the monster. “Unscrew the dildo,” he added after I was fully standing. I thought I was rid of the monster, but apparently wherever I was going, it was coming with me. I knelt on sore knees and unscrewed the thing from the floor. I stood with Master’s help and stepped painfully out of the cage, wondering when I would visit it again.

We walked over to the wash basin where he made me stand still so that he could remove the penis sheath and the iron ball ring. I stood naked except for my collar. I leaned backward slightly to counter the pull of the heavy chain. He motioned me into the basin, and directed me to clean the dildo, and then to lay it aside on a shelf to dry. After several enemas, he washed me all over with soap and left me standing to dry. I liked very much the feeling of being completely naked except for my collar. After I was mostly dry, Master cuffed my hands behind me, then placed the dildo in my hands.

I was to keep it with me. I was then led me a small metal bowl on the floor near the door. I was apparently going to be fed. I was hungry. I knelt down and ate the tasteless, cereal-like mush ravenously. It was difficult to keep my balance, struggling on sore knees and balancing the dildo behind me, but I managed to eat all of the mush. I then drank some water from another bowl. Such was breakfast, or lunch, or dinner or whatever it was. I no longer had a sense of time. We headed back over toward the cage. My heart sank. I had had enough of the cage for a while. The neck chain pulled at me as I walked. Master lifted the chain to assist me. We passed the cage and stopped at the impaler, a simple metal rod rising from the floor.

My mind raced with joy and fear! I tried not to tremble as Master released my cuffed hands. I brought my hands and the dildo around to the front of me. Master instructed me to mount the dildo onto the metal rod. There was a screw fitting to accommodate it! He then had me bend over and, sticking the squirt gun up my ass, filled me with the lubricant. I knew what was coming.

Turning me around, he backed me toward the wall until I was standing over the dildo aimed at my ass. He reached over into the cage, retrieved the iron ankle stocks I had worn before, and screwed them into place around my ankles. Spreading my legs apart brought my ass downward. The dildo barely grazed my asshole. Next he put the locking ball ring back around my still aching balls. Should I complain? Should I ask for mercy? I dared not speak - it might make things worse!

My job was to comply willingly and to respect Master’s plan, whatever it might mean for me. After recuffing my hands behind me, he put the plastic pissing sheath back on my struggling dick. I enjoyed his touching my dick and longed for more, but Master had a plan for it I was sure! For now, I must be content to suffer bondage. He hung a light weight metal pail from my bound balls.

There was enough room between my spread-apart legs for the pail to swing to and fro. He then ran the piss tube into the bucket and taped it into place. My own piss would fill the bucket and lightweight would turn to very heavy. He put ear plugs into my ears and onto my head he placed a leather hood with no eye holes, only nostril ventilation and a hole for the water tube to be taped into place in my mouth. The hood laced up the back of my head, and around my neck. It felt good. He ran his hands lightly over my arms, checking for circulation, I guess. He cupped and fondled my balls and rechecked the penis tubing.

Then there was a long pause. I could not tell if he had walked away, or was standing near me. And then I felt his hands on my shoulders. He gently pushed me down onto the waiting monster. I sat down, slowly consuming its hugeness, pushing, stretching, until my asshole found the narrow spot and I was stuck. He then loosened the rod so that it could be raised, and pushed me up with it until I was barely standing on my heels. I was impaled, stretched upward by the ass. I could only stand there helpless, and drink water, and piss, and fill the bucket. How long would he leave me in this state? What difference did it make? There would only be some other fiendish bondage situation to follow, then another, then another…for the rest of my life!

Countless days and nights went by. I was no longer aware of time. My only focus was on my bondage which was never-ending. When the piss bucket hanging from my tender balls was full and dripping onto the floor, splashing onto my legs, Master came in, emptied it, and hung it there again to be refilled. I don’t know how many times I filled the bucket - several.

Then, suddenly, it was over. The bucket was emptied and not replaced. The impaler was lowered and me with it. I was pulled up off of it, my legs, hands, head, and balls released from their prisons, and led over to the corner wash basin. The slight stubble that had collected all over me was my only clue to time passed; around a week I judged. I don’t know what in me encouraged me to try to keep up with time. Why? There was no time for me in the traditional sense. T

his was obviously his plan, to obscure my sense of time. It was working. But meanwhile I would hang on to this only clue - the stubble of hair. It was a simple thing, but somehow I needed the connection with time reality. Otherwise I imagined that I would be insane. And maybe I already was? In my former life I had been a stickler for keeping to the schedule. I never missed a deadline in my 12 years as a journalist. The schedule was, I began to realize now, my former Master. I had simply exchanged one for the other.

“This is a one time offer.” He says learning back against the wall. “I don’t expect you to say yes. In fact, any sane man would walk away.”

I stare at his bare chest, framed by the simple straps that go around his shoulders and right above his biceps, and then down to where they clip to those leather pants. He’s both gorgeous and bad-boy dangerous looking at the same time.

This is the forth time I’ve seen him around here, this uncrowded corner of the park that borders the parking garage. The first two times I was out running, taking a shortcut through the park along the neglected path. I’ll admit the third time I was pretending to be out running, but I was really rubbernecking, curious if I would see him out here again. It’s not too far from my apartment, and there was something beguiling about him. We had definitely made eye contact that third time, and he had just stared at me, with an inviting look. I almost walked up to him then—I’d stopped running and took a couple steps in his direction, but then I chickened out, lamely pretending to check my watch as though I’d just remembered I had to be somewhere.

The sun set a while ago, and it’s just barely still twilight. The park is supposed to be closed now, and nobody’s around. This time I hadn’t been looking for him; I was heading out for some Chinese food around the corner and was taking the shortcut, and here he is. This time I’d walked up to him and said “hey” and we’d struck up a conversation. I felt lame telling him I loved his outfit, rambling a little bit about how I was too shy and unadventurous to get into any of that, and besides, I didn’t know anybody else. I even apologized for staring at him the other times and immediately regretted it since it was just proving what I dweeb I was.

He’d smiled at me. It wasn’t a smile of pity, thank God. It was something else that made my heart race a bit. “You know, it’s really a pity. There’s something I think you really want—you’re yearning for it—but it’s so far outside of who you are, you’ll never break through on your own.” I can’t keep eye contact. I look at the ground, at his huge leather boots. I feel so small.

And that’s when he surprised me with this talk of a one-time offer, the one that ‘any sane man’ would refuse. “If you say no, you won’t see me ever again. I won’t be coming back to this park in the future.”

“So what’s the offer?” I ask.

“Take your shirt off first.”

“Why?”

“Because I asked. If you’re too scared to do even that then…”

“No, fine.” I yank my t-shirt off and throw it on the ground next to me. I’m so unaccustomed to being shirtless in public. I was never that kind of guy who would go shirtless, even if playing soccer with friends on a hot day.

“Nice.” He says, looking me over. It makes me feel naked and vulnerable, but at the same time I love it. He pulls something out of his pocket and tosses it over to me. Clumsily I manage to catch it. It’s an amber glass bottle with a measured nasal spray pump on the top. He explains, “Here’s the deal, you inhale this. Twice in each nostril. Left-right-left-right, like that.”

“What, does it get me high?” I guess.

“It knocks you out.”

“What!?”

He shrugs, “It’ll knock you out cold. Don’t worry, I’ll catch you before you fall over.”

“And then what?”

“You won’t know. That’s the fun part: you’ll be putting yourself completely in my hands. You could wake up to absolutely anything.”

“That’s crazy!”

“I told you any sane man would walk away.”

Here is one of my favorite stories:

Mansion by the Lake My new lakeside property was a small cottage – nothing too beer commercial-ish, but it would serve for weekends of partying and enjoying some time away from the city. I was lucky in that the lake was small and there were no powerboats on it. Most of the land on the lake, as well as the surrounding area was all crown land, so I didn’t worry much about trespassers or anyone else for that matter. The road in was a long dirt road that took almost 30 minutes of driving before it even hit one of the main back roads. My only neighbor was all the way across the lake, albeit in a rather sizable mansion that towered over the northern view of the water. I had spent the first few months fixing up the place – it was old and mouldy but with a few weeks worth of work looked almost brand new.

It was about the start of June, when we had one of our usual Northern-Ontario heavy rainstorms. It started with huge gusts of wind, and was followed by a night of spectacular rain, thunder and lightning. The power went off relatively early, so I spent most of the night watching the thunder from my porch before I got cold and went to bed. I loved the sound of the rain rattling on the roof, and the thunder from inside my warm blankets.

Waking up in the morning, however, it became clear that the rain had been more fierce than I thought – there were branches and leaves everywhere – clearly the trees had gotten quite the shake. The power was still out, and taking a walk up the road, I could see that the power lines had been absolutely felled by several trees which had been completely knocked over. The was no way to drive over them either, and it would be several solid hours of walking before I would see another vehicle, let alone be in cell phone range.

Then I thought of my neighbor, his house used a separate road, and he might still have power. At the very least he might have a chainsaw that I could use to cut the logs off the road. I took a walk all the way around the property to his side of the lake. As I got closer I saw repeated “no trespassing” signs all over the property. A few hundred meters out, when the property opened up into a clearing, the huge looming mansion came into view. There was a van parked out front as well as a truck, so I could only assume that the owner was home, but the lights were all dark. Even worse, a large barbed wire fence surrounded the area. A sign on it read that it was electrified.

I followed the fence to the front gate and saw that there was a large intercom. I tried hitting the buzzer but no sound came out of it. I thought perhaps his power was off so I tried touching the gate. No effect!

Suddenly, I heard a strange moan come from the direction of the house. I looked around and saw a dark figure come stumbling out of the front door. It seemed to be hugging itself and walking in a stilted fashion.

“Hello?”, I shouted.

Another moan responded, and as the figure came closer I could see that he was dressed head to toe in black rubber. He appeared to be in a black rubber straitjacket, and a muzzle covered his face. He “ran” directly up to the gate and did a strange little dance.

“Are you ok?”, I asked.

He shook his head, no.

“Do you need help?”

He nodded.

I opened the gate, and he sped out of there, past me, down the road, back towards my place. I caught up with him and slowed him down. I tried to unbuckle the muzzle but found that it was actually locked on! From the looks of it… all the rubber gear he was wearing was held in place with a lock. I struggled to see if I could open it, but to no avail.

“Its locked – are there keys inside?”

He shook his head violently. I could see panic in the eyes, this guy really wanted out.

“Ok… I might have some tools back at my place, are you ok to go in there?”

The rubber guy nodded quickly.

I brought him into the cottage and quickly shut the door behind me. I took a brief look outside but no one seemed to be around. I guided my guest to a chair and sat him down. I put a reassuring hand on his shoulder, and said: “I’ll be back in a minute.”

The second my hand touched the rubber I noticed how smooth it felt and I suddenly was aware of the odor of latex just steaming off of the poor guy. I quickly snapped back into reality, realizing that I had been gently stroking his shoulder, taking in the texture, and that he was probably terribly frightened already. Being in such a vulnerable position, he probably would not appreciate it in the slightest.

“You’re going to be OK,” I said reassuringly, hoping that would ease him a bit.

I pushed other thoughts aside and ran down to the basement to find some tools. I opened up the toolbox and immediately found a pair of scissors, I held them for a second and then thought that maybe he wouldn’t want me cutting him out of that outfit, but rather would want me to get the locks off. No way would I be able to pick it, but I did have a set of bolt cutters that would work. I grabbed them from the wall and ran upstairs.

“Hold still a second, bud,” I said. “I’ll have you out of there in a jiffy!”

I first clipped the lock holding his muzzle on, and unstrapped it from his face. I then unbuckled the ball gag underneath.

“Thanks so much!” he blurted out. “Please… get me out of this thing!”

“Ok… no problem, I’m working on it.”

I hastily clipped the rest of the locks running down the straitjacket, the ankle restraints, and the harness that I discovered he was wearing underneath it all. I piled it all on the table next to me. My guest stood up and stretched, the tight rubber creaking all around him. He pulled the mask off and I could see that he was no older than I was, maybe about 27 or 28.

“Please get the zipper in the back,” He said, and I unzipped the suit. He pulled his shoulders and arms out, sweat spilling out onto the floor. He must have been in there for some time. Gloves, boots, even rubber toed socks came off and were piled together. He stood before me naked, drenched in sweat.

“Thank you… I thought I’d never get out of there,” he sighed, sounding quite relieved. “My name is Matt.”

“Ok Matt, I’m Ryan,” I held my hand out and we shook. “Have a seat, I’ll get you a towel and some clothes. There’s a shower in the bathroom if you like.” I came back a moment later with a towel and a set of jeans and a t-shirt.

“Again, thanks. Do you have a phone?”

I shook my head, no. “The storm took out the phone and cable. I was without power until this morning.”

“Shit,” he muttered. “I’ve been pretty incommunicado for the last month. I imagine there are some people pretty worried about me.”

“Oh?” I was burning with curiosity already, but didn’t want to push. “Is everything ok, I mean… well this just isn’t a usual way of meeting people. Do you live down the lake?”

Matt wrapped the towel around his waist. “I’m fine – really. I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I can give you a ride into town after you shower up, we’ll have to wait until the county guys get here to clear the road, I’m afraid. There’s some fallen trees blocking it.”

Matt nodded carefully, taking a look out of a nearby window. “That would be great. Sorry if I seem a bit sketchy.”

“No problem. Those clothes should fit you just fine – you look like you’re pretty much the same size as me. They’re just old clothes for kicking around in so it’s really no problem.”

I put the pot on for coffee and then saw him to the bathroom. He closed the door and the shower started running. Where did this guy come from? Obviously he was up to some kind of bondage thing in that outfit, and he seemed a bit embarrassed. He really didn’t need to – I had seen pictures like that on the Internet and was highly curious about it. He did also seem a bit scared, and that only served to deepen my curiosity. I had never even seen my neighbor and this guy didn’t seem to live on the lake. This raised the question if maybe another person was back at the house, also in some kind of trouble.

I walked into the kitchen and poured myself a cup of joe. Sipping at it I returned to the table and saw the pile of black, slimy rubber lying flaccidly on the table. I grabbed the suit and shook it out a bit. As the suit made a low rumbling noise, almost a little like thunder. Sweat dripped out of the legs and dribbled onto my shoe. The scent of sweat and latex together was overwhelming, slightly sickly but inviting and familiar. I could feel an erection forming. I slid my hand into the armpit of the suit just letting it glide a little bit into the arm. Lubed with sweat I could feel the now cold, smooth rubber gripping around my hand and forearm, I felt as if I could just slide right in, it was practically sucking me right in –

I heard a cough from nearby and saw Matt standing there. He was freshened up considerably and now dressed in normal clothes. He had a bit of a smirk on his face. I turned a bit red and tried to pull my arm out quickly as I lay the suit back on the table. Half of it flopped down but it was obviously stuck to my forearm.

“I made coffee,” I said quite feebly, obviously embarrassed.

Matt chuckled a little. “It’s ok. I get it.”

He walked into the kitchen and found the coffee pot and mug that I had set out for him. He poured himself a cup. He took a sip. “Are you into rubber?”

“Well… I mean I’ve seen photos on the Internet,” I waffled, not sure what to say.

“What sort of photos?” he grinned.

“Photos of men looking pretty much like you did about five minutes ago,” I blushed. “Some of the heavier ones where they looked like the gimp in Pulp Fiction, I always wondered what it was like to be that guy.“

“Have you ever done anything with it?” Matt casually sipped at his coffee.

I thought about it for a second. I had spent a fair bit of time perusing some fetish sites on some lonely nights, but never really thought seriously about it. “Well I guess that I thought that it was something that weird people did. Dangerous people. I wasn’t ready to find out the hard way that I couldn’t trust them.”

“Understandable…. Believe me… completely understandable,” he smiled an odd smile, and sat down at the table, looking casually out the window, across the lake to my neighbor’s house. “You can try that stuff on if you like.”

I pulled my hand out quickly and it felt cold in the open air. “I couldn’t really…”

“Why not?” he frowned, as if I said something completely absurd. “Listen man, you can have it. All of it. I’m not going to put it on again.”

I should have sensed something was wrong, but my ears were hot and just hearing the idea of being inside the suit made me instantly rock hard. My cock was begging to be let out of my jeans. Seeing Matt wearing my jeans and a t-shirt, the same muscular build, the same height, he was obviously my size, I would have no problem fitting into the rubber. I thought about how he looked when I first laid eyes on him, embodying a fantasy that I barely knew I had. Now the idea was just burning a hole right through me.

Matt must have been reading my mind. “Look, we’re obviously the same size. Just go for it, I’ll help you out. “

I hesitated for a second, but before I could stop myself I was peeling off my shirt. “So… what is your story anyway? How did you end up here?’

Matt took another glance across the lake. For a split second I thought I saw someone walking on the property, but I wasn’t sure. Matt didn’t seem concerned.

“Well, I work at a bar in Toronto, I’m going to school part time. Pretty regular sort of life really… as you might have guessed I also had an interest in fetish and bondage. Just like you, I read about it on the internet and became a little obsessed. Mostly just obsessed with looking at pictures and reading stories.”

I peeled off my underwear, revealing my hard cock dripping with precum and picked up the suit. Matt stood up picking something up off the table. “You should really put on the cock sheath. Trust me, your cock feels better in the suit surrounded by another layer of rubber. Here, I’ll help you out.”

The rubber sheath slid right over my package and tightened like a cock ring at the base. I bobbed my cock up and down once, and felt it grow inside. The rubber confines stretched around my member, looking sleek and black. Matt then picked up the suit, shook it back out into shape and held it open before me.

“Climb on in!” He chirped with a smile. I put one foot in, and then the other. Matt pulled it up around me, and it could feel the perfect fit sliding up my legs. An electric tingle ran up my body as it hugged me tight. “…so anyway… I actually lurked on a couple of the sites for a long time. I didn’t post a photo for almost a year, and when I did I immediately got tons of hits.”

“I don’t blame them. You’re pretty cute.”

“Heh thanks. You’re not bad yourself, man,” Matt said as he tugged the rubber up onto my hips. “There really isn’t much of a rubber community in Toronto – from the internet it seems like it’s all in other countries. I really sold myself on the idea that I wanted to try experiencing a true, inescapable session of total rubber enclosure and slavery, at least for a little while. Really, finding sane people into that kind of thing is really hard.”

I slid my arms into the sleeves and pushed forward. The rubber came up onto my shoulders and greased with sweat started clinging to my chest. Matt zipped up the back and the entire suit seemed to tighten around my back, shoulders and neck. I moved around a bit, my skin feeling more alive than I had ever known it. I felt ready to come right through the suit and knock a wall down with the force of it.

“This is awesome!”

“I know!” Matt laughed. I started feeling myself all over. “Have a seat!”

I sat down and Matt picked the socks off the table. “Trust me, it’s better when it’s all over you. If you like that – you’re gonna love this.”

Matt started working the rubber socks onto my feet. He then slid the boots on. They took a minute to lace up as they ran practically up my entire shin. An ankle restraint was then buckled on overtop. I stood up, walking around, feeling it move on my body.

“Anyway, so I finally talked to this one guy online. Sounds like he’s a dedicated rubberist. He definitely had a ton of gear in his photos. Sounded pretty sane and definitely wanted to get into a lot of the same stuff that I was into. So I arranged a time and place to meet – local bar, nothing fancy.”

Matt worked up the tight elbow length gloves onto my arms and buckled the wrist restraints on. He picked up the harness: “You want to try this?”

Thinking of the many photos I’d seen of rubber gimps that were clad in a similar harness how could I say no? I wasn’t locked in after all. I nodded my head. He started strapping it on me.

“Awesome. Man, this looks great on you, I think even better than it looked on me,” Matt said, admiring his handiwork. “So I met this guy, and turned out to be pretty down to earth, used to be a doctor, now he just plays the stocks all the time – never loses. We met at a hotel a couple of times and he let me experiment with different types of gear, seemed really enthusiastic, and I’ll admit he pushed my limits in the best way possible.”

“Sounds great! Where do I find this guy?” I joked. Matt pulled the mask from the table, and without asking stepped behind me and pulled it over my head. The feeling of it tightening around my face was indescribable. I felt my identity slip away. “I have got to see a mirror.”

“One second, you need a finishing touch,” Matt grabbed the collar from the table and buckled it onto my neck. I felt instantly more submissive, like a rubbered thing. I walked to a mirrior hanging in the doorway and was surprised at the black alien figure staring back at me. I thought I couldn’t get any hornier, but my cock just seemed to grow harder and harder. I had become that rubber gimp I always fantasized about. Well, sort of… no one was tying me up in this gear.

“You look great, really great,” Matt exclaimed. Even he seemed excited. I was running my rubbered hands all over my body. I couldn’t believe the sensation. I wandered back by the table. A few stray pieces of gear still lay on the table, one of them quite formidable. I took a cautious breath.

“Oh, the straitjacket,” Matt nodded. He picked up and held it up. “Maybe you don’t want to get into that. It’s a bit much all at once. You can kind of get into a bit of a frenzy where you just want everything on you at once.”

“I’ll say!”, I laughed.

Matt took another glance out the window. “What the heck right? It’s not like I’m going to go anywhere on you. You said yourself the road is blocked.”

I shrugged, thinking far too much with my pecker and not thinking for a second about the dangerous territory I was skirting. I held my arms out and he draped the straight jacket over them. He moved around the back and zipped up the rear of the jacket, and started pulling buckles on the back tight.

“Where was I? Oh yeah… so finally we meet one weekend and he gets me totally rubbered up, head to toe, pretty much like you are now. This was the usual for us by this point. Only instead of going to the hotel, we decided to go to his house, as it had his entire and extremely sizable gear collection.”

Matt pulled my arms across my body, buckling them in place. A strap come over the front providing them no movement. A crotch strap tightened on my inner thighs and there was no way I could get out of this jacket on my own. My temperature seemed to skyrocket and I could feel my own sweat filling the suit. I tried to move but all I felt was rubber grinding on rubber. I was positively elated.

“So we get up there and he leads me down to his basement, it’s a dungeon. I mean a real dungeon. If there’s a weird bondage contraption you’ve seen online – he’s got it. Most importantly it’s got a real cell and the door opens only with a key code that he knows, some kind of electric, digital lock gizmo. I was totally excited for a real bondage session with this guy; I’d been having such a great time. Then he starts talking about control, and taking total control over me, making me a 24/7 rubber slave, at least eventually. I don’t mean starting slow and working up to 24/7 – I mean he wanted to start at 24/7 but I was supposed to be less than a slave – that was what he wanted me to work up to.”

Suddenly I started coming back to reality. Why did I feel like his story was taking a turn for the worst? “Matt, why don’t I like where this is going?”

Matt led me to the couch, carrying the rest of the gear with him. He sat me down.

“Well, for starters…” He pinched my nose unexpectedly, but instinctually I opened my mouth. He shoved the red rubber ball gag in and buckled it behind my head. I tried pushing it out with my tongue but to no avail. I tried to sit up but Matt sat on my lap, pinning me. He slipped the muzzle over my head and quickly strapped it all on tightly. I shook my head side to side screaming into the gag, but it was obvious that the sound was far too muffled, and we were far too isolated. Matt grabbed my chin and held it still.

“Shhhhhh… You see I didn’t want to be a 24/7 anything except being a student. It was way too much, but he never even gave me the opportunity to say ‘no’. I was his rubber THING for over a month, held in that dungeon. Oh, there was some horny times, yeah, but I wanted my life back. I had almost given up hope on the idea when the power went out. He must have been asleep when it happened. I think some kind of safety feature opened up the electronic locks and I was able to walk right out the door – and into your arms. This is the first time I’ve worn anything but rubber in all that time. Oh, and since you asked where you could find this guy – well, he’s looking in the window right now!” Startled, I looked behind me to the window out to the deck and saw a tall, muscular, bald man, probably in his late forties. He was dressed like a biker but all in rubber, aviator sunglasses hiding his eyes. His face was cold and expressionless. Matt pulled me up to my feet.

“Boy,” the man’s voice was deep and commanding. I got an instant chill. “Did you really think you’d get away?”

Matt stood his ground. “Sir – I’m done. I don’t want this anymore. It was dumb luck that I got away and you won’t get me that easily again without a real fight. I’m not stupid – I won’t go telling anyone about this. I just want to go home and go back to my life. I’ll call it a fun misadventure.”

“You think it’s just that easy, Boy?” the man snarled.

“Maybe not. Maybe I’ll want to come back to you. I doubt it. I’ve had enough,” Matt’s voice trembled. He too was genuinely afraid. Me… I was shaking. “I’ve found a replacement though. He’s hungry for it – more than I was, I think. I’ll give him to you and that makes me an accomplice. Then we’re both happy. You know I can’t turn you in, and I can leave.”

I started shrieking hysterically inside my rubber prison. I tried to make a break for it, running past the rubber man as he stepped into my cottage. He snapped an arm out and caught me by the neck. His other hand went directly to my cock and he gripped my still hard member.

“Mmmm,” he growled. “He’s horny. Very horny.”

“You see?” Matt pleaded. “He’s perfect, Sir. Take him with you – he can be your new slave or whatever the fuck it is you want. I’m going to take a long walk into town, and catch a bus back to Toronto. You’ll have your hands full starting your…. Training all over again.”

The man sniffed me like the bouquet of a fine wine. “Ok boy. You have a deal. Don’t think I won’t come looking for you eventually. We have unfinished business.”

The man pulled a leash out of his pocket and clipped it to my collar. He started pulling me out the door, and down the road to his house. “Alright boy, I guess it’s you and me now. You and I are going to have to work very hard over the next couple of days sorting a few things out.”

I pulled as best I could but I had no leverage at all. What was even worse was that a part of me I think really wanted to go with him. Either way, I was about to find out the rubber horrors that lay beyond the dark windows of that mansion by the lake.

I was practically dragged by the neck all the way down the road. Completely unable even to look back to see the safety of my home quickly falling away from me, nor able to see the treacherous man that I tried to help, I could only focus instead on the house quickly looming over me. The windows of the house seemed black and empty, hungry even and I was utterly panicked but unable to fight in any way at all.

As we entered the front gate, my captor paused for a moment to shut the gate and flipped a switch. There was a humming noise and I could only assume that the fence was now electrified. Presumably it had been knocked out by the same storm that had affected the power at my cottage earlier. Even if I was able to get out of my rubber prison, there was at least one more obstacle that I would have to plan to get past.

We entered through the front door, and I only had a few seconds to notice the opulence of the interior – clearly my captor was a man of considerable means given the nature of the interior décor. It was a very classical design, riddled with antiques and art – somewhere beyond the scent of rubber I could smell the distinct odor of fine cigars and mahogany. All this was moot however as we raced through the first floor directly to a large metal door opening to a cellar. My captor punched in an elaborate code into a keypad on the door, and it unlocked with a heavy click. There followed another such door at a vestibule before entering the rest of the basement.

There were only a few rooms with the doors open where I could make out what was inside. One was a carefully-marked equipment room, in which I could make out several devices of torture, as well as rubber and leather clothing, gas masks and boots. Another was a gym of some kind although I didn’t recognize all of the equipment. The man was huge however, and it wouldn’t surprise me if he had a very particular regimen. We stopped at a door that opened into what could only be described as a cell. Inside were only a steel toilet, a steel sink, and a bench with a mattress, which also had a rubber mattress cover on it. I was sat down and my collar was clipped to a hook on the wall.

“Stay right here, boy,” the man said, and walked quickly out of the room.

I could hear him shuffling with something down the hall so I immediately started thrashing about trying to release myself. It was to no avail. The straitjacket provided me with absolutely no leverage at all, and the best that I could do was feel my rubbered arms sliding about in the smooth interior. There was no way to generate enough force or violence to be able to escape. I was completely trapped inside. I gave up and sat back panting for a few minutes before he returned carrying a box with several items inside.

He first dumped several padlocks out onto the bench beside me and locked the restraints on my legs before locking them together. Another lock was attached to my collar.

“You are not going to be able to walk anywhere in a hurry and your collar is locked to the wall,” my captor said. “I am going to take off your straitjacket; if you make any trouble you will regret it very quickly. Nod if you understand.”

I nodded. This man wasn’t going to take any chances and I would have to wait until later for a slip-up. He reached forward and unbuckled the straitjacket. He then applied locks to each of the buckles on my harness. My wrist restraints were removed but quickly replaced with a pair of rubber mitts rendering my hands completely useless. They too, were then locked together. He lit a cigar and stood before me, admiring his work.

“Alright boy, when you earn the right to speak, you will call me ‘Master’ or ‘Sir’”, he commanded. “I will call you whatever the fuck I want. As you may have guessed, yes, I kept your friend Matt here for some time. He might have told you it was against his will but I can assure you that he enjoyed it far too much for it to be involuntary. From the size of your hard-on I can only assume that you are much the same.

Number one, I have fixed the fail-safe in my backup generator, so even if the power is out, the doors will remain locked. They will not open automatically as before. The electric fence outside will remain electrified. Furthermore…”

“Master” removed a remote control from his pocket and pressed a button. An intense searing shock came from my collar and I was instantly immobilized. I screamed quickly but the cry was severely muffled by my gag and muzzle.

“I carry this with me at all times. Now that the power is back up on the fence you will be unable to walk more than 25 meters beyond without it triggering automatically. I have it set currently to the medium setting; however, walking outside the perimeter will automatically trigger it at the highest.

Obviously, I have quite the obsession with rubber. I have always wanted to have the ultimate rubber companion and have for years thought about the training and conditioning that I wanted it to have. I had already started an aggressive program with Matt, but he managed to escape before it took hold, thanks to nothing more than a simple power failure. I have already taken steps to ensure that it won’t happen again.

You might be able to escape from your restraints down here, but before you even reach the upstairs, you will be unable to make it past the electric locks on the doors. Do not think that I don’t want to have you upstairs with me – there is much that I want you to do up there, but for now this will be your world.

Right now you are only to be an object of pure rubbered physicality. Your body is mine to use and shape as I see fit. You are a pure Gimp for nothing more than my enjoyment and your training. As I see eagerness and obedience grow in you, I will start small, and eventually you will be in a position to start obeying more complex desires, in which case I will start training you as my Puppy. If you can learn the kind of devotion and obedience that I expect of a dog successfully then I may teach you how to be a Slave worthy of serving my needs, yet worthy of some greater levels of autonomy and expression, a chance to have some of yourself back. If you can earn those privileges you will eventually become my Boy, hopefully a rubber man who has finally realized all that I can teach and give him, and completely willing to continue to submit to my authority. I guarantee with each of these titles that you earn, you will find yourself glowing with pride.

But I’m getting ahead of myself. I am speaking of your achievements possibly years down the line and you have only been here a few minutes. I’m sure that right now you are terrified and alone – and rightly so, this is an incredibly fearsome first step you have taken and not of your own will. I have some further preparations to make, so there is no time like the present to begin your conditioning. Come with me…”

He clipped a leash to my neck and unclipped me from the wall. We shuffled down the hall to a room full of different racks, elaborate chairs, slings, and crosses. I was sat down into a fearsome leather barber’s chair covered in straps. The D-rings on my collar, harness and restraints were all clipped in place and additional restraints added on. All the while my mind was racing – he intended me to stay here for years – forever really from the sounds of things, and indulge in some perverse education of his? I wanted to cry, I had never felt so helpless before.

“Now, I am going to get a look at my plaything. Don’t even try to speak or I will activate the collar.”

Master removed the muzzle, gag and mask. My head was dripping with sweat, it ran down my face and into my eyes. Master dried my head with a towel.

“Excellent. A fair trade for Matt if I may say so. You are a good looking boy, and I must say that rubber really does become you. Good thing, as it is all you are going to be wearing for some time. Matt had been wearing almost nothing but, for over a month – you should expect much longer before your skin is allowed to touch anything else.”

Master ran his hand through my hair, frowning.

“This hair is far too long, though, and not something that you have earned. It will have to go.”

From nearby, master pulled a set of clippers and without hesitation set to buzzing all of the hair from my head, long locks of it falling pathetically into my lap. These were quickly brushed aside and he swept up. He then held up a mirror for me to see. looked up I was shaved completely bald. I could hardly recognize myself at all. For a second I thought that someone else was looking back. He was right though, seeing myself bound completely in rubber my horniness came back with a vengeance. I’ll admit, I’d fantasized about similar scenarios, but the reality of it was utterly terrifying. I blamed it on blind nervous energy. I’d heard before about soldiers that experienced erections during battle for the same reason.

“Not bad,” Master said. “Normally I like a nice crew cut or a high-and-tight on my boy, but you will earn that look in time. For now the tactile experience of a regularly shaved head will allow you to enjoy THIS…”

With that he forced a gas mask with a rubber hood over my face. It was already lubed on the inside allowing it to slide directly on, despite how tight it was. Some kind of internal gag forced its way into my mouth. It was pumped up and I could feel the bit swelling in my mouth. Tubes fit directly into my nostrils. Earbuds almost naturally fell into my ear cavity and a white noise could be heard starting up. Master unzipped my cock and placed what felt like a large suction device of some kind up to it, with a slow rhythm starting to slowly jerk me off. A trolley with several TV monitors was rolled up in front of me and switched on. A sweet scent started to pump into the gas mask, though the air seemed clearer somehow. The screens flickered to life with videos of rubber and bondage pornography playing on each.

Master’s voice came into the earbuds.

“Just lie back and enjoy the show, boy. Don’t fight it. I will be monitoring closely. This is the first of many such sessions that I will expect you to complete, so try to adjust yourself accordingly. I will be back soon – don’t worry, I have your breathing on a monitor which will alert me if there is a problem.”

Scene after scene of erotic rubber pleasure played before me. The suction of the device rose and fell, never quite seeming to bring me to climax. I would get so close and then be denied as the system slowed itself down. A constant mesmerizing beat played slowly in my ear.

Even more horrifyingly, scenes showing removal from bondage, removal of rubber, or even normal sex, normal life were met with a series of painful shocks from the collar. My earbuds would play a harsh, erratic tone. I made the connection quickly – I was to associate only pleasure with being a rubber gimp, and a complete aversion to anything else. I was only to enjoy being his rubber plaything, and any other thoughts were to be pushed aside.

The first of many such sessions? How many is many? A month was not enough to keep Matt from escaping and that was only after he was given a miracle opportunity of Master’s elaborate security breaking down. Surely Master would be planning for this too – so how long would this phase of training continue? A month? Two months? A year?

I can give you a singular experience—a truly unique experience that you won’t find in any other place. I’ve done it twice before, and I can tell you it’s hard work. I depend on some friends with a variety of… unique skills. But as I said, it’s a pretty fucking amazing experience.

There’s just one hitch: this is an all-or-nothing sort of thing. Once you start, you’re committed for the duration, and that duration starts at a week and may go much longer, depending on how much you take to it. You’ve got to give complete consent to giving total control over to me, and I mean ALL control.

You can’t imagine the scope of what I’m asking, so let me take a few minutes to get really explicit about what “total control” means. There are actually five realms of “total control” and you have to agree to all of them.

The first is physical control. I may restrain you, making you immobile or simply restricting the use of your arms or legs, such as putting you in a straitjacket. You may be gagged, blindfolded, hooded. But when I say “total physical control” that also means you may be shaved or pierced or tattooed or your body parts may otherwise be modified or enhanced or enlarged. Oh, and it goes without saying that my friends and I will be exposing you to sexual acts: fucking and being fucked, that sort of thing. We’ll be in charge of your mouth and your cock and your ass.

Next is a little similar—that’s pharmacological control, and by that I mean drugs. I may at any time administer substances, whether orally, anally, inhaled or even by injection. You may receive any drug that can affect your mind or body. There are drugs that simply impair judgement or make you suggestible, and there are others that induce overwhelming arousal or euphoria, or cause temporary amnesia.

The third realm has some overlap with the last one, and that’s mind control. You may be programmed or hypnotized or, as I said before, drugged. Your mind may be implanted with various triggers or urges, or other sorts of behavioral conditioning.

The fourth has a lot of crossover with the last one, and that’s control over your memory. I may induce a sort of amnesia so that you don’t know who you are or how you came to be in your current situation. I might remove your entire identity and replace it with one of my choosing, along with false memories. Or I may suspend your ability to record memory, so that I can interrogate you about things that you later don’t remember having told me. Hell, I could even erase the entire next week so that once you emerge out the other end you’ve got no idea whatever happened to you!

The fifth realm of control is arousal. You may become helpless to your hidden or suppressed desires and fetishes, or I may create and implant new fetishes and make it so that you don’t realize you haven’t had them all your life. Your sexual arousal may get so heightened, by prolonged edging or other means, that you will do anything or surrender anything in order to get release. I’m serious: you might get so horny that you lose control of your mind and actions! That may become part of your conditioning regimen where I continually build your sexual arousal to the breaking point where you surrender your mind to me, only to have me put you in isolation to rest so that hours later I can repeat the entire process.

So that’s what total control is. You’ve got to give me consent up-front to any and all of this. I promise you won’t come to any permanent physical harm, but I can’t promise that you won’t be permanently changed by the experience. On the contrary, I promise that this will change you, but you’ll love it. Once you come out the other side, you’ll be so happy that you took the plunge.

Now, there’s one other thing about this opportunity: it’s a one-time offer. You can’t tell me next week that you’ve mulled it over and you’re ready to go. It actually has to be now or never. There’s something about the heightened stakes of taking a totally blind spur-of-the-moment plunge that makes this process work. You can’t “make preparations first” or anything like that. I’ll take care of family, friends or work—you’ll essentially be calling in sick or going on an unexpected work trip, or something like that. My friends and I will help create the backstory and cover for you.

If you want to give your consent, there’s something specific you have to do. It’s sort of a ritual that you have to initiate in order to make it clear that you’re not just passively agreeing. I’ve been video recording this conversation so that it’s clear you’ve heard and understand what this entails, and that you’ve given consent freely. You have to do three things in order.

First, you have to swallow this pill. I’ll tell you right now that it’s a combination of a mild hallucinogenic and a hypnotic. It’ll make you a bit happy and horny and suggestible, and you’ll feel it kick-in in about five or ten minutes.

Second, you must put this muzzle on yourself. You put this penis-shaped gag in your mouth and bite down on it, and then the straps go around your head and snap into place in the back. See, this is where the small buckle is, right here. And then you put this miniature padlock through the ring and lock it in place. I’ve got a mirror to help you see what you’re doing.

The last thing is something you’ll need my help with. I’ll hold out these two fist-mitts. You’ll need to put a hand in each one and then make a fist, and then I’ll tighten the strap securely around your wrists. Up until that point, you can back out of this, and you won’t be committed. Even if you’ve taken the pill, put on the muzzle, and gotten your first hand secured in its fist mitt… even then you can shake your head and just not put your hand in the last glove and you can back out. That’s okay. I’ll make sure you have a great time, and we’ll have some freaky-intense sex.

Dein Meister tritt vor Dich. Er ist von oben bis unten in schwarzes Gummi eingepackt. Aus der Öffnung der Kopfhaube sieht Dich das grinsende Gesicht Deines Meisters an. Er sieht so geil, so sexy in diesem enganliegenden Gummi aus. Praktisch jeder einzelne Muskel zeichnet sich durch das faltenfrei anliegende Gummi. Das schwarze Gummiharness und das schwarze Gummikoppel, welches er über dem Gummianzug trägt, modelliert den Gummikörper an den entscheidenden Stellen noch zusätzlich. Die irregeile Beule in seinem Schritt wird von einem Codpiece überdeckt. Aber die Spitze seines steifen, schwarz in gummigehüllten Schwanzes lugt oben hinter der Latexklappe hervor. “Es ist so geil! Allein dieser geile Anblick, den Meister so sehen zu dürfen, ist alle und zwar wirklich alle Qualen wert!”, schießt es Dir bei diesem Bild durch den Kopf.

Dein Meister holt hinter seinem Rücken diese dicke, schwarze Gummimaske hervor. Dein Herz pocht schneller, denn Du weißt, dass Du diese Maske gleich tragen musst. Deine Vorfreude ist der Wahnsinn, Deine Augen glitzern und funkeln vor Vorfreude. Dein Meister grinst immer breiter. Er kann Deine geiles Verlangen nach dieser Maske förmlich fühlen. Jetzt, wo er Dir das geile Innenleben der Maske zeigt, heizt er Deine Geilheit noch weiter an. Die Maske hat kleine Augengläser, Nasenschläuche und einem Mundknebel. Du würdest vor Freude auf und ab wippen, wenn Du Dich bewegen dürftest. So aber bist Du gezwungen still und bewegungslos vor Deinem Meister zu knien. Und als ob er Deine Erregung nicht schon kurz vorm Siedepunkt hätte, setzt er noch einen oben drauf! Er knöpft direkt vor Deinen Augen das Codpies ab. Sein geiler, schwarzer Prügel ergreift sofort die Gelegenheit und schon steht er wie eine Eins. Schwanz und Sack sind zusammen in einem glänzenden Gummi einer Penishülle eingepackt. Durch den Cockring am Gummianzug wird alles an Ort und Stelle gehalten. Der geile Ständer des Meisters wippt vor Vorfreude leicht vor sich hin. Dein Meister greift ihn sich nun und zieht mit einer Handbewegung die Penishülle von seinem Sack und seinem Penis. Da tropft jede Menge Precum. “Ablecken! Die Hände bleiben hinter dem Rücken!”, befiehlt Dein Meister und sofort rutschst Du auf Deinen Knieen und tust was Dir befohlen, natürlich nicht ohne ein sofortiges “Sir, Jawohl, Sir!” von Dir zu geben. Nachdem der Meisterprügel vom Precum gesäubert, verweist Dich Dein Meister wieder auf Deinen Platz. Du bist nun zum Zusehen verdammt, wie sich Dein Meister seinen geilen Schwanz massiert. Und nach schon wenigen Sekunden landet das weiße Gold Deines Meisters in der Innenseite der Gummimaske. Deine Geilheit steigert sich erneut. Denn Du erwartest, dass diese Maske mit dem geilen, warmen Sperma Deines Meisters über Dein Gesicht gezogen wird. Diese Vorstellung geilt Dich sehr schmerzvoll auf. Dein Meister ist sehr gründlich. Kein Tropfen des wertvollen Saftes lässt er in seinem Schwanz zurück, alles tropft in die schwarze Gummimaske. Dann tritt er zu Dir. Du kannst in die Maske sehen. Es ist ein so erregendes Bild: die Augengläser, die Nasenschläuche und der Knebel alles versinkt in einem Meer aus Sperma. Langsam führt er Dir die Nasenschläuche ein. Er achtet sehr genau darauf, nix aus der Maske zu verschütten. Du öffnest Deinen Mund um gleich den in Sperma ertränkten Knebel aufzunehmen. Und in einem Rutsch hast Du diese geile Gummimaske auf Deinem Kopf sitzen. Du spürst, wie Dein Meister den Reißverschluss schließt und die Maske sich dadurch immer fester auf Dein Gesicht andrückt. Die Geilheit dieses Augenblicks ist so irre! Dein Mund ist mit diesem riesigen Knebel ausgefüllt und noch dazu mit dem geilen Sperma Deines Meisters. In Deine Nasenlöcher ist das Sperma durch die getränkten Nasenschläuche gekommen, so dass Du nun die edlen Tropfen Deines Meisters “hochziehen” musst um besser Luft zu bekommen. Und in den getönten Augengläsern tropft ebenfalls der edle Saft Deines Meister. So geil hattest Du Dir diesen Tag heute nicht vorgestellt! Dein Meister steht wieder vor Dir und betrachtet sein Kunstwerk mit einem leichten Lächeln. “Du solltest mit diesem Vorrat in der Maske haushalten! Denn mehr wirst Du bis Morgen nicht bekommen!”, sagt er mit einem Lächeln in die Augengläser der Maske. “Ja, Sir! Danke, Sir!”, versuchst Du zu sagen. Aber außerhalb der Maske mit ihrem Mundknebel ist nur “Mhja, Ir! Mphf, Ir!” zu verstehen.

“Gut, das waren nun alles Deine Freuden. Und nun kommen wir zu meinen Freuden!”, grinst Dein Meister und legt Dir ein dickes Lederhalsband eng um Deinen Hals. “Wir hatten ja ausgemacht, jeder in den kommenden 24 Stunden auf seine Kosten kommen sollte. Richtig?!”, fragt Dein Meister sicher nur rhetorisch, aber Du antwortest sicherheitshalber mit: “Mphr, Ir, Mphf, Ir!”. Dabei befürchtest Du bereits eine Wendung an diesem Tag. Du weißt nicht, in welche Richtung sich das Spiel gerade dreht. “Alles bisher geschehene war ja praktisch nur für Dein Vergnügen gedacht. Alles was jetzt kommt geschieht nun zu meinem Vergnügen.”, fährt Dein Meister fort und setzt noch nach: “Daher beginnen meine 24 Stunden dann ja erst jetzt! Zu dumm, dass Du schon seit über sechs Stunden im Gummi steckst. Tja, Dein Pech!”. Du siehst wie Dein Meister ein Zeitschloss präpariert. Im Display stehen 24 Stunden. In Panik versuchst zu aufzustehen und zu flüchten. Doch Dein Meister hält dich an einem der D-Ringe des Lederhalsbandes zurück. “Mphf, Mphf…!”, schimpfst Du kopfschüttelnd in Deinen Knebel. Während dessen fädelt Dein Meister das Zeitschloss im Koppelschloss des Halsbandes ein und aktiviert den Schließmechanismus. Du hörst die lauten Piep-Geräusche des Schlosses. Immer energischer und wilder schimpfst Du Deinen Widerwillen in den Maskenknebel. Nach dem Fünften Pieps hörst Du, wie der Mechanismus das Schloss verriegelt. Du bist in diesem Anzug unter einigen Lagen Gummi und dieser Spermagetränkten Maske für einen ganzen Tag eingeschlossen. Diese Vorstellung gewinnt in Deinen Gedanken langsam wieder die Oberhand und Deine geile Erregung von vorhin kehrt langsam zurück. “Ir, Mphf, Ir!”, antwortest Du Deinem Meister. “Das ist es, was ich von meinem kleinen, geilen Gummisklaven hören wollte!”, bricht es laut vor Freude aus Deinem Meister heraus. “Komm mit!”, befiehlt er und zieht Dich am Halsband in ein anderes Zimmer. Als im Zimmer das Licht angeht, weißt Du nicht ob Du in Panik oder vor geiler Begeisterung auf die Knie gehen sollst! Der Raum ist voll von Sachen, die einem kleinem, geilen Gummisklaven, wie Du einer bist, die Augen über gehen lassen: Da hängen unzählige Gummianzüge, in den wildesten Ausführungen und Farben, auch schwere Taucher- und Neoprenanzüge sind dabei. Schutzanzüge, Gas- und Tauchermasken und -helme sind dabei. Und haufenweise Klamotten und Ausrüstungsteile verschiedenster Armeen der Welt. Was für ein Paradies für einen kleinen Gummisklaven! Mal abgesehen von Deiner derzeitigen Lage, hier würdest Du doch nie wirklich wieder raus wollen?! Während Du noch im Siebten Gummihimmel schwelgst, holt Dich der laute Knall der Meisterhand auf die lederbezogene Pritsche in der Raummitte wieder ins Jetzt.

“Das hier dient meiner Belustigung!”, sagt Dein Meister und befiehlt mit einer Handbewegung auf die Pritsche: “Setzten!”. Er kramt in einer Kiste und stellt Dir dann ein Paar schwarze BW-Kampfstiefel auf die Pritsche. Dazu gibt er Dir noch ein Paar olivgrüne BW-Strümpfe und befiehlt: “Anziehen!”. Während Du diesen Befehl ausführst, baut Dein Meister im Raum die Spielfläche um die Pritsche um. Im Kreis um die Pritsche stehen nun mehrere ein Meterhohe Kleiderspiegel. Egal wo Du hinschaust, Du siehst Dein eigenes geiles Spiegelbild. “Auf den Rücken legen! Kopf da hin!”, befiehlt Dein Meister und Du befolgst den Befehl sofort. Dein Meister beginnt, Dich an diese Liege zu fesseln. Den Kopf kannst Du zwar noch bewegen aber ab dem Hals ist Dein kompletter Oberkörper, einschließlich der Hände, der Arme und Oberarme an diese Liege gefesselt. Der Bauchgurt sitzt besonders stramm, so dass er beim Atmen immer spürbar ist. Überraschender Weise sind die Beine und die Füße überhaupt nicht gefesselt. Bis jetzt, denn mit etwas Panzertape um die Kampfstiefel sind die Füße schon gefesselt. “Nun, Du fragst Dich sicher, für was diese Fesselung gut sein soll!”, beginnt Dein Meister und erklärt weiter: “Deine Beine werden von nun an für Deine Scherzen zu ständig sein! Im Normalzustand hängen Deine Füße in diesen Ketten hier oben.” Er zeigt auf eine, aus dem schwarzen Nichts von der Decke hängenden Kette und befestigt die gefesselten Füße daran und lässt sie dann auf die Liege fallen. Sofort beginnt sich eine rote Polizeilichtlampe zu drehen, die unter der der Liege steht. “Das muss Dich jetzt noch nicht beunruhigen! Später vielleicht dazu mehr!”, murmelt Dein Ausbilder, während er die Kabelstränge am Rücken Deines Gummianzuges mit denen an der Liege verbindet. “Mphf, Ir?!”, fragst Du in Deinen Knebel. Dein Meister blickt Dich grinsend an. “Dies ist die letzte Maske die Du heute aufsetzten musst!”, sagt er und zeigt Dir eine graue Gasmaske russischer Bauart mit kleinen Augengläsern und Sprechmembran. Trotz Deines wilden Kopfschüttelns hat Dir Dein Meister die Gasmaske in Nullkommanix über den Kopfgezogen. Wenn Du den Kopf hebst, siehst Du Dich mit der Gasmaske in den vielen Spiegelbildern praktisch von allen Seiten. Sie sitzt straff und faltenfrei. “Natürlich muss eine Gasmaske auch mit dem nötigen Atemschlauch verbunden werden. Und weil ich sehr großzügig zum meinem Gummisklaven bin, bekommst Du gleich zwei Atemschläuche!”, grinst Dein Meister und wird dann laut: “Was höre ich?!”. “Ir, Mphf, Ir!”, grunzt Du in Deinen Knebel. “Na also!”, antwortet Dein Meister besänftigt und fügt hinzu: “Aber in Zukunft können Dir solche Verfehlungen schmerzhafte Qualen einbringen. Ich wäre da ab jetzt vorsichtiger!”. “Ir, Mphf, Ir!”, antwortest Du worauf Dein Meister zufrieden nickt. Dein Meister hat ein T-Stück in der Hand an dessen Querseiten links und rechts die Atemschläuche abgeben. Dieses T-Stück schraubt er nun langsam an Deiner Gasmaske fest. Dabei merkst Du, dass Du immer weniger Luft bekommst, bis Du dann gar keine Luft mehr bekommst. Panik! “Ir, Mphf, Ir mphf, mphfffff!”, versuchst Du mit letzter Luft in den Knebel zu brüllen. “Ach, ja! Das ist es, was ich Dir vorhin noch sagen wollte! Wenn Deine Beine auf der Pritsche liegen, bekommst Du keine Luft mehr!”, erklärt Dein Meister. Sofort hebst Du die Beine hoch, doch keine Luft kommt in die Maske. “Ja, so wäre das ja auch zu einfach!”, lacht Dein Meister und zeigt auf Deine angewinkelten Knie: “Die müssen natürlich durchgedrückt sein, damit es richtig weh tut!”. Du korrigierst Deine Beinhaltung und schon kannst Du wieder frei atmen. Aber nun spürst Du leichte Spannung an Deinem geilen Schwanz und in Deinem Arsch. Und auch Deine Brustwarzen spüren die Stromimpulse. Du grunzt in Deine Maske. Das ist irgendwie geil.

“Ja, Du sollst ja von dem Spiel auch etwas haben.”, lacht Dein Meister und erklärt Dir nun die Gemeinheit der Anlage im Ganzen: “Wenn Du Deine Beine korrekt oben hältst, bekommst Du ordentlich Luft zum Atmen. Wobei ein Schlauch reine, gefilterte Atemluft führt und im Anderen. Tja, da kann meine Pisse, Deine Socken, mein Unterhemd oder sowas dabei sein. Kann, muss aber nicht! Während nun die Beine oben hältst und genügend Luft hast, wird Dein Arsch, Dein Schwanz und Deine Nippel durch elektrischen Strom sanft stimuliert. Jedenfalls die erste Zeit lang. Denn im Laufe des Spiels wird es intensiver und durchaus schmerzvoller. Je öfter Du Deine Beine absenkst oder gar ablegst, desto qualvoller wird der Strom. Aber je länger Du Die Beine wieder korrekt oben hältst, umso weiter kannst Du die Stromintensität wieder zurückdrehen. Es liegt also nur an Dir!”. Bei diesen Worten überfallen Dich Panik und Geilheit zu gleich! Wie sollst Du das nur so lange aushalten?! Noch knapp 23 ½ Stunden komplett im Gummi gefangen, gefesselt und gequält - das ist doch genau das, was Du immer wolltest!! “Iiiiiiiir, Mphf, Iiiiiiii!”, brüllst Du in den Knebel Deiner Maske. “Ich werte das mal als Begeisterung!”, antwortet Dein Meister trocken. Dann beugt er sich direkt über Deinen mehrfach gummierten Kopf und sagt grinsend: “Nach Deinen ersten 50 Luftsperren setzt sich das System auf Start zurück und beginnt dann wieder von vorn. Du brauchst keine Angst haben, dass Du den Neustart nicht bemerkst. Er wird Dir vorher klar deutlich gemacht, durch 30 Sekunden Poppers in Deiner Atemluft. Du wirst den Neustart also schon spüren! Ach ja, nach dem Neustart zählt das System dann nur bis 49 und startet neu und danach bis 48 usw. Ich denke, Du bis ein schlauer Gummisklave, Du hast das System sicher kapiert?!”. “Ir, Mphf, Ir!”, grunzt Du desillusioniert in Deine Maske. Dein Meister klopft Dir auf Deine Schulter und sagt:“ Und an Deiner Stelle würde ich den Counter nicht bis unter Null fallen lassen! Da gibt es einen kleinen Programmierfehler: in dem Falle bleibt das System einfach stehen. Du bekommst nur noch Poppersluft in die Maske und Dein Schritt und Deine Nippel rösten bei der Höchsten Stromstufe. Und zwar so lange, bis ich hier her komme und diesen Buzzer für Not-Aus schlage. Du solltest in dem Falle dann also sehr, sehr laut in Deine Masken brüllen!”. Lachend schiebt er den Not-Aus-Buzzer weiter zu Dir in Richtung Ellenbogen und sagt dazu: “Für den Fall, dass Du einen Notfall hast!”. Laut lachend verschwindet Dein Meister im dunkeln Nichts hinter dem Kreis aus Kleiderspiegeln. Deine schweren Beine fallen auf die Pritsche. Du versuchst Dich aufs Ausatmen zu konzentrieren um den Beinen eine lange Pause zu gönnen. Auch über Dir hängt ein großer Spiegel. Du spürst, wie die Erregung und die Geilheit Dich wieder erfasst. Dein Spiegelbild ist ja auch erregend geil - egal welches!

Dein Meister lässt sich in seinem Wohnzimmer in die tiefe Ledercouch fallen und schaltet den Fernseher ein. Nach einer Weile bei den Nachrichten wechselt er das Programm. Da bist Du! Ein schwarzer Gummisklave in mehren Lagen Gummi auf dieser Pritsche gefesselt und an dieser fiesen Maschine angeschlossen. Auf dem Bildschirm bist Du in ganz Groß der Blick voll auf die Gasmaske und die dunkeln Augengläser. Daneben gibt es Dich aus unzähligen Blickwinkeln. Jede Bewegung und jeder Laut von Dir wird aufgezeichnet, die ganze Nacht und den Tag …

Ist das eine geile Vorstellung, mein Gummisklave liegt da gefesselt und permanent gequält von dieser Maschine. Ich wäre sein fieser Meister, der ihn dort angeschlossen hat. Im nun dabei zu zu sehen, wie er sich quält und windet. Eine erregend geile Vorstellung. Aber auch die Vorstellung, dort auf der Pritsche gefesselt zu liegen und Qualen durch diese Maschine erdulden zu müssen, ist erregend und geil. Wie immer kann ich mich mal wieder nicht entscheiden.

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By M A Thorp - Senior Reporter

It is impossible to ascertain where the RubberDrones originate from or when their mission started. What is clear to this reporter is that they have a plan and they are executing it with robotic precision, and are showing no mercy in the process. If you are male 18 and over and want to remain a free man, I suggest you read on.

Anyone who has studied military strategy knows you exploit your enemy’s weaknesses - and that’s exactly where they started. To begin with they ‘hid in plain sight’, using events where rubbermen, leathermen and other fetishists congregate like Folsom Europe as cover to recruit the willing and convert them to their cause.

Once the male target has been acquired they are restrained quickly and efficiently, unaware of the nightmare that awaits. A collar is placed around the male’s neck. It appears as though the collar emits a signal that renders the wearer submissive and compliant.

It can take up to 30 minutes for the collar to neutralise a person’s individuality and thoughts. But once their mind has effectively been ‘turned to mush’ they are led away to a conversion facility. These are nearby and usually, but not always located in abandoned warehouses or underground.

Once in the conversion facility (or Nest as I will refer to it from now on), the compliant male is held for a time in a cell. This allows the Nest Collective time to consider the type of rubberdrone each male will be converted into in order to fulfil the final objective. 

(I’ve heard  that the Collective have a number of different collars they use to subjugate the males. These range from chains with padlocks to leather collars, to two-part metal rings. Whilst it’s impossible for this reporter to know whether there is any difference in functionality between the different types, I can confirm they all seem to have the same effect on the wearer). 

No one is 100% sure of what happens next. What I write here is unconfirmed by myself, but has be corroborated by a number of sources. At the appointed time, the male is taken from their cell.

Some are taken to be measured for the full rubber suit that they will come to wear for the rest of their existance…

Others are first taken to a room that contains a number of chairs - like the ones you would see in a dentist surgery. Unable to think for themselves, they sit in the chair as they are instructed to do and are strapped down. Had they been aware of what was about to happen they would have probably attempted to escape. However, to my knowledge if anyone has tried to make a run for it, no one has been successful.

A mask is placed over the male’s nose and mouth, which pumps a mind neutralising gas into their lungs. This is quickly absorbed into the bloodstream which makes its way into the brain. The chemicals from the gas that are carried in the blood start a process which reduces the cognitive ability of the male’s brain. From this point he can only perform basic functions - enough to survive but completely unable to think for himself. After a period of time, long enough for the gas to take effect the male’s head is shaved and all other body hair is removed.

From this point onwards, there is no going back. The male will become another compliant rubberdrone, obeying its orders received from the Nest Collective. What comes next is considered by some to be the beginning of the end for this particular male as a human and the start of its existence as a rubberdrone. 

With only minimal brain function it needs to be given its primary directive by the Nest collective so it’s taken to be programmed.

In this picture we can see three males receiving their rubberdrone programming. The programming is almost complete for the one nearest the reader - you can tell that because the mask lenses are clear. However the other two are being programmed both visually and aurally, and this will take some time.

Once the programming is completed, the ‘proto-rubberdrone’ is taken to be fitted with its rubber. It’s here this former male is fitted with rubber that is befitting the role the Nest has chosen for it - in this case a rubbersexdrone.

This drone is being been kitted out with a jock, over-the-knee waders and long gauntlets, all made of the highest grade rubber. The next step of the conversion would be painful for any human but not for the newly programmed rubberdrone.

A pipe an inch in diameter is forced into the mouth and down the throat of the new rubberdrone. Once it reaches the opening of the stomach, a black tar-like solution starts flowing along the pipe. From the stomach the solution starts to leech into its body, and before long the pink skin starts to turn black. Once all the skin has turned black the pipe is removed and the drone is sent for the final stage of processing. The drone is handed a gasmask which is combined into a rubber hood. 

The drone receives an instruction and obeys. It takes the hood, places it over its head and pulls it all the way down until it fits tightly around its head. It then zips the hood together.

With a turn of a key the gasmask and hood combination heats and seals tightly to the rubber suit the drone is wearing.

A new compliant, obedient rubberdrone is now ready. It will join the many that have already been processed in Nests all over the world, ready to action its orders. 

As I finish writing this article, I don’t know whether the authorities have a plan to stop the rubberdrone takeover. What I do know is that the rubberdrones are here and they might be coming for you, next.