Chapter 1 – 4
“a serious bondage masochist”
It started late one horny night at my computer when I found a certain rubbermen.com profile: Age 42, Gender Male, Orientation Gay, Race Mixed, Height 6’2”, Weight 190 lbs, Hair Black buzz, Eyes brown. Under scene interests, it said: “Musclehead Bigdicked Demanding Sadist accepting applications for full-time, live-in encasement pig for well equipped dungeon. To qualify for application, you must be a serious bondage masochist, be 25-35 years old and 5’7” to 5’10” in height, weigh between 150 to 165 lbs, have a slim to muscular, athletic, flexible body, and be ready for life as a male slave, prepared to sign an agreement consenting to be my total property. If accepted, you will be kept 24/7 in rubber under my total control. My domination of you with my superior life experience, resources, physical size, strength, and mental capacity will be reinforced with layers of tight rubber encasement and heavy bondage, using leather and metal restraints, immobilization, mummification, and hole-control. You will be kept encapsulated head to toe, bound, tubed, and plugged, along with strict confinement and isolation in my dungeon and other facilities. Total control. No limits.”
Other than this text, it had little identifying information and no pictures, but the stark profile had me unzipping my fly and beating off to orgasm in seconds. The situation described was exactly what I had always fantasized, and my cock responded in record time. After cumming so quickly, I tried to put the profile out of my mind, dismissing it as I convinced myself it was a very hot (but unrealistic) rubber fantasy. An hour later, horny again as it crept back into my thoughts, I logged on to the site and immediately responded to the email address given in the profile. Expressing my willingness, explaining that I met the requirements precisely, being a rubber bondage addict, 28, 5’8”, 160 lbs, muscular and in shape, I begged the unknown Master to tell me how to proceed. I attached three photos to the message. In the first, I was modeling a skimpy speedo, looking cute and hot. In the second, I was posing in a standing position, fully encased in tight, head to toe rubber, including a catsuit, gloves, hood, boots, and posture collar. In the third, I was bound in a rubber straitjacket, crouched in a small, locked cage. Within minutes, while I was still stroking my re-stiffened cock, he sent back a brief questionnaire. Knowing that he was online fueled my horniness, and I rushed to complete it. Asking for information I had already provided, such as age, height, and weight, it also requested description of any piercing or tattoos, measurements of parts of my body, such as shoulder and waist size, genital size, and cock dimensions hard and soft. I included information where he asked for ‘turn-ons’ and ‘turnoffs.’ The questionnaire also asked for the earliest date that I could report. My freelance position allowed a flexible work schedule, and I selected a date that was only a few days off. I didn’t think anything would happen, but I guess I wasn’t really sure what to expect. About an hour later, I was surprised when he sent an affirmative response. I assumed that this would be a short visit to determine if we were compatible for play.
I tried not to jerk off too much in anticipation but was not very successful. I knew that I would back out if I wasn’t horny enough. I almost turned around when I arrived at the airport to catch my flight on the day in question. As it departed, my cock seemed to shrink according to the altitude. I flew to an unfamiliar city. I had been instructed to eat light in preparation, switching solely to fluids 24 hours before; to do a thorough flushing out with enemas prior to the flight; and to insert and retain a large rubber butt plug. Body freshly shaved and head buzzed, I had to travel light, without luggage. As required, I wore a pair of jeans with nothing underneath except the plug, a tight T shirt, and shoes without socks. Food was prohibited; I was allowed to consume water, but only for the first hour of the flight. I carried only my ticket, identification, and some cash. I was informed that a person holding a sign with my first name would meet me in the luggage area. As I entered the baggage claim, a young man, handsome of face, clad in head to toe leather, including a cap, was holding the sign. He handed me an envelope and disappeared as I was examining it. Startled, I opened the envelope and read the instructions inside: “Ride Shuttle A to Section 2 of the parking lot. There will be a large gray van.” The note included the license number of the van. “Enter through the side door of the van and look for another note. Hurry or you will be punished.”
The shuttle ride seemed long and its duration added to my anxiety. I had intended but forgot, due to nervousness, to visit the men’s room at the airport. My ass and bladder felt uncomfortably full as I bounced on the butt plug in the seat of the shuttle. When I exited, the van was difficult to find. I had to walk to an area with few other vehicles. The windows of the large van were tinted dark. I wanted to turn around and go home, but instead I opened the side door cautiously and found that the back of the van contained a steel cage. There was enough van space at the front of the cage for the cage door to be open, and a large, unlocked padlock was visible on the hasp of the door. I also spotted a note taped to the bars inside the cage. My cock stirred slightly, enough to ease some of my nervousness, as I noticed a bulky dildo rising substantially from the center of the floor of the cage, where it appeared to be mounted firmly. At the rear of the cage, a pile of neatly folded rubber items and metal restraints beckoned. The dildo looked very challenging, and I couldn’t resist the temptation to inspect it. I entered the van and crawled into the cage. Immediately, I noticed the content of the note taped inside: “Remove your clothing and butt plug at once, place them outside the cage, close the door of the cage, and fasten the padlock. Hurry or be punished.”
I felt an urgency to make a quick decision, but hesitated for a split second. Stay or go. Quickly, before I could change my mind, I pulled my clothes off, painfully worked the plug out of my ass, and threw them outside the cage. When the padlock clicked shut, my indecisiveness suddenly seemed much less important. Cold and shivering, naked in the cage, I was scared shitless, but my dick was getting hard.
Within a few seconds, front doors to the van opened and I heard people get in. An authoritative male voice said: “You kept me waiting, pig. You’ll pay for that later.” When I began to twist around to see who was talking, I was told, “Keep your eyes on the back of the truck, pig.” Afraid to talk, I turned around, and the voice continued. “I want you to do a couple more things before we start our trip, starting with your travel gear. There is a cock and ball harness, rubber socks and gloves, all of which go on first, a rubber suit, which comes next, and then a hood. Put them on quickly, right now, and hurry.”
For the next few minutes, I struggled to follow instructions as promptly as possible. The space in the cage to maneuver around was extremely limited, and the intermittent admonishments unnerved me, escalating in intensity, telling me to hurry or be punished. At each step in the process, the voice repeated loudly, “I am ordering you to do this. You will be punished severely for failure to comply, or even hesitating. You have seconds to complete this task.” The voice sounded strict, potentially mean, and I wanted to obey it. With gloves covering my hands, I fumbled in getting everything done. The catsuit was snug, hard to work my body into; a tight fit, it had two openings, one where my harnessed cock and balls protruded, and another where my asshole could accept the dildo. Even though it was mounted to the floor of the cage at a forward angle, which permitted it to penetrate my rectum easily, sitting on the fat monster to impale myself was perhaps the trickiest task.
I was conscious of time passing as I struggled to comply with the detailed, unrelenting verbal instructions, which were accompanied by intimidating threats of punishment. I felt increasingly humiliated. At one point I tried to explain and apologize for taking longer than allowed, but I was reprimanded: “Never, ever speak without advance permission from me, pig!” A few seconds later, I was told, “The hood will effectively silence you. Put it on next, after the earplugs are in. Hurry or be punished.” After the hood was on, blinding and gagging me, verbal contact ceased. I felt hands reach through the bars of the cage, handcuffing me and roughly assisting with next steps.
At the completion of the process, I found myself in a sitting position, knees bent and legs upright, encased in rubber and securely anchored to the cage. Handcuffs held my wrists behind me, attached to the back of the cage, while similar manacles fastened my ankles to the front. A rubber hood enclosed my head; a built-in, internal gag filled my mouth; nostril tubes invaded my nose. The earplugs and hood blocked external sound. I could hear my heart beating and my breathing, but nothing else. The hood was very tight, with no eyeholes, and had a wide, buckled collar. I had felt the ring built in to the front of the collar be used to fasten something between it and a strap joining my legs together just above the knees. A second tether, connected to a ring on the cock and ball harness, stretched my balls toward my feet. I could breathe through the tubes in my nose and an air channel in the gag. With my arms extended back and legs forward, and my head pulled toward my knees at my neck, any movement was quite limited. The presence of the dildo was acute. Its thickness expanded toward its base, tapering wider. If I squirmed on it, which was difficult to avoid, my asshole tried to clench around it, accentuating the feeling of being stretched to maximum potential. My prostate felt like it would explode. In fact, I probably would have cum quite quickly, but my cock was covered sadistically with what felt like a dozen or more clothespins, a practice I had listed as a ‘turnoff’ on my questionnaire. The ones attached to the tip of my cockhead produced the most pain. Whenever I moved my legs, my feet tugged on my harnessed balls, which pulled at my cock. Huge, erect, upright, trapped within a mass of biting clothespins, it bobbed painfully against my stomach.
I felt the truck start up and sensed we were moving. After some stop and go driving, I thought we must be on an interstate. The high, steady speed was maintained for what seemed like an hour or two, then more. There was no indication of stopping or a destination. We were traveling a long distance. Attached to the solid steel plate under me by impalement and metal restraints, I started to hurt very quickly. It was impossible to move around to relieve any of the discomfort, and I suspected this was not unintentional. The details had obviously been very well planned, and I wasn’t supposed to be enjoying myself. The situation I got myself into started to sink in. I had no idea where I was or with whom. I hadn’t even really met or set eyes on the guy whose profile got me into this mess. I tried to remember the phrase in the profile, something like ‘must be a serious bondage masochist.’ It had made my dick cream at home, but now I wasn’t so sure. I started to panic. I shook my head in frustration, ignoring the tug this caused on my knees. If only I could see or hear something. My hands and feet pulled at the metal restraints. I felt ready to cry. My heart was pounding. I was sweating. I had no idea where we were going, or how long it was going to take.
My panic seemed to increase as the miles we traveled multiplied. Encased in rubber and bound in metal, hooded and gagged, locked inescapably in a steel cage, I was trapped in the back cargo area of a van, traveling for hours on a speedy highway at the hands of strangers. I should be horny and happy, I told myself, but the distance we had already traveled – measured in vibrations and bumps, and sightless, soundless time spent encased, bound, and caged – seemed far too far. What the fuck had I gotten myself into? Such a cliché question, especially for a rubber pig like me, yet it repeated itself over and over inside my hooded head.
Living through my fantasy as it became a reality greater than I ever imagined, my frantic state continued for an unknown time. I felt compelled to register my objection to the long distance we were traveling, so I moaned and struggled, testing the conditions. My wrists and ankles suffered at the inflexibility of the metal cuffs restraining them. I perspired profusely under a layer of rubber, especially inside the intense darkness of the tight hood. Earplugs blocked external auditory clues and magnified the weird internal sounds of my own muffled protests. Perhaps 20 or 30 minutes passed, with no indication that anyone noticed my efforts.
I had a sense that I was ignored deliberately, by some observer sitting near the cage. So I twisted, fighting the restraints and trying to bang against the cage. The porcupine mass of clothespins pinching my cock and its sensitive head shifted down between my legs, where it lodged. My cock was tortured all the more as one of the clothespins bitingly dislodged. The hefty dildo that had looked so appealing earlier, affixed to the steel floor of my cage, was immovable. Stuck deep inside, the bulky invader probed and stretched, spreading my hole as I squirmed on the thick impalement. Bound in position, I could not maneuver off it.
I soon tired. The adrenaline receded. The strain of the struggle passed. I was conscious of the continuing motion of the van, carrying me farther from the airport, to who knows where. Using the support of the bondage itself, I found positions that allowed me to relax a little: bent forward at the waist, leaning into my knees, tolerating the increased tension on my arms behind me; or leaning backward, enduring the added internal pressure of the dildo and the extra stress on my neck, ankles, and balls. Alternating between the two, I contemplated my predicament. I wondered if this was how a real bondage slave felt, if there was such a creature. I had wished to be one so often, so why not enjoy it?
Inside the tight hood, my mind tried to reconstruct details of the rubbermen profile, Encasement Pig Wanted, that had led to this. I had memorized part of it, to jerk off while in bed, but its meaning suddenly had a different, frightening effect: “You will be kept encapsulated head to toe, bound, tubed, and plugged, along with strict confinement and isolation in my dungeon and other facilities. Total control. No limits.”
Was this my introduction to total control and no limits? It had happened so quickly, and was lasting so long. I tried to remember other details from the profile. As I recalled more of the information, my heart pounded. My chest heaved. My feet became sweatier, from nervousness. I felt queasy. I heard loud, internal swallowing noises as I swallowed, and realized that the hollow gag, although mouth-filling, somehow allowed excess saliva to drain from its opening, probably as a safety measure. Listening to myself pant through the passages of the stiff nostril tubes and gag, I realized why my travel instructions had ensured I would have an empty stomach. The encasement pig application I had completed, with its questions about my experience with catheters and entubement, gave the impression that whoever wrote it was knowledgeable about such procedures. A few days ago, that had fueled my horniness, but now I wasn’t so sure. Suddenly, my cock changed position or size slightly, and I felt another clothespin fall off, with a nasty, stinging aftereffect.
The travel time seemed endless, and by now I wondered whether we were in a different state all together. How long had it been since my flight landed? I tried to forget the profile and block terrifying thoughts, convincing myself I was a lucky pig, and my mind wandered. Intermittently, when I was less scared, my cock renewed its full erection, in perverse enjoyment of my helplessness and discomfort. Riding the huge dildo, I sensed precum oozing over my cockhead; I felt a clothespin slipping, sadistically pinching me at the most sensitive area before it snapped and fell.
I was aware of nodding off; amazingly, exhaustion was overtaking the difficult physical circumstances. In a drowsy haze, I felt my erection throb with the knowledge that my body was adjusting to the challenging bondage. Eventually, I must have fallen asleep, because I woke up as I was being unfastened from the cage. The sensation of motion had ceased. I felt the removal of the strap fastening my knees. The remaining clothespins were abruptly removed, and my cock was suddenly burning. I screamed my head off, complaining in protest inside the hood. Blunt tapping on my rubber-encased forehead, from someone who had obviously reached into the cage, increased in strength until I became silent.
I felt someone release the cuffs behind me, and then a sharp tug on my balls. Blindly positioning my hands on each side of my hips, I cautiously pushed up and off the dildo, slid feet first across the floor, crouched forward, and crawled slowly out of the cage. My head was pushed to the floor, my arms were pulled behind me quickly, and my wrists re-cuffed. Hands on my shoulders and legs lifted me to a sitting position. I felt my legs dangling, with ankles still manacled, and guessed I was sitting at an open door of the van. My head remained tightly hooded; I could not see or hear. My cock, growing into a big erection, was on fire, but I stayed quiet.
Next I was standing, being pulled by the ball harness. Forced to shuffle forward, well hobbled by the ankle restraints, I was led about 15 feet. Through the rubber socks, I sensed cold concrete. Hands at my shoulders halted my shuffle. There was a pause in the action, and then I was guided down several flights of concrete or stone steps separated by landings. I sensed that I had managed to make it down all the stairs when there was strong tug on my leash. I was pulled forward roughly by my balls and someone rapped on the back of my head to hurry me along. Disoriented and sightless, balancing precariously and quite helpless with my hands cuffed behind, I hobbled along quickly and struggled not to fall. I felt my erection bouncing as we moved 20 or 30 feet and paused. The process repeated two or three times, with swift movement followed by a pause, and I wondered if entrances and doors were involved.
Another tug on my leash, and my feet encountered an obstacle. I was guided to step over something about 1 foot high, and strong hands on my shoulders seemed to position me in a certain spot. Through the rubber, my feet sensed metal grating on a stone or concrete surface. I felt someone attach restraints, perhaps leather, to my wrists above the handcuffs. I felt a hand release the cuff on one of my wrists and guide my arm to one side, where it was immediately attached to something at the level of my head. The other arm was soon restrained in a similar manner. After both wrists were restrained, I felt steady traction pulling them until my arms were stretched above me. Next, I felt my ankles enclosed in separate restraints, released from the manacles, pulled apart, and attached to the floor as I hung from my wrists. My balls were pulled forward and down, and I groaned involuntarily as adjustments were made, increasing the tension, stretching my limbs, and transforming my cock into a throbbing ramrod.
The rough handling and tight bondage, combined with the long foreplay of how I had been transported, were too much to bear. Suddenly, my cock erupted in the most intense explosion I had experienced in a long, long time. It controlled me, fighting the restraints, as it overwhelmed my body with muscle spasms and surges of cum.
Strung up, spread-eagle, balancing my weight on tiptoes, I felt someone cutting the rubber from body as the orgasm subsided. Abruptly, I was naked except for the gloves, hood and genital harness. I felt someone probe my asshole with lube and insert a smooth metal cylinder into it. Lukewarm fluid filled my rectum, and I realized I was standing over a large drain. Douched three or four times, I evacuated the water from my bowels. My cock started to soften, and I lost control of my full bladder and pissed. After the douching, my lower body was rinsed with warm water and patted dry. I felt a hand squeeze my pecs, biceps, quads, and calves, as though assessing my muscle mass. Each foot was raised separately and handled. My ass, grabbed roughly and slapped repeatedly, was examined last. Three or four fingers, then all five, explored my hole, entering until I felt knuckles meet with the resistance of my sphincter.
I found myself halfway wishing that I would fail the inspection and be sent home, especially after just cumming, but then a series of events happened fast indicating otherwise. The hand withdrew from my ass. Clamps were placed on my nipples, I was fucked vigorously with a large, well lubricated dildo, and the strong grip of someone roughly pumped my cock back to hardness.
As I was jacked off I fought the restraints, which seemed to stretch me even more. After another spectacular eruption, my groaning protests and struggling were ignored as the action continued. I was dildo-fucked and manipulated until I came painfully, once more, within a few minutes. This was followed by a weak, fourth episode, elicited mechanically with an even larger dildo while I was jacked unmercifully.
I hung quietly, exhausted, after the forced orgasms. The nipple clamps and genital harness were removed. My ass was empty. I felt my cock and balls being washed, perhaps with alcohol, and someone holding my deflating cock. An unnatural burning sensation followed, and I realized a catheter was being inserted. I moaned involuntarily. Hands held my hips stationary as the catheter snaked in slowly and deeply until it felt like it had nowhere else to go. There was a feeling of pressure in my bladder. I had an uncomfortable urge to piss, but nothing happened. Then I felt the external part of the catheter being used to pull my cock into a closed container of rough metal. Suddenly, there was a painful, prickling sensation. I inhaled sharply through the gag and nostril tubes, held my breath, and tried not to yell. My cock had been drawn into a tube made of steel and lined with sharp little spikes. When it was all the way inside, I felt a cockring-like mechanism being closed tightly around me, securing it in place.
Two pairs of hands handled me simultaneously, never freeing more than one of my limbs at a time, to lubricate and work my body into a skintight rubber suit. More substantial than the one in which I had traveled, its close-fitting thickness soon enclosed me from neck to toe. I felt someone pull the device enclosing my cock through a hole and then snap something in place over it, maybe a codpiece. At the rear, a zipper was opened and a large butt plug was pushed into my rectum. My hole closed around it, clenching its narrow base, and my cock tried to harden, with painful results. Once situated inside, the plug seemed to increase in size, as if being inflated. Soon afterward, I felt my colon distend with a large quantity of fluid. After some time, as I groaned in discomfort, I felt someone fiddle with the connections, pump up the inflation of the enema plug a little larger, maybe disconnect and cap it, though I could not be sure, and then zip up the rear of the suit, closing it tightly.
Next, my experience with bondage helped to figure out what was being done. Attention shifted rapidly to my ankles, which were transferred to rigid irons. I felt a screw lock fastened, clamping them about 18 inches apart. A corset-like waist cincher, with shoulder and crotch straps, was applied tightly. My arms were lowered, released, and pulled behind me. Two people worked my hands and arms into a single-sleeve binder, with straps, laces, shoulder harness, and belts securing the binder at multiple points. Traction on a ring at the finger end of the sleeve, where my hands were tightly pouched in a double fist mitt, forced me to arch back and bend my knees slightly. I sensed that the arm binder was being tied to the rigid ankle restraint.
I received a sharp tap on the back of my head. I felt a new leash at my neck pull me forward. Pinioned by the span of metal separating my ankles, I waddled blindly. I was lifted over something and then hustled along awkwardly for 15 to 20 feet or more. We came to a stop as I was positioned in a specific spot. Someone placed a bar under my arms, horizontally between the arm binder and my back, and pulled the bar up as far as possible, to my armpits. I felt the tension there increase; my arms were pulled further down and the bar was pulled upward by something above. I struggled to balance on my toes. Then adjustments were made, until I was lowered to a more stable standing position.
Suddenly the hood and its collar were being removed. The gag was pulled out, and saliva dribbled over my chin. I moved my jaw around in relief. Forceps inserted into my ears extracted the plugs. The light was blinding and it was a minute or two before I could see. I felt a slippery hood being worked over my head from behind, and realized it was attached to the suit. Beanie style, it gripped my head, leaving an open oval area for my face, from my chin to my forehead. My eyes began to focus as a young man, possibly the same one I had seen at the airport, worked a rubber head harness into place. It bridled my head and neck and loosely muzzled my mouth, but it allowed my lips and nose to protrude, and did not cover my eyes. When my eyes adjusted to the light, I realized that I was inside a sturdy prison cell.
Apparently having completed his work with the head harness, the young man exited the cell, closing and locking its door with a sense of finality. Standing outside, he joined a similar looking young man of about my size and a much taller, larger man, to whom he handed a set of keys. Leather and rubber attire, well manicured facial hair, tattoos accentuating large expanses of muscular shoulders and biceps, stern facial expressions. It was a lot to take in visually all at one time. I felt scared, very uncomfortable, and overwhelmed by the situation. The men seemed about to leave the room, and I didn’t want to be left the way I was. I tried to focus on the older man, with the wide muscles and large tattoos, as he began speaking.
His deep voice said, “I’m your Master, pig. You are absolutely safe here and will be monitored, completely and at all times. I have many assistants, extensive experience and medical training, and I know what I’m doing. Are you scared, pig? You have my permission to answer.”
I tried to shake my head indicating yes but did not speak.
“You have reason to be, slave.” His serious expression was overtaken by an evil grin as he said, “You signed up to be my encasement pig, and I intend to be very cruel to you. Right now, though, I’m going to leave you for a while. I need to rest from our trip. Relax and enjoy the view, because when I return your encasement will begin in earnest. You’ll be sealed head to toe in extreme rubber bondage, severely hooded and sightless, for quite some time.”
With that, they filed away from the cell toward a massive door, which they opened and then shut behind them. I thought I heard the door locked from the outside, and then there was silence. I felt my heart thumping in my chest again, but this time it was stronger than ever. I realized I was pretty terrified. I tried to calm down.
The posture collar of the head harness made it nearly impossible to turn my head, but I attempted to look around. I looked down and then up as far as the restraints permitted. The bar under my subjoined arms was suspended by chains on each side that connected together from above. The rigid device on my ankles was fettered at its center to a ring set in the concrete floor, to which the finger end of the arm binder had also been chained. I discovered that I could swivel about 45 degrees to each side by shuffling my widely spread feet.
The cell in which I was imprisoned was approximately 10 or 12 feet square; it was centered inside a large rectangular room of concrete walls. The walls of the cell were typical jail cell bars; it was about nine feet high and had a barred top. There was an open space above it, as the ceiling of the outer room was much higher. The external walls and the ceiling were well out of reach of anyone locked in the cell. There were no windows and only one door, the massive one I had heard them lock. The hinges and lock were on the outside and the inside of the door had no handles or hardware of any kind.
My cell was completely empty of furniture of any kind. The floor was solid concrete, and all four of the barred sides seemed to be set into the concrete. Along the door end of the outer room there was a shower and wash area, a large concrete basin with one-foot sides that had a large drain in the center. Overhead hung a hose with various attachments, one of which I was sure had been used to clean out my insides. There was a small shelf on the wall which housed dildos of various sizes, enema equipment, soap, and cleaning solutions. The floor, ceiling and wall of the shower area had rings to which a slave could be attached (as I had been, apparently) and kept immovable.
There were tools of every description hanging on hooks on the concrete walls. There were restraints of all types – metal, leather, rubber – hoods, sacks, straitjackets, and there were instruments for whipping and paddling. There were fasteners, heavy rings, cables, and pulley systems, including one above the cell used for the suspension bar under my arms. In one corner of the room, what appeared to be a small closet had its door open, revealing a stockade inside. Next to it, built into the wall, was a fair-sized cage with a cravat inside and a huge phallus rising from its floor. There was also a very small, moveable cage and a wooden box, both of which looked like they would be extremely confining, possibly for use as punishment. A metal frame with a steel dildo for impaling and restraining a slave looked menacing. At the ceiling in the four corners of the room, small television cameras panned back and forth and zoomed in and out.
The shuffling around soon became very hard on my arms, so I decided to stay still. That’s when I noticed the silence – complete, utter silence, punctuated only by my own efforts, rubber against rubber, chains rattling, sighing and heavy breathing, the noises of a slave straining to endure his rubber and metal imprisonment. The men had left me standing widely in the center of cell, and I had to stay that way, or hang suspended by my arms, which became painful very quickly. Arms and hands behind me, tightly joined together, bicep to bicep, elbow to elbow, wrist to wrist, palm to palm; the horizontal bar under them forcing me to either stand upright or hang uncomfortably, the sleeve encasing them chained tightly to the floor; the inflated butt plug and fluid distending my gut, absorbing and transferring to my bladder, which I could no longer empty myself; the waist cincher guaranteeing uncomfortable pressure; the catheter and evil chastity tube; the heavy, rigid metal forcing my ankles apart, chained to the floor; the thick layer of rubber, enhanced by the waist cincher, bondage sleeve, and head harness.
If the situation I was in had been described to me, I would have been in bondage pig heaven just listening or reading about it. I would have begged to sign up immediately (just as I had done a few days before). But things seemed shockingly harsh in the real setting. I had no idea of my whereabouts and little knowledge of the character of the people who were in control, and they had left me in a pretty unbearable arrangement. I thought about what ‘my Master’ had said and his use of the word “cruel” – it gave me an anxious, unpleasant adrenaline rush, and my cock tried to get hard. Instantly, the pain from the spiked tube became unbearable, and I couldn’t keep from groaning loudly. The sound was pitiful, and I tried to keep myself quiet. I twisted in my restraints, trying to relieve the sharp pain.
As my cock recoiled, shrinking, and the pain receded a little, I surveyed the windowless, obviously underground, vault-like room and prison cell containing me. I looked around, again and again – there was clearly no escape for me. Slowly, time started to pass. I knew I should try to convince myself I was one lucky pig, but I felt too anxious and pained to adjust to the situation. The loose muzzle allowed me to speak and I called out once, uttering a feeble cry, I want to go home now, but the sound of my own voice, alone and pathetic, further unnerved me. More time passed, and I felt I had no options other than standing still and suffering quietly. After what seemed like a long, difficult hour or two, the lights suddenly went out, and I was alone and helpless in total darkness.
When you are bound and imprisoned and left alone in total darkness, it is impossible to keep track of time, especially a long stretch of dead-quiet blackness. I had no clues except for my own internal clock, which measured minutes by bodily discomfort – hurting more, getting more exhausted. I was in pain from standing so long and being restrained by the tight arm binder and wide leg spreader. The tension in my shoulders, along with the posture collar and waist cincher, kept my upper body rigid. The arm binder and hoist suspension bar became torturous, while the other devices focused my attention on my gut and cock. My body seemed to have absorbed the enema fluid. My bladder felt full, yet I had no power over the closed catheter invading it. Everything that had been applied earlier felt designed to increase the discomfort produced over time.
After an eternity, when I thought I couldn’t take any more, I returned to a tactic I had used earlier, when the lights were on – I started to shuffle around, working within the limited range permitted by the connection of the ankle restraint to the concrete floor. The darkness seemed to magnify the sounds of rubber straining against rubber and metal on concrete. As I repositioned my feet incessantly, my mind dredged up details of why I was in this predicament.
I remembered the essay I had written, required as part of my application to be an encasement pig. I had tried to address the qualifications listed on my Master’s rubbermen.com profile and in the questionnaire I filled out. In truth, pumping my cock as I wrote, I would have included anything to be accepted for a tryout visit, but now I was starting to have serious regrets. I remembered writing that my goal was to be a full-time bondage slave to a sadistic Master, which seemed true at the time. I had also described my ultimate fantasy of being kidnapped, encased in rubber, and imprisoned for life with strict confinement and isolation. As I remembered more and more, my heart raced, outpacing my frantic thoughts. Soon, as my internal dialogue continued, I found myself in the midst of a hellish adrenaline rush. I felt new perspiration under my rubber suit. I started to berate myself. I had consented to these conditions, and now they were already real. Why was I surprised? Maybe the speed of the events and degree of commitment by the man in charge shocked me. Whatever the rationale I came up with, thinking about it did not seem to improve the situation. Trying to clear my mind, I stopped moving around.
Time began to pass as I stood quietly, alone in the dark. The discomfort deepened, setting in like a permanent state. I had constant aching in my shoulders and arms, and the combination of restraints became pure hell. I wiggled my fingers, caught in fists in the tight rubber. Feeling the restriction, I stretched my muscles to keep the circulation going in my limbs. There was absolutely nothing I could do but stand or hang around and endure. It felt like I was in the dark for eons. At times I would process things on an intellectual level, reacting to the fantasy element, but that would make my cock harden, which was agony inside the small, spiked tube. Eventually, I gave in to my exhaustion by hanging from the bar under my arms, though it increased the torture. I felt totally helpless, broken and ready to be transformed into whatever my new Master decided he wanted.
As I continued suffering quietly, with no warning the lights suddenly came back on. I stood straight and shifted in place, looking around expectantly, almost cheerfully. Minutes passed, and then several more, until it became obvious I was not supposed to equate the return of light with release. From within my cell, I scanned my prison again, but I was too tired to have additional curiosity about my surroundings. I stood as still as possible, trying to be patient, but I was dying inside my rubber and restraints. Time dragged on, twenty or thirty or more minutes passed, perhaps a full hour (it was impossible to know for sure), and then I heard the outer door being unlocked. The door released, like a vacuum being unsealed, and as it opened my Master entered the room with his two companions.
Even in my exhausted state, I reacted to his appearance, which was absolutely breathtaking! I felt like I was seeing him completely for the first time. Clad head to neck in tight fitting black rubber, the latex exaggerated his large muscles popping everywhere – huge biceps, highly developed shoulders, bulging pectorals, and great legs, encased by high, shiny boots. His head was shaved. Closely cropped, black facial hair accentuated square, mature, masculine features. His face was handsome in an extreme, austere way.
The three of them stood outside my cell. His presence was blinding. I would probably have barely noticed the men with him, but when I took in their attire, my cock expanded, and I moaned loudly in response. Both looked short next to him, with their compact, athletic bodies. They each wore a head to toe, skintight rubber bondage suit, including gloves, hood, collar, multiple straps and belts, with wrists and ankles encircled but not restrained, and many padlocks. Not an inch of skin appeared to be exposed. I moaned again. My cock was killing me.
My Master approached the cell, unlocked the door, and came inside. Standing directly in front of me, he asked, “Are you in pain, slave? Speak out now while you can.” Partially muzzled, I mumbled that I was hurting a lot, especially my cock and arms, and that I needed to piss. He laughed in response. “That’s good to hear, slave, but you will hurt a lot more in the coming days.” He gave my crotch a squeeze, agitating the effect of the spiked tube. I squirmed and groaned loudly, involuntarily expressing a mixture of conflicting feelings – pain, fear, exhaustion, and excitement. He laughed again in response.
Soon, he was joined inside the cell by the two young men, which I assumed were his permanent slaves, after they had collected gear from an area of the outer room not visible to me. I was terrified of what they had planned for me, but my cock was still trying to get hard, causing unbearable misery. I moaned loudly, but stopped quickly in response to my Master’s strict, no-nonsense tone of voice and instructions. “No talking or noise for now, pig. Shut up or be punished.”
For the next few minutes, I focused on ignoring my painful cock. In truth, I felt depleted of all physical and mental energy, almost too tired to resist even if I had wanted to. I found myself complying with my Master’s initial instructions without really thinking about it. When I heard his voice, the matter a fact way he addressed me, as “pig” or “slave,” seemed to penetrate my entire being.
Early in the process, one of the slaves worked on removing the head gear and waist cincher from me, while my Master talked. He held a heavy, formidable looking rubber hood, connected to what looked like some kind of upper body attachment, with thick laces, tubes, and straps dangling in front of my eyes. As he talked, he offered a brief preview of my immediate future. “Pay attention and listen up, slave. You’re about to be severely hooded, sound-proofed and sightless, for quite some time. Your mouth will remain gagged by a large tube built into the hood. At times it will be plugged or capped for my amusement, and at other times it will be used to force piss into your mouth, which you will swallow immediately or be punished. Use the nostril tubes inside the hood for air when you are unable to breathe through your mouth. Are you listening, pig?”
With his free hand, he cupped my crotch, pressing on the chastity device. I desperately nodded, yes I was listening. He continued. “As for the rest of you, your dick stays securely locked in spikes at all times. The urinary catheter and inflatable enema plug remain in place. Liquid nourishment when needed will be infused through your rectum into your colon using the tube in your enema plug. You listed piss as a turnoff on your questionnaire, and therefore I’ve decided you will recycle your own piss. Periodically, your dick tube will be hooked up to your mouth tube, allowing your bladder to empty by dumping piss into your mouth.” I said nothing, but I was sure my unhappiness at this prospect registered on my face.
Sounding even more serious, almost menacing, he continued, and my heart pounded anew. “When we’re finished tonight, you should expect to stay encased, head to toe, in extreme rubber bondage, for quite some time. I am telling you all of this to help you function as a slave and also to warn you not to have any false hopes of relief. Do you understand all of these instructions so far, slave? Nod your head without talking.”
I nodded again yes, yes, and I think there were tears in my eyes. While he was talking, his slaves released my arms from the binder and guided each into a separate compartment of the bundle of rubber he was holding. The outer rubber suit remained in place. He continued talking as they worked quickly. I tried to focus on his words rather than their actions. “Don’t worry. In addition to the routine matters I’ve told you about, there will also be many surprises. You will probably be too uncomfortable to get very bored, in any case.
After we have finished sealing you up tonight, we will put you into one of your sleeping positions and let you rest for a while. You should take advantage of this while you can, rest up and sleep, because you will need all of your energy for what’s to come next.” He paused and stared at me, then asked, “Are you frightened, slave?”
I nodded. “Very good, pig. You should be.”
With my arms stuffed into individual compartments at each side of the contraption, they pulled the top of the rigging over my shoulders and began joining it together in back. Sight disappeared as I felt his strong hands, which positioned and pressed the front of the hood into my face. My reflexes kicked in unexpectedly, and I started to fight the intrusion of the nostril and mouth tubes. As the flaps of the hood and sides of upper body restraint were joined and tightened, the sensations increased. The tubes felt large and invasive, the hood was very close fitting, and the tightening of zippers, straps and laces around me was a shock, hemming in and squeezing my arms and upper body into a solid mass. I felt sharp slaps on my rubber-encased butt and forehead, and I recognized them as signals to cooperate, but it took several minutes to adapt to the invasion of tubes, the tight encapsulation of my head and torso, and the growing feeling of sensory deprivation.
I tried to calm myself as things progressed even further, letting exhaustion and submission take over as they fastened, adjusted, and tightened the thick apparatus. They continued the adjustments, increasing the compression of my chest and arms until they decided (apparently) that my upper half was firmly packed in rubber. In darkness inside the hood, I measured further progress through sensations. I felt my ankles released from the metal spreader and my legs pushed together. Hands on my shoulders balanced me. On top of my rubber suit, I felt straps and padding, probably foam, around and between my knees and ankles; tension and stretching, piece by piece, from my ankles upward to just below my crotch, as if my legs were being mummified with strips; and additional straps at my ankles, above and below my knees, and at my hips. The hands on my shoulders exerted downward pressure, my knees bent, and I was lowered to the ground.
Flipped onto my stomach on the concrete floor of the cell, I felt more strips applied, mummifying my feet, over which straps or a harness joined them tightly together. Someone pushed my ankles down, folding my legs almost completely, and then I felt the sensation of more bindings being tightened.
Unfortunately for me, the extreme bondage stimulated my cock, and the spikes did their job. I screamed my head off. Squirming helplessly within the modified hogtie, panting through the tube gag, I felt like I had been transformed, tucked up and jammed into the tightest rubber package I could have ever imagined. I continued moaning as I felt someone push me to one side and fiddle with my crotch, but I was soon silenced by an object pushed into my mouth tube, followed by a gush of fluid. I swallowed, recognizing immediately what I regarded as the unpleasant tang of strong, warm piss. I had an immediate desire to spit out the remainder and somehow block the flow, but the gag would not allow it. Instead, I swallowed quickly, hoping to reach the end of the supply as I felt a steady stream flood my mouth. Once the gag was blocked and piss-filled, I was able to breathe only through my nose. As I recycled the piss, I found (perversely) that being forced to focus on processing the nasty-flavored soup without choking or throwing up pacified me. The rhythmic concentration required to breathe and swallow, breathe and swallow, had a calming effect. I had little reaction as someone pushed me back into position on my stomach.
Simultaneously, I felt tension at my feet and at the top of my head, pulling them toward each other and then upward, forcing my spine to arch. I also felt something tug at my neck. I felt fiddling at my ass. Someone inflated my enema plug. Fluid flowed into me at both ends.
As I consumed the piss that dumped into my mouth and absorbed who knows what up my ass, I realized I had never felt so helpless in my life. Deprived of sight and external sounds, mesmerized by the repetitive cycle I was forced to maintain in order to survive, at some point I realized a considerable period of time had passed. Suddenly, there was a release of tension on my head and feet, the rubber at my ass was closed over, the piss stopped flowing, and I was pushed onto my side. I felt action at my crotch, closing it over also, the mouth tube was suddenly open again for breathing (or throwing up, I thought to myself), and I was rolled back to my stomach. Then the tension on my head and feet returned, noticeably stronger than before.
At first, I was overwhelmed with relief that my piss recycling duties were complete, even though the strong aftertaste persisted. Soon, however, I started to worry, and my concerns were reinforced as time passed. Sightless and soundless, I could not know for sure, but, I felt like I was alone again. Was I actually supposed to stay like this? Tightly bound, lying on my stomach on solid concrete. My upper body encased in a tight rubber torso sack, my arms sealed to my sides. My legs mummified and hogtied. My head connected to my feet. I tried to shift and found I could rock from one side to the other, but whatever connected my feet and head above me also ensured that I was promptly returned to a hogtie position, flopping on the hard concrete, flat on my stomach. A collar around my neck also restricted movement, and I guessed it was connected to the ring anchored in the concrete floor. And this was a “sleeping position?”
I didn’t see any way I was going to get any rest. All of my holes were tubed. My cock, which had led me to this state of affairs, was trapped in a small metal tube with spikes digging into it, ensuring it could not be enjoyed. I was gagged, hooded, encased in rubber, bound into a tight package, locked in a cell, and sealed in a vault-like prison. On the verge of disbelief as time dragged on, I moaned and rocked, moaned and rocked, then rested. At some point during my exertions, time and darkness began to merge with exhaustion. I suddenly jerked in my bindings, wondering if I had been unconscious. My body seemed too uncomfortable to surrender to the sleep my mind needed desperately. As I drifted somewhere in the blackness, my body jerked again, even more vigorously. I heard a short buzzing sound and then my Master’s deep, disembodied voice in the darkness. Its abruptness and no-nonsense tone terrified me. Was he talking through earphones in my hood?
“LISTEN UP, SLAVE. LISTEN UP. HAVE A GOOD, LONG NIGHT. DEFINITELY REST UP OVERNIGHT, BECAUSE I INTEND TO BE VERY CRUEL FROM NOW ON. IN FACT, TOMORROW MIGHT BE THE WORST DAY OF YOUR LIFE. WELCOME TO TOTAL SLAVERY, PIG!”
I heard a click, like a speaker turning off, and felt engulfed by silence. The darkness and tight bondage seemed to intensify as I contemplated his words. Had I been dreaming, or were they real? I repeated them in my head, over and over again, especially the last sentence, “Welcome to total slavery, pig.” As time and darkness merged with exhaustion once more, consciousness began to elude me, and my dreams of bondage merged with a nightmare of my Master’s words.
Encasement Pig Wanted – Chapter 4
Tightly encased, trussed up and bound in rubber, I was lying on solid concrete. Inside the tight hood squeezing my head, there was no logic to my sense of time and awareness. Half awake, squirming and sweating, I realized at some point that I had been sleeping on and off. A restless, fitful sleep, fighting to satisfy my exhaustion, it was not quite powerful enough to overwhelm wakeful awareness of the fix I was in.
Finding itself transformed into a tightly packaged rubber bundle, my anatomy explored its predicament. Muscles flexed and strained within the tight torso sack, where my upper body remained helplessly consolidated. Securely packed, laced, and strapped, with arms sealed horizontally to each side, my chest heaved and sighed. Below the waist, my legs stretched uselessly, unable to unbend from their mummified hogtie. Rubber-encased toes wiggled as agitated feet tugged the connection between them, my head, and something above me. Under the rubber and restraints, my holes suffered the presence of the tubes invading them. My cock chafed against the sadistic spikes of the evil chastity device in which it was trapped. Anchored at my neck to the concrete floor of the cell, I had been left in a ‘sleeping position’? to ‘rest.’? Remembering what I had been told, I kept asking myself, “this is a ‘sleeping position’?”
I rocked gently from one side to the other, using the only small movement the restraints allowed to comfort myself. The slimy, ultra-tight rubber barely moved as my body swayed. No one could be expected to stay this way for long, let alone sleep like this, I thought, as I drifted off into semi-consciousness. In a half-awake, half-asleep state, I entered into a nightmare realm, struggling to get free.
Sometime later inside the darkness of my rubber hood, I found that I was fully awake. I felt totally disoriented. Maybe hours had passed, but I could not be sure. My cramped limbs tried to stretch, only to have the bindings remind me that relief was not possible. I belched, and the aftertaste of piss was back in my mouth. My head, shaking reflexively and trying to pull back, felt the resistance of what I assumed was a chain locking a collar around my neck to the floor. My emotions were in control, taking over my thoughts. I felt lonely, humiliated and abandoned. Why had I gotten myself into this mess? My reasons for wanting to be controlled by a sadistic rubber disciplinarian Master seemed irretrievable. Fuck, I didn’t even know where I was. But soon I started to feel tired again, and lost track of my thoughts. I might have slept again.
Even later, I woke up suddenly, feeling startled by my inability to ease the constriction. My Master’s admonition repeated in my mind, “Welcome to total slavery, pig.”? Had I imagined that he could talk to me inside the hood? Taking a deep breath through my mouth tube, I sensed the full restriction of the rubber contraption that encased my upper body. I was curious to know what it was. It felt like a fusion of different types of bondage gear, maybe a cross between a straitjacket and the upper half of a sleepsack, as if someone used the principles of each to design a restraint that would maximize bondage for the chest and arms – a restraint that would be used only on a total encasement pig like me, I guessed. I squirmed and tested all aspects of the tight restraints. My ridiculous, unreal predicament suddenly seemed too hot to handle, as if it came straight out of the best bondage story ever. Writhing in bondage bliss, I experienced a return of the feelings of humiliation and abandonment, but in a sexual way. I tried to visualize what I must look like in my encased and bound state â€“ totally encapsulated, half-sacked, mummified, hogtied, chained to the concrete floor of a prison cell – but my body attempted an erection in the tight chastity tube, the spikes dug in, and I was immediately punished by heavy pain to my encased cock.
Desperate to avoid further pain for my cock, I tried not to think any more about my situation, but I had little power over my emotions. I was getting to experience the real life version of my ultimate bondage fantasy, but no sexual satisfaction was permitted. How weird, I thought. My cock, which had led me to this, could no longer enjoy a mere erection, let alone the opportunity to cum. Fuck, I couldn’t even think about it, unless I wanted to experience the severe pain of the spikes inside my chastity tube. And yet it was impossible to avoid thinking that way. For several hellish minutes, my cock hardened no matter what I did, and the agony was unbearable. I struggled with the bindings and screamed my head off through the tube gag. Minutes passed, I wrestled and squealed, but nothing changed. The message seemed clear – deal with it on your own; you have no choice. Left to my own devices with no option except to endure, eventually the pain subsided a bit, as if my cock was finally getting the message – no fun allowed! Berating myself, I cursed my own stupidity. Fuck, fuck, fuck. What had I gotten myself into?
It felt like hours more passed, but it was hard to know. At some point I was aware of the sound of static. It started quietly but quickly became loud enough to be annoying, apparently confirming earlier indications that the hood encasing my head included earphones. Time dragged on, made even longer by the disagreeable noise. It seemed like forever. The static increased in intensity, making logical thought impossible.
It felt like an eternity since I had flown away to a strange city to meet an enigmatic rubber bondage Master, been caged and transported by him in a mysterious van, and then imprisoned in this unknown location. Through the rubber, my sweat-coated, latex-sealed body sensed the cold hardness of the concrete floor. My ass and bladder craved relief. Forced open by the tube gag, my mouth and jaws ached. With tubes stuffed in my nostrils, I longed to blow my nose. The position required by the restraints, hour after hour, and the idea that these were sleeping conditions, seemed unnecessarily cruel, but then I remembered my Master had put that word into my head, telling me, â€œYou signed up to be my encasement pig, and I intend to be very cruel to you.â€? My cock hardened at the thought, punishing me again with sharp pain. All at once, I thought I was going crazy. The tight bondage, stabbing pain in my cock, and irritating noise inside my hood – all of the individual elements of my torture came together to threaten my sanity. I struggled, but escape was impossible. There was fucking nothing I could do but wait and suffer. Eventually my body subdued itself, and my mind went blank.
Much later, with no warning, I woke suddenly. I sensed immediately that the static was gone. I couldn’t believe I had been sleeping again. I felt a sharp tug, followed by increased tension, pulling my head and feet further toward each other and upward. My spine arched and my weight shifted to the small part of my abdomen still on the floor. The pressure increased until I was basically immobile, strained to the limit of my body’s flexibility. My breathing accelerated as I felt straps being fastened over the rubber hood and something being done to the tube in my mouth. Then I heard a click, followed by the voice of my Master suddenly in my head: “Rise and shine, slave. You’ve had a generous rest. It’s time for your suffering to begin. Before we start, however, I have a treat for you.”?
I had barely processed what I heard when a stream of warm liquid entered my mouth. I was in no position to object or prevent it, so I started swallowing. Earlier, I had reluctantly gotten used to the catheter draining my own piss into my mouth, but this was different. After the first tentative trickles, it gushed blatantly, instantly creating a mouthful. I gulped frantically, finally catching up with it, but then it gushed again. I tried to regulate it, partially blocking the flow by placing my tongue inside the tube, but that also intensified the taste. It soon became obvious that someone was filling something attached to my mouth tube, probably a funnel, I thought. It drained, I swallowed, and the process repeated. It continued for three or four cycles, accompanied by the sound of my Master’s steely voice inside the hood, at first patiently encouraging me to “enjoy your Master’s piss, pig,”? but then, near the end, commanding me to “keep swallowing or be punished, pig.” He made the situation sound so matter of fact, and I heard myself gulping loudly inside the hood in response. I wondered if his other slaves were observing my abject humiliation.
When he was finished, there was an abrupt release of my head and feet. I had immense relief as I was pushed onto my left side. I felt simultaneous manipulations at my mouth and crotch. Straps were unfastened from my head, something was removed from the outside of my mouth, and then something was inserted into the mouth tube. The air at my mouth was blocked, and soon more piss flowed. As I swallowed once again, I heard a clicking sound and then my Mater’s voice, louder than before. It sounded like he was inside my hood. “As you know by now, your hood contains earphones. They are wireless. I’m wearing a headset and speaking into a microphone. I can use the hood’s sound system to play recorded messages and noise of any kind if I wish, and to annoy or punish. I will use it to give orders when necessary, which you will obey at all times immediately. At times I may describe what is happening or about to happen to you. At other times I may not communicate with you for long periods, leaving you alone in a dark, silent rubber world. Today I am using the former approach, so listen up, pig. After you empty your bladder, you will be taken to the shower area and undergo preparations for what you signed up for, some heavy, long-term encasement.”? I heard a click and then silence, punctuated by internal swallowing sounds as I finished the remaining piss. In disbelief, I considered his words. Hadn’t I just been in ‘long-term’ encasement?
I had little time to think about it, though. The ‘preparations’? were rough and quick. Two or three pairs of hands worked on me. Bindings were undone, yanked, and removed. My feet and head were disconnected from their attachments. My legs were unwrapped. Suddenly standing on my feet unsteadily, I was hustled out of the cell into what I assumed was the shower area. I felt hands loosening the torso sack, which detached from the collar, leaving the hood in place. The sense of liberation was enormous as my chest and arms were released. Too soon, however, my wrists were encircled by something that connected them, and my hands were encased tightly, joined palm to palm in what felt like a double fist mitt. I was strung up with my hands way above my head, and just my rubber-covered toes and the balls of my encased feet touching what I assumed was the metal grating of the shower drain. I heard a click, followed by my Master’s voice inside my hood. “Spread em, slave,” he ordered in a strict, no-nonsense tone. I separated my feet as much as I could and felt the rigid metal closing around my ankles.
Now just the tips of my toes were resting on the floor, and my wrists were taking most of my weight. Hands manipulated the rear access of my rubber suit, and I endured weird sensations of powerlessness over my own bowel function, passing gas and waste with no control. The pressure of the enema plug fluctuated as I was cleaned out and washed off. I felt the plug re-inflate to an uncomfortable size, sealing my anal canal tightly as more fluid entered. Eventually the rear access was closed, snug against my ass again. Then someone began whacking it with what I thought was a wooden paddle. I thrashed in protest as hands massaged and pinched my nipples through the rubber suit. My cock hardened, the spikes dug in, and I screamed. Inside the hood, I heard a click, followed by sadistic laughter and my Master’s voice. “That mild pain is nothing compared to what I will do to you if you are uncooperative in any way.”? Frightened by his warning, I went limp, hanging helplessly and taking the torture until they took me down. My wrists were undone, my hands released, my arms pulled roughly behind my back, and my wrists quickly cuffed.
Leaving me in the rubber suit and the hood, sightless and sound-controlled, they moved me to an area that seemed not too far from the shower and forced me to sit on my knees with legs underneath. Relatively comfortable for the first time in hours, I waited patiently. Soon, I felt the wrist cuffs being removed and my arms were brought forward. Someone applied pressure to bend my right arm at the elbow and to press my palm into my shoulder. Over the rubber suit I wore, I felt my elbow enter into a narrow sleeve that soon encased my entire arm, squeezing the lower and upper halves together as it was pulled up and fastened at my shoulder, where my hand inserted into its own separate compartment. Quickly, my left arm was folded at the elbow and restrained in a similar casing.
Still kneeling, my arms now helpless, I was pushed forward. Hands on my shoulders guided me to take the weight of my upper body on my elbows, which I discovered were cushioned by padding. As I balanced on my elbows and knees, they removed the ankle spreader. I felt someone apply pressure to my feet, pushing them down until they touched my butt. Holding my foot in place, someone lifted my right leg. Beginning at the knee, I felt someone insert my leg into a snug-fitting receptacle, like a giant sock, pinning my lower and upper leg together as it was pulled upward. My ankle bent slightly; my foot pivoted inward and entered into some kind of attached pocket; and my leg was lowered back to the floor. Soon the other leg was encased in a similar manner.
By now, I was in a dog-like position, on my elbows and knees as I felt the individual sheaths that encased my limbs merging together into a wicked device that was being fastened around my entire body. It was difficult to discern what the material was, but it felt strong yet pliable, like leather or canvas. Straps crossed between my shoulder blades and around my buttocks, with connections in front at my sternum and crotch. Fasteners tightened around each double-bent limb and secured the individual pockets encasing hands and feet. As they fine-tuned and re-tightened the connections, my emotions struggled with adjusting to the severe confinement. The sadistic device locked each arm into position, bent completely at the elbow and folded up tight, with hands pressed flat and latched to my shoulders. It joined each lower leg to its upper half and held my feet tight, slightly bent with toes inward, pressed flat against my buttocks. Tightly bound bent-double, my arms and legs had been transformed into stubs. I tried to flex my fingers within the tight pouches; my hands felt completely useless. I felt trapped and was already worried how long it would last. At least there was padding inside the compartments where my elbows and knees met the floor.
Suddenly the voice of my Master clicked on, loud inside my head again. “And now, we have one last little addition to make to your attire.”
The sound clicked off and for a few moments I held my breath, not knowing what to expect next. Then I felt hands lift and manipulate one limb at a time. Some type of separate, outer encasement was being added on top of what I already wore. My gimped arms and legs were inserted into snug pockets, and the added layer was pulled up and stretched into place, then closed over my back, perhaps with a zipper, creating an overall feeling of tight encasement from the neck down. While I could not see it, the top layer felt like a thick rubber gimp suit made as a companion piece to the device restraining me underneath it. (available at www.hot4hogtie.com ) Instantly, my heat index soared.
I sensed they were finished encasing me when someone yanked at my neck. My Master clicked in, blasting into my earphones with sharp commands to “walk on your hooves, pig” and “keep moving, slave!” I tested my modified limbs, trying to ‘walk’? on all fours with my knees and elbows, a difficult process, complicated by my lack of sight. I could not see where I was being led. After a short time, I was told, “stand still.”? I adjusted my posture as someone pushed and pulled my body and limbs into position, until I felt something rigid enclose my neck and fix my arms and legs in place. When I tried to lower my head, my chin was stopped by a flat surface.
Then my earphones clicked and words filled my head. “Listen closely, pig. I am about to share what is in store for you, and you might find it interesting. The position you are bound in may feel tolerable at the moment, but you will find that it becomes uncomfortable, or even painful, as time passes. Eventually you will hope for release, but there is no escape, and release will not come for a very long time.”
In a sort of automatic response, I tried to move, only to discover that I was trapped in some type of pillory that forced me to ‘stand’? on all fours on my bound limbs. My cock hardened, torturing me, and I moaned.
“Shut up, pig, and listen closely. When you locked yourself in my cage at the airport, you may have sealed your fate. You are not here for a visit in the ordinary sense. I took special precautions with you, mostly around the rubbermen profile, the application you submitted in response, and your transport here. The precautions were necessary in case I decided to keep you here forever. I have had many willing slaves in the past and currently have two that are permanent. While I enjoy my other slaves quite often, my sadism is not totally satisfied. I need one slave that exists only to suffer for me. I want to know that at all times there is one special encasement pig locked away here, always in full rubber bondage, sweaty, tubed, and plugged, and allowed little pleasure of any kind. You have the potential to fill that need for me, slave.
“You would be allowed contact with no one except me and my slaves, and no contact with or knowledge of the outside world. You would never again see the sun or sky, or anything but this facility. Occasionally you would wear a hood that would permit you to see me and your prison.
“Down here, time would stand still for you, pig. There would be no music, television, books, internet, or computer.”
Fighting an urge to hyperventilate, I felt an adrenaline rush hammering my chest as he continued.
“I may choose you for that existence, slave. Your eagerness and past experiences as a strong bottom pig, with your capacity for extreme rubber bondage, have served me well so far. You have passed several tests already, and now I am finished preparing you for the next, what I like to call PWD, which stands for prolonged waiting discipline. I am leaving you the way you are now for a minimum of 12 hours of PWD. Your muscles and joints will become very sore, and you will wish for your PWD to be over long before it is. While it will probably seem much longer than 12 hours to you, it is really just a preview of how you might spend an extended 24 or 36 hours of PWD, if I choose to keep you imprisoned as my slave. In fact!”
I was horrified by what he was telling me, but my cock hardened even more, and I screamed out in pain. I heard laughter in the earphones, and then more words. “I’m beginning to recognize the sound effects of the spikes digging in to your cock, and they please me, pig. They give you away, telling me you’re a true bondage pig. They also tell me that you’re suffering, which hardens my dick and may become your sole purpose in life. But when I tell you ‘no sound effects, slave’ you will shut up, immediately, or you’ll be sorry.”
I quieted down and he continued summarizing my predicament. “As I was saying, “In fact, just to be clear, let’s review the difficult physical situation you’re in. All hitched up, bound, and harnessed into a very challenging position, sealed in rubber, hooded, gagged, plugged and tubed, locked in painful chastity, secured in wooden stocks, locked in a prison cell and left alone for a minimum of 12 hours, you will learn what PWD is, pig.”
Abruptly, the earphones clicked off. Shocked out of my mind, I stayed quiet and still for several minutes, frozen in disbelief, until it seemed he was gone. When I thought I was alone, I tried to move. It was hopeless. Other than slight shifting of my weight from one elbow or knee to the other, I was stuck. Searching for a way to get more comfortable, I squirmed vigorously, but my feet started to cramp. Held flat and wedged against my butt almost en pointe, they were trapped at an awkward angle. I was barely able to wiggle my toes in an effort for relief. A few minutes may have passed as I explored the full extent of my difficulties, which produced a mixture of anxiety and horniness, the latter resulting in increased punishment to my cock. My attempted erection tortured me even more, pulverizing my cock against the spikes of the small tube. The heat was building inside the multiple layers encasing me. I tried to stop squirming, but the manner of bondage of my arms and legs encouraged a restlessness I could barely suppress. Fuck, I thought, this is impossible!
Then fragments of what I had just been told started to replay in my mind.
“When you locked yourself in my cage at the airport, you may have sealed your fate. ‘one slave that exists only to suffer for me’. ‘no contact with the outside world’, ‘I may choose you'”
“Your muscles and joints will become very sore. ‘extended waiting discipline.’ It will seem much longer than 12 hours to you.”
Squirming, hot, sweaty and uncomfortable, yet horny, scared shitless by my Master’s revelations, but excited by them, I heard a repetitive noise within my hood – thump, thump, thump. I suddenly froze again, listening inside the intense darkness as the realization came to me. The sounds were from the blood vessels in my head, bearing the effects of my pounding heart as my body throbbed within tight rubber.