By TheBadOne

Chapter 3 – Habituating

I can feel that my hair has gone completely wet with sweat. My abs are sore, like I’ve done a thousand crunches, or held a plank position for an hour. I haven’t been able to open my mouth thanks to the duct tape, but even still my voice is hoarse from all the screams I stifled early on.

And yet, I’m handling it.

Call it my submissive super power. When I’m on the edge of my limits, when I want to take it but it’s just a bit too much, something happens. My brain, that is, my rational thinking process, just splits off from my physical body. I still feel everything, but my reactions are now within my control — no more violent jerking, no more endless agony. Every few seconds, a jolt of lightning shoots through me the same as before, but I’m busy being programmed.

At some point, my response to Master Shephard owns your body switched from “Master Shephard owns my body” to “Master Shephard owns this body.” I don’t remember deciding to do that, but it makes intuitive sense. If he owns it, it’s not my body. It, and I, belong to him.

As if on cue, as I have that thought, Master enters the room. When the final cycle through the most intense shocks completes, it stops completely. I feel him unlock the sack and remove the electro gear. I feel completely numb as he handles me, then locks the sack over me once again.

Master removes the headphones from my ears and stares down at me. Unbelievably, he has a tender look in his eyes, like he actually feels sorry for what I’m going through. He runs his hands through my wet hair and looks at me consolingly.

“Can you believe you aren’t even halfway through, boy?” I groan. At least he said ‘boy.’ Maybe the next four hours will be a break. He starts to remove the duct tape from around my head. After it’s off, he bends down and kisses me on the lips. Softly at first, but then deeply, gradually adding pressure until his tongue invades my mouth, deep inside of it. He takes a deep breath in through his mouth, sucking the breath out of my lungs, then leans back.

“Who owns your body, boy?”

“Master Shephard owns this body. It does not belong to me.”

“Good boy.” It looks like that was the exact answer he was hoping for. Still loopy from the hours of pain and hypnosis, I smile it him, my heart exchanging places with my stomach, like I’ve got a schoolboy crush. Nothing feels so good as when I can tell Master is pleased with me. “As you know,” he continues, “I do have a heart. So before we continue with your torture, you get to take it easy for a while. I am getting a little tired though, so we’re skipping your next ‘sanity check’ so I can get to sleep.

I catch myself before I beg him not to leave me — I may have been able to handle eight hours of isolation at the start of this ordeal, but after those eight of the most intense hours I’ve ever experienced, I can’t imagine surviving hours nine through sixteen alone.

“Your eyes bugged out. Do you have something to say, boy?”

I know that if I beg for release, I’ll lose everything. I have to be strong for him, especially because he’s already put so much effort into training me. My lip starts to quiver, and then to my embarrassment I feel a tear forming in my eye. I have to get a hold of myself and get through this — after all, my body is his, and if he wants it immobilized for eight more hours, then I go with it.

I barely manage to squeak out a “Thank you, Master,” and am surprised to receive a belly laugh in return.

“Dax, you’re something else. Let’s pause for a second. I need to check in with you. At ease.” I take a deep breath and the tear rolls down my cheek. He continues. “You just went through eight hours of hell, truly some of the toughest punishment I’ve dealt on you to date. And then I tell you I’m going to leave you for eight more hours of isolation, but you’re such a good boy that despite how obviously you’re aching and desperate for release, you respond with ‘Thank you, Master.’ At some level you have to hate me right now. Say it. I give you permission.”

It doesn’t feel like a trap, but my answer is, to my surprise, the same anyway. “I can’t. I don’t. I don’t even hate this,” I gesture with my chin at my bondage. “I love this. I want as much as you can give me, anytime you want it.” Master gazes at me with astonishment. “I just feel, currently, out of my depth. But I want to do it. I want to make you proud, Sir.”

Master Shephard’s eye contact is electrifying. His green eyes are hazel-rimmed and impossibly light. I see his eyes devour me. They crinkle with his smile, indicating to me that he likes what I’ve said.

“Alright then, boy. The scene continues.” I have exactly one second of disappointment, thinking my show of emotion might have gotten me out of the remainder of my sentence, but it dissipates quickly. What I said was true — I want to make him proud. I’m brought back out of my thoughts as Master suddenly flips me over inside the sleepsack and opens the zipper that’s at my rear. I feel a lubed up finger start to work its way into my hole. I guess ‘break’ is relative. I focus on my breathing and revel in the pleasure as Master fingers me, then begins working in what I know is his favorite toy — it’s a large plug with a heavily flared base. It’s guaranteed not to fall out — it stays put no matter what you do while you wear it. Only pulling it out intentionally will move it. It’s my favorite toy, too, but like everything else, I’ve never worn it for very long. Eight hours would triple the length I last spent wearing it. After it’s in, I’m flipped back over, unable to suppress the moan that’s triggered by the plug shifting inside me.

I look over at Master to see a leather asylum mask — the soft leather molds comfortable over my face, blindfolding me. In theory, I could still speak, but something about the leather pressing against my lips has always kept me silent when I’ve worn it. He tightens the straps, and then I feel the click of locks pressing shut over them.

“Boy, the purpose of the next eight hours is for you to get well acquainted with what will eventually be your regular sleeping situation. Of course you won’t be sleeping tonight, what with the workout drink I gave you. But on an ordinary night I’d also have the sleepsack on you much tighter than tonight. So consider it a tradeoff.”

My head is racing. I don’t know what’s going to happen next, whether there will be more hypnosis or another livestream. I’m terrified, but stoic, about facing the coming hours wide awake, bored, and alone.

So I’m surprised when I feel Master lay down beside me on the bed I’ve been spending all these hours on. The rubber sheets squeak quietly as he positions himself. I feel him bring himself close to my ears. “I’m going to be right here next to you the entire night. You know I can be a light sleeper, so if you struggle and whimper too much, it might wake me. Don’t let that happen.”

I get mixed feelings at the prospect, feeling so much less scared knowing Master will be next to me in bed, but also knowing my task has only grown in difficulty — now I’ll have to suffer silently, and as if the bondage wasn’t enough, keeping still for him will be another layer of bondage in my mind.

He pulls close to me, holding me like I’m a body pillow, like cuddling this way is a totally normal show of affection. “If you’ve been having fun so far, I can’t wait to show you what I’ve got planned for your last hours. Goodnight, slave.”

“Goodnight, Master.”

Master Shephard falls asleep quickly. I stare, unblinking, into the leather mask covering my face. I’m wide awake, my ass is full, my hole stretched tight, and I’m completely immobilized.

Ten hours to go.

Unless you’ve experienced it yourself, it can be difficult to understand what endless hours of bondage does to you, especially when you’re immobilized like I am. You waver back and forth between fits of agony, with your subconscious berating you for being an idiot for agreeing to such torture, and ecstacy, when your mind empties and you feel the seams between you and your imprisonment disappear. This must be what they call being an ‘object.’ You hover in that state, knowing that it’s right for you to be this way, that rubber and leather, neoprene, rope, metal — whatever binds you is in fact part of you and there’s no need to be released, ever.

My head ricochets between those two headspaces — although mercifully, I spend most of my night in the object headspace — it’s probably because Master is there, losing absolutely no sleep over my ordeal. I’m proud to be his.

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Metal would like to thank TheBadOne for this bondage fiction!