By mmmpppfffhhh

Author note: I was inspired to write this story when my (late) friend Maurice (Jim Stewart) of Fetters told me about a straight married couple who liked tying up Malcolm in dive gear. I modified it so the gender of the narrator is unstated; you can imagine whomever you want!

[WARNING: This is a work of fiction; do not attempt to copy or re-enact the fictional activities described]

All through the day he knows he’s facing a whole weekend being kept helplessly tied up, the whole time dressed in thick smelly rubber from head to foot. And he knows that as soon as he comes in, it will start.

It’s the same every time, but no matter how often we do it, until he’s actually all kitted up and secured in bondage, we’re both pretty nervous. But all the “getting ready” is very sexy too. It’s got a lot to do with seeing a big fit confident man like him progressively turned into a submissive heavily-controlled rubber prisoner.

So on Friday afternoon, as he pulls up in his work van, he waves to me, comes in, puts down his tools and goes straight up. He knows he has no choice, even though what’s going to happen to him is what we both want.

He strips in front of me, glancing nervously sideways at me and the pile of rubber dive gear on the floor, which he knows he’s going to be put into. He’s blushing furiously. He stands naked in front of me, looking down at the floor with his hands behind his back. He’s very aroused, and if it wasn’t for the chastity device I keep him in, he would have a rock-hard erection. As it is, his locked cock is sticking out stiffly like a bulging doorknob. I can almost hear his pulse pounding.

I give him a black latex open-face balaclava, which he pulls on. I love the way that makes him look, his embarrassed submissive face in that smooth round black rubber head. I give him the thick rubber mittens we like, and watch as he puts them on, then pull a thick pair of rugby socks over them, pulling the socks all the way on until his mittened fists are fisted up in the toe end of the socks. I lock a heavy rubber collar round his neck, and cuff his socked fists up to either side of it. He knows there’s no going back now. I put the big ball gag in his mouth, and do the strap up tight. I clip his lead to the front of the collar, and lead him to the bathroom, his head lowered, his rammed cock-cage sticking hard out in front of him.

I give him 3 enemas, make him take a full quart each time, and get him completely emptied out. Then grease up one of his butt-plugs. Even though he keeps his head lowered, I can see him watching what I’m doing out the corner of his eye. Although it’s not enormous, he really doesn’t like the plug I pick, because it has a slightly wider neck, which in a long scene really stretches his ring. So, he both loves it, and he hates it. It’s not too big, but it takes some easing up him, and when it’s in, it packs his arse full – which he loves. At least for the first few hours anyway. After that it gets to be quite a different sensation, and progressively it has a very significant impact both on his anus, and then his whole body and attitude.

We discuss plugging him, a lot. We plug him, a lot. We both agree that anal humiliation and control is what he needs and wants, especially when he is being kept in prolonged bondage. But we often disagree about which plug is going up him; I usually want him plugged with the bigger ones. Good thing I know how to persuade him round to my view! Poppers, lube and his desperation following weeks of locked chastity all work to my advantage – even if he’s initially reluctant, he inevitably submits. I think I could get him to agree to almost anything!

We agree over his long-term enforced chastity too. OK he goes through the motions of whingeing when I lock him up, and when he wants to cum, but I won’t let him out, and he knows it. I know he likes it really. Well, its another one of those love/hate things. I keep the keys securely locked away; he doesn’t even know where they are. I have no intention of letting him out. His usual lock-up period is 6-9 months at a time, sometimes longer, rarely shorter. He’s been in 4 months now, and he’s been nicely desperate and submissively compliant for a good few weeks now. I like him like that, so I keep him locked, and I keep him plugged whenever I want, and he accepts it now too.

He’s snorting a bit in the bathroom after his enemas, and makes one or two tiny little whimpering noises around the gag. He knows he has no choice over what’s coming. I give him some poppers to make sure he’s fully compliant, and push the plug slowly into his arsehole; he whinges plenty then, and cries out as it finally goes in. Poor thing! Actually, he’s probably still a bit sore from when was plugged most of last weekend. His cock gives up ramming in the cock cage, so I get the tip of his catheter into his piss-slit through the end of the device with no trouble, and swiftly slide it right up into him, and inflate the retaining balloon. Piss starts to appear at the end of the tube; I connect it up to the long extension, and stopper the end.

I release his hands, and give him his neoprene long-leg shorts to put on. They’re meant for rugby players; he used to wear them for rugby training and matches. We’ve cut a hole in the front to let his tackle through to hang free. Or in this case, his confined and catheterised tackle to “stand free” through the hole. The shorts are very thick neoprene, and cover him from waist to lower-thigh, and have an attached wide velcro belt. Once they’re properly on, and pulled up tight, we’ve found they keep plugs firmly in place in his arse; he’s unable to push them out. I ask him to think about how many men across the country are wearing their neoprene shorts this weekend, and what those men will be doing, compared to him. He carefully pulls them right up, and stretches and wraps the belt closed.

So basically he’s all properly controlled down there now, and can, and will, stay that way for days. Definitely over the entire weekend. The chastity device prevents him from getting an erection, and makes his cock and balls get really painful if he tries. And it stops him from being able to rub himself off – being denied erections and ejaculation is what we both want for him. He doesn’t need to be released for either pissing or shitting. And the plug constantly reminds him that he’s a special kind of man – my controlled bondage sub, which is exactly what we want him thinking about while he’s in long-term bondage.

I give him the big thick black and yellow rugby socks back, and watch him pull them up and fold them over, and I know he’s thinking again about those other men pulling on their socks. Men who he used to join for evening training sessions, or for a Saturday match when he was on the team, before we found that he really needed much more challenging games. Games that he’d lose every time. No matter how hard he grunts and struggles and fights and pleads.

I lock his hands back up to his collar, and pull on his lead with one hand, and hold his long catheter tube in my other. I lead him back to the bedroom, him padding along in his socked feet, slowly and awkwardly this time as his arse is now stuffed full. I smile at him in the mirrored wall as I catch sight of him looking at his reflection next to me, and looking at the pile of rubber dive gear. I take the gag out; it’ll go back on top of the dive hood later.

We can both see the reflection of a muscular adult male, but already it’s very plain that he is being prepared for use as a controlled humiliated long-term bondage victim. We look at our reflections for a while. I keep hold of his lead and catheter in my hand, and watch him. He’s agitated, nervous. He keeps bowing his smooth rubber-covered head a little, but then glances up and steals a look at my reflection or his own, or the rubber gear, and the pile of big woolly socks next to it. He lowers his gaze again, and licks his lips, and exhales a bit through his nose like a nervous colt. He shifts his weight from one foot to the other, no doubt feeling his imprisoned tackle and his stuffed back passage. He shrugs his shoulders a bit, and pulls a little at his collared wrists, and continues glancing up and down. He’s quite obviously getting more and more affected by his appearance, and finally he turns to me and kneels, and says in a hoarse whisper “Please put me in that rubber and the big socks…keep me tied up the whole weekend, all the time … Don’t let me out!” We both know he’s ready for his final preparations.

So I take off his collar and hood, and we get him dressed into the thick layers of the diving kit.

First he sits and works his legs into the khaki fleece Navy-issue woolly bear, which has attached feet. He works it up over his rugby-socked legs, and the neoprene shorts, and his bum. He stands up awkwardly, puts his arms into the top half of the suit, and zips it up to his chin at the front. He sits again to put on his pair of very large thick wool seaboot socks, on top of the footed woolly bear. They came up well over his knees, and he folds them back down. He sits quietly in the big socks and warm suit as I move behind him to check the long end of his piss-tube is sticking above the collar at the back. I hand him the thick white submariners jumper with the roll neck, which he pulls on. He sits there looking warmly dressed in big thick woollens as if for a weekend on the North Sea in winter, rather than a weekend bound and gagged and butt-plugged in a heavy rubber dry suit in a suburban bedroom.

The dry suit is next. It’s a black rubber Avon one, old style, canvas lined and heavy. It has a strong metal waterproof zip across the back of the shoulders, which needs a very good grip and a very strong arm to pull closed. This makes it a real struggle to get in and out of, but that’s a turn-on in itself. Because once it’s on, he can’t get it off without help, even if he isn’t tied up. So he’s completely enclosed in thick black smelly rubber, and can’t get out. I usually lock the zip in the closed position anyway, using a padlock and short chain around his upper arm. It’s unnecessary I know, but I like to drive the point home! And adding additional “unnecessary” bondage is something I often like to do to him, and I think he likes it too … at least in retrospect, even if he doesn’t always enjoy it at the time!

We get his legs into the thick canvas-lined rubber suit, his big socked feet down into the moulded boots. He stands, and we pull it up to his chest, and put the braces on. He puts first one arm down a sleeve, then the other, and dives his head through the neck seal. I pull the zip shut, and lock it in the closed position. And that’s it! He’s sealed inside a loose heavy smelly rubber diver’s dry suit, with layers of thick warm clothing underneath, with his chastised catheterised cock and stretched plugged arse securely locked away inside.

Next, I make him pull on another big pair of seaboot socks onto his feet on the outside of the dive suit, and leave them in thick irregular folds on his lower legs. It makes him look ridiculous: we both like that. Then he pulls on the open-face rubber diving hood, also thick and smelly. I hand him the wet-suit gloves. Then help him pull on the large thick diver’s mittens, which go most of the way up each forearm outside the suit. And that’s it. The rubber slave, plugged and cock-mastered, looking very odd and foolish, already made helpless by being completely enclosed in thick black smelly rubber, now ready to be put into the secure bondage that will constantly restrain him for the next few days.

He’s panting a bit, and breathing a little irregularly, but he turns away and bows his head, and holds his arms behind his back, wrists crossed in the diver’s mittens. I take a 12 foot length of nylon cord and tie his wrists tightly together, circling and cinching them again and again. And that’s just the start.

I lock him in the playroom, and just leave him, to pad around in the big thick socks, looking at himself bound and enclosed in all that dive gear, thinking on his predicament, and what’s coming. He can walk around the room, sit down on the stool in the corner if he wants to (although the plug in his arse might make him a bit reluctant!) But he can’t get out, or get untied, or halt the weekend’s schedule now it’s started. And he can’t escape his bizarre and pathetic reflection in the mirrored wall either.

At the end of the first hour he’s sat on the stool when I quickly go in and secure the humane restraint hobble around his socked ankles, and leave. Now he can only shuffle around carefully, the hobble bringing him up short whenever he tries to step forward normally.

Outside, in the street, it’s starting to get dark. People are heading home for the weekend. Front doors are closing, curtains are being drawn. How many homes have a locked upstairs room in which a man, trussed up in heavy rubber dive gear, is facing the severe reality of his sub/dom marriage?

The next hour, I go in and put the wide rubber collar back on him, buckling and locking it. An hour later I push him down to his knees, and padlock the collar by a 3’ chain to one of the central floor rings. He has to turn his head to look up at me.

When I go in an hour later, he looks up at me, his face a pathetic white disc in the black rubber dive hood.

“I don’t think I can do this”, he says in a sad voice.

“Too late!” I say brightly. “It’s just as well it’s not up to you”

I pick up his big ball gag, and stand above him. I watch his glance flicking backwards and forwards between the gag hanging in my hands, his reflection in the mirror, and the floor.

I make him inhale deeply from the poppers bottle. He moans softly, and hangs his head, face flushed now.

“Anyway, I know you want this. We both know you want this. And we both know you’re going to get it, and for at least 48 hours. At least”. He softly snorts and whimpers a bit, and twists his bound arms a little, trying to shrug his shoulders.

“Yes Boss” he says resignedly.

“And now you’re going to be gagged, I’m afraid. No more asking about being released. You know the rules”

He stares long and hard at the gag in my hand, snorting out through his nose. Then he lowers his head, as far as he can in the big collar. He knows it doesn’t matter whether he agrees or not. Rules are rules, and he mustn’t ask for release.

Very quietly he says “Yes Boss. Please gag me tight!”

 

Metal would like to thank the author, mmmpppfffhhh, for this story, which is posted here with his permission. You can find more stories from this author on the Eckie site, as well as on FetLife.