By ty dehner

Long distance, I hate those words. There never seems to be anything positive about the two of them. We know it costs money anytime you want to talk to someone on the phone, long distance. Then there is that night you meet a hot guy, a guy that looks fucking awesome in his jeans and football jersey, a guy that grabs you by the neck, spits in your face then slams his tongue down your throat, trapping you in the spell of is blue eyes.

That night that you go back to his hotel room and talk all night, lying in the pair of football pants he allows you to wear that he has sweated in for weeks while working out in the gym. Nothing matters but lying next to him, laying your head on his chest as you listen to him breathing and sharing his life with you. In the morning as you’re driving home, it dawns on you that he isn’t from your city and if you want things to continued, yes, it has to be a long-distance relationship. You see, long distance is never good.

Yea, I was a fool for allowing me to be sucked in, but when you meet the right guy, you must believe don’t you? But damn if the Gods didn’t conspire against us.

See this long distance wasn’t just a few states away, it was entire country border the separated us. He was from the land of hockey and Celine Dion. Well one out of two ain’t bad. So, there was this border that might as well be the Iron Curtain. Then he got transferred to a job in the oil fields of Alberta which created a further distance. We would get together when we can, as my job also has me traveling across the country that gave us football and Brittney…eh.

But the holidays always seemed so alone as we both knew we would much rather be with each other in our gear than with our families being the good sons that our Mom’s hope will settle down and start a family someday. Even watching the football games would remind me of him. I couldn’t wait to get home to talk to him, hear about his times and we would dream together, knowing one day we would have to stop tempting fate and end up with me at his cleats.

He would talk about the control he really wanted over me; there was nothing else he would be happy with. We both knew in our hearts that it was meant to be. Sure, we were friends, but deep inside there would always be the constant under current knowing that he was absolutely in charge.

It was after coming home from a long project that took me to Arizona that things started to change in ways I never thought possible. It was as if I was finally getting the playbook to the rest of my life. As I laid all the mail on the table, his letter slid out and was the first I had to read. I hadn’t even gotten out of my shoes as I sat on the leather sofa and read.   He was now foreman on the job just east of Calgary and they were hiring like crazy on this new project. He had started the process and I was to report to him in two weeks. Enclosed he had all the paperwork to make my working legal; I was to bring nothing for he would be taking care of anything. This was going to our first real test at full time ownership. I would be with him until the end of the project, at least 8 months. He didn’t tell me anything about the job, nothing, just that he would meet me at the Calgary airport. Hell, he even had the flight arrangements made. As I read, I could feel my dick grow in my jock that I always wore. I wasn’t sure if he knew that, but I did.

Getting ready for the trip and long-term assignment wasn’t difficult. My job had often required me to leave for long periods, so family and friends accepted. My close friends of course knew the real reason and I think were a little jealous that finally, I was getting to be with the man than owned my heart. Riding in the taxi to the airport started the butterflies in my stomach. I was wearing the logger jeans, Wesco boots, and flannel shirt that he required I be in when I got off the plane. Security was a bitch, it was hell unlacing and lacing the 16” boots. But the TSA guard was hot in his white uniform shirt, I did wonder about him, for he wore the black leather cop gloves. I could smell them as he patted me down, especially as he went across my shoulder. Overall, I always thought all this extra security was stupid and really wasn’t going to stop much, but at this moment I was enjoying my lot in life. There were a few moments when I thought of Ken being the one in uniform. We had talked about getting him a cop uniform as he would joke what he’d be doing with the night stick. Thankfully the denim on my logger jeans was heavy, because I don’t think the TSA guard noticed my growing dick. Eventually he finished up and let me to lace up my boots.

As I boarded the plane I felt so different. The clothes were certainly something different for me. I liked that Ken had decided for me that this is what I was wearing. The small case of luggage was mainly computer and things he told me to bring. He didn’t even allow me to bring my football uniform.

Since it was a small plane there was no in-flight entertainment. I just closed my eyes after checking out the mountains below through the clouds.

Finally, this man called for me. How many nights I had dreamed of us being together and it was finally happening. I was scared and nervous. It had been so long since we had been together, what will it be like for us to touch and feel each other again. Our last time together was for a week at my place. The first few days were cool, for we traveled and visited the ocean and even took in a football game. That night after the game something happened, and he seemed more controlling. I suited him up in his full uniform, which he kissed me deeply for doing. He had me turn around and wrapped his padded arm around my neck, pulling me closer. His gloved hand covered my mouth and nose, clamping tighter and tighter. My head was caught between his arm and the chest of his pads. His arm lifted me up on my toes, choking me a bit. I could smell the leather of his lineman gloves and he gagged me, it was all I could breathe.

“Kneel,” he whispered in my ear, as he let me go.

I did exactly that, wearing only my jeans and shirt that I wore to the game. His gloved hands grabbed my head and forced it into his cupped crotch. I wanted inside the cup so bad, but all I could do was chew on the smooth fabric of his NFL pants. Occasionally he would tightly hold my head and shove his crotch into my face. I would slightly smell his piss and sweat stained jock through the thin gold pants. Without thinking I reached and started to play with my own dick through my jeans. His cleat covered foot slammed into my balls, causing me to bend forward, but his hands held on to my head.

Tightly grabbing my ears, he pulled my head up, as he stood up. I looked at his eyes through the shield of the face mask on his helmet. He spits a large gob in my face, sticking just below my right eye. Slowly it slid down my cheek.

“Strip,” is his command. Immediately I start removing all my clothing, as he disappears. Shortly he calls me into the living room.

As I enter, there he stands this full uniformed and padded lineman that has full power over me. Beside him is my football gear, and slowly he starts suiting me. He has never done this before and it feels so wonderful. First the socks slide on my feet, going up and over my knees. Then he hands me a much-worn jock and cup. He tells me that he has worn that jock for 6 months while working out in the gym. While it is in my hand, he lifts it to my face and has me take in his wonderful aroma of sweat, piss and energy. He rubs it around my face; it takes off the gob of spit from earlier. As it passes over my mouth, my tongue reaches out for a taste. It is all too brief as it passes over quickly.

Slowly he works it down and I know it is time to step into his jock. But he stops me and tosses the cup and jock aside. I am confused as to why, then he holds up my football pants, they are also NFL but from another team. I am not allowed a girdle like he wears; my pads are in my pants. He helps me pull them up and tighten the belt. Before lacing he orders me to put my hands behind my back, and I do. His gloved hand reaches in the crotch and works on my dick and balls. Getting a good grip on them, they are pulled out and he orders me to grip them. As I do, he makes sure my pants are laced tightly, with my cock and balls outside my pants.

Hands behind my back, I feel his gloved hand again working them. I want to lean against him, but he does not allow it. Without warning he pulls them down towards the floor sharply and I kneel. Letting go, he shoves a cleat in my face to take in the scent, as he explains how he’s worn these at night as he slept. One hand of his keeps the cleat in my face as the other works my cock and balls. Then he tosses it on the floor beside me and has me set down. He kneels before me, this huge lineman, helmeted, and puts the cleats on. Lacing them, I want to reach out and touch him, but he does not allow me.   Next the tape, making the cleats more secure.

He stands and slaps me in the head and barks for me to stand. As I stand I am surprised by his holding tit clamps. We’ve never explored this area and now I was going to. On they went, my hands behind me and my teeth hissing with the pain as they clamped tight.

“Take it like the pig you are,” was all he said.

Next, a long sleeve undershirt with the team name on the mock collar. After putting it on he tucked into my pants. Moving around I could feel the weight of my cock and balls outside my pants. He taped around my chest, explaining that he didn’t want the clamps to be falling off. This also made them tighter on my tits. And he squeezed them just because he could.

Now the pads, our favorite pieces. As he slid them over my head, I could smell the sweat from past time spent in them. As he was connecting the elastic straps I was surprised to see that he had altered the pads and now they were locking. I could hear the click on the four points on the chest and the one point on the kidney protection across my stomach. I was now locked in the pads. His wicked smile let me know he was really enjoying this now. The jersey with my name and number came next, followed by pads and gloves on my arms and hands. He greased my eyes and stood back to admire his pad pig, now if full uniform also.

“Thank you, Sir.” I said to him quietly.

He held his gloved finger to his lips. Motioned for me to turn around, I did. From behind me I hear the sound and my dick got harder. It was duct tape. He gently put in my mouth guard and laid a piece of tape across my lips. Then another and another.

Now I was gagged in my football gear, with my cock and balls hanging out. The taping continued at my ankles and he moved up my left leg wrapping it with tape, then he followed with my right leg and up my waist. Coming up my torso over the pads, the jersey, the tit clamps on my now numb tits. The tape helped to make things tighter and I could feel it press against my skin. Working down my arms, taping my fingers together and then into balls. Starting at the top of my head he wrapped plastic wrap around my head then added the tape enclosing my head into a silver helmet. The tape went down my neck until only my eyes and nose was open. He brought before me the helmet and snapped it on; it also had new locks on the straps. Then he took the tape and taped around the helmet securing it to my head and neck. The face mask was open. I could feel my dick dangling out in front of me, as it brushed on his pants as he was taping me.

The jock that he earlier tempted me with was returned and taped over my nose, shoved between my face and the face mask of the helmet. I could still see, but barely. Then he started taping my arms to my torso, over and over the tape and ripping sound was all I could hear.

With my legs still able to function, he walked me to the bedroom and had me lay down. I knew what was next, as he taped my legs together. I would feel the tightness of my body in full football gear, wrapped in duct tape. I was also getting sweaty and my cock had to be dripping like a stream. Every breath I took it was of his sweat, his scent. My Man, Master Lineman.

When he was completed, I couldn’t move, I was a mummy in football gear. Gagged, clamped and helpless. The only part of my body exposed was just what he wanted. For he lay next to me and toyed with my cock in his gloved hands. Over and over he would bring me to the edge and stop. At times he would take my cock in his mouth, the first time he ever did so. Fuck did it feel like heaven. I could hear my breath, the breath that took in him. I could hear the squeaks of the pads, the tape. I was aware of the tightness around my skin, my numb tits aching for release. Release, my balls wanted to release the juice that was building inside. But he controlled me, telling me that he owned all of me now and that included the right to have pure pleasure. Because only being with him was pleasure and that I was learning this right now.

He would lay on me, his weight crushing me, but I was able to see his blue eyes. I couldn’t hold him, kiss him, only I could see him and smell him. I could feel him grind his cupped crotch into my exposed crotch, pressing on my balls causing me to moan in my gag.

One final time he grabbed my dick and started me on the path to shooting my load. He was slow with it this time, feeling the glove leather against my skin. I couldn’t lie still, squirming in the bondage that held me encased in football gear, the gear he bestowed upon me. So carefully put on, locked and secured, knowing my place as his pad pig.

His hand left just as I wanted to do the final push. I screamed in my gag and I could hear him laugh. I heard the tape again and my eye site went away. I could hear him in my ear.

“Good night pig see you in the morning.”

I felt his weight next to me as he went to sleep. He had done something that he always threatened he would, but I feared.   Spending the entire night in bondage, I was helpless; he owned and controlled ever aspect of me. I could feel the cool air on my bone hard dick. I moved around to see if he would respond but he didn’t. And when I had moved too much, he slapped my balls. I got the signal.

In my own darkness, with my own smells, my own skin felt the gear that was on me, because my Master, my Linebacker placed it on me, locked to show how he is secure of how much I want to live in his presence and power.

The first hit of the landing gear on the runway let me know I was now in his land. From this point on, nothing I did was out of his control. I wasn’t scared, which I thought for sure I would be. I was excited, and my thoughts certainly were helping that. Looking at the terminal as we taxied, I looked forward to seeing those blue eyes and that smile that I see every night before I go to bed. Yea, this is going to be a good thing.

© Copyright 2018 by ty dehner

To be continued …

Metal would like to thank ty dehner for sharing this story!