By bondagegimp

In the office

How many days have passed since the party? 4? 5? It’s not easy to keep track when you spend a lot of time in masks or cells that don’t let in daylight. I wonder if Bob is doing this on purpose? Does he want me to lose control, to lose track of the days?

Today I’m allowed to see something again, although not completely freely. I’m wearing a rubber mask that, instead of proper eye openings, has several small holes in front of my eyes, a bit as if someone had randomly punched about 10 holes in front of each eye. Daylight comes in, which is pleasant. And I can see something, which is also an improvement compared to some of the last few days. But it’s difficult to focus. Sometimes my eye looks through one hole, then the other. It’s usually easier to close one eye and look through one hole with just one eye. But that’s tiring, and only a small section, a small tunnel. Somehow oppressive. So I look with both eyes, without focusing.

The perforations make the world outside seem so distant, so far away. I always see the perforated rubber wall first, then the outside world. Yet the outside world is so tempting. Bob is sitting there, at his desk, maybe two meters away. I see him from the side. He’s working. I’m allowed to watch him. Seeing him is so nice. My desire for him has increased in the last few days. The “training,” as he calls it, is taking effect. How I wish I were a little closer, to feel him. He’s wearing rather comfortable clothes today. Short workout pants that reach just below his knees and a T-shirt. But he still looks so sexy. His thighs, seen from the side, how they fill out the shorts, then where the shorts end, the hairy thigh muscles where they meet the knee. You can see how the muscle attaches there, powerful, even when relaxed. Below that, his powerful lower leg, how the white sports socks stretch over them, and last his sneakers.

The T-shirt is tight. From the side, I can see his beautiful arms and his chest, which bulges prominently beneath the T-shirt. But looking at his torso is exhausting. I’m kneeling on a frame, a kind of pillory. My head is fixed so that through the small holes I can only see straight what’s at eye level. Everything else is a blur if I don’t focus on it very carefully. Bob has tied me to this frame several times over the last few days. It’s not uncomfortable, is suitable for longer periods of sitting, and it has wheels. Bob can simply push me wherever he wants. Or turn me over if he doesn’t want me to see him. Then all I see is the wall.

In the kneeling position, my lower legs are strapped to the frame so that they are spread wide. I am not sitting on my heels, however; instead, the frame has a padded seat above it. This relaxes the situation for the legs. But: A plug is attached to the seat. Bob chose a much larger one today. I can feel the plug very clearly inside me. The stretch. The feeling of being stuffed. Bob took his time getting me to sit on it. First, after cleaning me out in the morning, he stretched me with various dildos, then he strapped my lower legs to the device, the thick plug threateningly beneath me, my hands already in the bondage mitts behind my back. My balls and cock were sticking out of the rubber suit and Bob had fastened a heavy metal ring around my balls. But Bob hadn’t put the mask on me yet.

Bob knows exactly how to get the best performance out of me. He stood extra close to me, my head at the level of his stomach, just above his big bulge. I could rub my head against him while he slowly pushed me onto the plug. Very slowly. The stretching pain was intense, so I pressed my head against him. It helped. He kept pushing; my quiet whimpers didn’t stop him. Quite the opposite. I know by now that this turns him on especially. Although I also know that I’m only allowed to whimper quietly. The bulge in his shorts grew larger and harder as my hole stretched over the thickest part of the plug. Then suddenly, a quick, strong tug from Bob and the plug was in. Phew. I wanted to push it out immediately, pull myself up, but Bob held me down with one hand, and with the other he attached a short chain from my ball weight to the frame. I try again – I can only sit up far enough to reach the thickest part of the plug, then the pull on my balls becomes too strong.

The frame has a backrest, to which Bob then strapped my upper body, one strap at hip height, one at chest height. My mittened hands were also hooked to the backrest. Then Bob came with the mask. Another new one. Made of very thick rubber, almost like a helmet. It fits very tightly and feels very restrictive. Tubes in my nose and perforated eyes. There’s no gag, but the thick rubber barely allows my mouth to move. I know I’m supposed to stay still anyway. Bob has already trained me on that, too.

After Bob had fastened the mask tightly with a few buckles, he attached a thick strap from the backrest around my neck and a few thin straps as a harness around my face, pressing my head almost immobile against the backrest. So Bob rolled me into his office, and since then I’ve been sitting here watching him work. And yes, as uncomfortable as some parts of this position are, it’s better than many situations I’ve encountered in recent days. Every now and then, Bob looks over at me. Grins. When he gets a coffee, he strokes my head as he passes.

And most importantly, I can see daylight and Bob. A luxury! It’s amazing how things change after just a few days. Things that were taken for granted until recently are now unattainable. Going to the toilet, for example. Since I met Bob, I haven’t been on a toilet once. He cleans my hole every day, sometimes twice a day. I either have to pee in my diaper or Bob controls me with the catheter. Even just getting up, going into another room or going outside is no longer normal. Wearing what I wanted. Eating, drinking when I wanted. All of this used to be so normal that I never gave it a second thought. Now these simple freedoms are gone. I am where Bob wants me to be. And I wear what Bob puts on me. Always. Every day.

Instead, other things are becoming new normalities. Wearing a rubber or PVC suit. Masks. Gags. Not speaking even without a gag. Restraints that, even when they allow movement, are always noticeable and restrict me. A plug in my hole. Unless Bob chooses a particularly large one, like today, I sometimes barely feel the plug anymore. It’s a normality, but a different kind of normality. A normality that always involves this feeling of being stuffed, a slight pressure on the prostate with every movement. The rare times without a plug almost feel abnormal. Something is missing. The same goes for the collar and leash. It’s almost normal these days for Bob to lead me on the leash. I go wherever the leash pulls me, whether I see anything or not. Bob never says, “We’re going to the living room” – he pulls me there on the leash. At some point, it started to feel normal.

But I still can’t get used to the diapers. Sometimes Bob combines them with an open catheter, and then I can’t do anything; it just runs out. But without a catheter, actively peeing in my diaper myself, is still something I have to overcome. It still requires concentration and determination. Maybe I just don’t want to get used to it. I’m a little scared of it. Once I get used to it, what will it be like when I move around in the normal world again? I’m afraid I’ll wet my pants because I won’t be able to control it anymore. Sometimes I feel this impulse in my head to just let the pee run out. Only a little last-second rebellion stops me. It’s like hovering between one world and the other; the boundaries between Bob’s world, where it’s normal for me to wet my diaper while washing up in the kitchen, and the normal world, where it’s not, are slowly blurring.

Return from the party

Hmm. Well, in the normal world. I have to decide in a few days. Bob said two weeks on the way back from the party. So in 9 days? Or 10 days? Something like that. I’m trying to remember exactly what we discussed. The days that followed make everything a little blurry again. How did that go?

The night with Bob in the sleeping bag in his car was wonderful. Being pressed so close to him made up for a lot of the day. I was especially bothered by the humiliation at the party. In the morning it was the same again. For breakfast I was strapped to a chair with no seat, just my spread thighs resting on it – still in the red rubber shorts with the holes in the special places. The head harness, now again with the gag and breathing tube, was strapped to the backrest. One by one the other guys came out onto the terrace and touched me: nipples, cock, head, everywhere. Tom came with a big dildo, which he attached to the chair and pushed into my hole. The table was set, and some of the guys had already started to eat.

Jad eventually joined them, leading two of the young guys on a leash behind him. The day before, they’d been wearing fairly normal clothes; today, they were wearing only leather shorts, locked at the hips and thighs, and still wearing their leather collars. Their hands were tied behind their backs. They obediently let Jad lead them to me. Jad attached their leashes to my chair, and they immediately started working me on with their tongues. I was once again the center of attention for everyone, the entertainment of the party, I felt. With their tongues, they quickly brought me close to orgasm again, but at my first moan, Bob warned them that I wasn’t allowed to cum today. On the one hand, I was relieved, because being made to cum again here in front of everyone would have been even more embarrassing. On the other hand, I was almost a little disappointed, because it felt so good!

Jad was standing diagonally behind me, playing with my nipples. He pressed his body against me so that I could feel his bulge on my cheek. I had the feeling he was deliberately pushing it into my face. One of the two young guys looked up at him, somewhat fearfully. I also saw that his back was marked with red welts. I had heard a few screams during the night, but by then I was happily lying in Bob’s arms.

At some point, Jad sat down with the others at the table, leaving me alone with his two — what? Slaves? Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Tom hand a third, younger guy with a collar a few things and send him over to me. It was a funnel with a couple of straps and a bowl of some kind of mush. The boy attached the funnel to the breathing hole of my gag and poured some mush into the funnel. It quickly became apparent that the mush was too thick, so he thinned it with water — quite a lot of water. Finally, the now very liquid mush flowed through the funnel into my mouth. Swallowing with the gag in my mouth and my head fixed to the backrest wasn’t easy or pleasant, but it worked. Their tongues on my balls and thighs were rather annoying, too distracting, and I tried to shake them off, but that only impaled me further on the dildo in my hole, so I just let them carry on. While the porridge ran into my mouth, one of the guys stroked my head and told me how they envied me, what a great guy Bob was. Not just his looks, but also his personality and everything. The other two agreed, saying each of them would swap places with me in a heartbeat, but Bob hadn’t been interested in them. I should be so lucky.

When the bowl was empty, Bob came over to me, untied me from my chair, put a diaper on me, and over that a leather harness, to which he also attached my mitts. With me on the leash, he made the rounds, saying goodbye to everyone. Some even patted me again on the diaper, tweaked my nipples, or kissed my muzzle.

In the car, I was allowed to sit in the passenger seat next to Bob. He also took out my gag but left the muzzle on. With the diaper and mitts, it felt a bit like the first ride with Bob, hitchhiking. He played with the diaper again, and I snuggled against his arm again.

He wanted me to tell him how the party was for me. I was happy to be able to talk and told him about my feelings, how embarrassing it was for me to be led around like a slave, to be groped by so many strangers, but also how beautiful the night had been. Bob pressed me, going over the situations. He had obviously been watching me very closely the whole time; he knew exactly where my horniness came through the most, and he didn’t let up until I had to admit how much each situation had turned me on. And yes, also that it was one of the hottest orgasms of my life.

When we got home, Bob took me straight into the garden. Bob attached a chain from a ground hook to my collar, then we lay back down on the large blanket and continued talking. It was the first long conversation with Bob in which I wasn’t gagged again after a short while. He told me about the people at the party, who he knew from where, and how. He also said that Tom and Jad had a key to his house and that he was in regular contact with them as a security measure. This meant that if anything were to happen to him, one of them would soon rescue me – so I wouldn’t have to worry about starving to death in the basement. That calmed me down a bit.

At some point I gathered up the courage and asked Bob how he imagined the “trial period” to be and how long it would last. Bob looked at me and simply asked when I would be ready to decide. I thought about what he had said to Tom, about my inner turmoil, about not being able to decide – and yes, he was right! When, after some hesitation, I still said nothing, Bob started. “I’ve spoken to Tom about it too. It needs a bit of time. We think two weeks would be good.” I still remember how shocked I was. Two weeks?? That sounded a really long time! Didn’t we say “a few days”? And what would happen in that time? What if I didn’t want to do it?? What if I couldn’t stand it? I had once heard that you agree on a stop word for situations like this. I told Bob all my thoughts, but he just laughed.

“Boy, the trial period is supposed to be realistic. And as my permanent slave, you won’t have a stop word. And that won’t work either. Because if you want to stay with me, then I expect a lot from you. And we have to train for that. The training won’t be finished in two weeks, that’s clear, but in two weeks we’ll know if things are going well. And during this training, I’ll also do things you don’t like, things you might stop with a stop word. Because sometimes you won’t understand why I’m doing something to you. Only later you will understand. That’s why the two weeks. In two weeks, you’ll have a clearer idea. Then you’ll assess the big picture, not the individual events. But I promise you, if I see that it really isn’t for you, then we’ll end the trial period and I’ll set you free. But otherwise, you’re all mine for the next two weeks!”

That sounded intense; I was really scared and wanted to negotiate with him. If I’d known this before, I probably wouldn’t have agreed to stay yesterday. What did he want to train me with? And how? And please, not too hard, that scares me. But Bob stopped responding to my questions and searched for something on the blanket – it was clear to me – the gag. I was only tied up relatively lightly. The mitts were on the sides of the harness, and otherwise only the collar and chain. I tried to stand up, but Bob, still lying on the blanket, pulled me down by the chain, towards him, threw me onto my back, and sat on my chest with his legs spread. He was still wearing his short leather shorts, and I could see from the bulge how much fun he was having making me submit. He already had the gag in his hand; he ignored my begging; the gag found its place and was fastened.

Training

That was four or five days ago. Now I’m kneeling here next to Bob, watching him work on his laptop through small holes in the mask. When it happened, Bob really scared me. And it was actually the beginning of a tough training. It started right after. I can still see the picture in my mind of him kneeling over me, in his short leather shorts, his fat cock so hard it was clearly visible under his pants. Yes, a few days ago it scared me. Today, when I think back, when I see that picture of him forcing the gag into my mouth, I get hard myself. My cock is now sticking out, the weight of the ball weight pulling it down a bit. Now I’m horny again. The fat plug feels good again. I sit up a bit, as far as the chain on the bag weight allows. I look for the point where the stretch was most intense. Painful, but also hot. Bob notices my movement, looks at me, and grins. He stands up and pulls me closer to him on the rack, so that I’m now kneeling diagonally in front of him. He takes off his shoes and plays with my balls and cock with his feet. I stay as still as possible, even without a gag.

Bob has already taught me that. To stay calm. In some situations, as his slave, I am simply supposed to be quiet. Move as little as possible, make as little noise as possible. Sometimes he also likes it when I grunt into the gag, from pain or from horniness, which have been close together lately. Sometimes he likes to watch me tug at the restraints. But sometimes I am simply supposed to be quiet. More like an object. By now I have a sense of when I should be quiet. When he is working, for example. Or when we have visitors. Basically, whenever he has something more important to do.

I had to figure out this rule; Bob never explicitly told me. Bob taught me when to be quiet with an inflatable gag. Whenever I made a sound, he inflated the gag further. If I protested, he kept inflating it. Until it hurt. If I stayed quiet for a while, he let the air out. The message was quickly understood.

But Bob did also explain some of the rules to me, and some of the training goals. For example, he wants to train me to endure extended periods of time alone in a cell, without stimulation, with or without a mask. He can’t always take care of me; sometimes he just needs to be able to put me down somewhere, put me away. Or mask training, as he calls it. I should learn to wear a closed mask for extended periods of time, even while working. If I can’t see anything, he needs to supervise me less strictly, because then it’s much more difficult for me to free myself. Both arguments are true — but I think he’s also concerned about other things.

When he locks me away – and over the last few days I’ve been in the padded cell for a few hours at a time, whether with a muzzle or a mask – then my longing for him grows. And these long hours when I can’t see have the same effect. It’s like a punch in the stomach every time he locks me away or takes away my eyesight. I can’t get used to it. But when he frees me I’m all the more grateful! And he rewards me every time. The worse the situation was for me, the more Bob I get afterwards, the more affectionate is Bob. Then he praises me, strokes me, lets me touch his body, look at it, enjoy it. Bob is like a drug. And with every training session my addiction increases.

Yes, it’s much more pleasant to kneel here in front of him and be able to see a little bit. But I don’t get any reward for that. A little petting now and then if I stay still for a long time, but nothing more. If I want more from Bob, I have to endure worse first. That’s one of the unspoken rules, but I’ve come to understand it. Some rules I have to figure out myself, or rather, Bob wants me to learn them not with my head, but with my gut, my heart, or whatever, so that I can internalize them, feel them. That’s training. He’s molding me according to his wishes. I endure the unpleasant situations because I want the reward. Yes, sometimes I look forward to the cell or the mask because I know I’ll be rewarded afterwards. Especially when Bob doesn’t let me near him for a long time, keeps me at a distance. Then my desire for him increases.

And I’ve already figured this out, too: He’s taking advantage. He’s using it to prepare something. If I’m kept at a distance for a long time, like right now, it usually means he’ll take another step with me, have a new challenge for me. The more I long for him, the more I’m willing to do for the reward. He knows that, he’s playing with it, and he raises the bar a little higher every day.

The bad thing is: Even though I see through the game, I can’t resist it. It works, even though I know what’s going on. When I think about how he’s treating me today, I have a bad premonition. If he’s planning something he knows will be hard for me to bear, he builds up this longing in me beforehand, this desire. And today he’s doing it again, very strongly. I’m with him, allowed to look at him, but he’s so far away. Spatially, I’m close, maybe a meter, and now, from this angle, I can even see between his thighs again. How I would love to lay my head in his lap. He is so close, yet through this mask, he’s infinitely far away. Through the holes, it looks as if he’s in another room, another world. Unreachable. I can feel his feet on my balls and cock, but he almost never moves them. They’re just there. When I try to move as far as I can, to rub myself against his feet, he pulls them away. They only return after a few minutes. The message is clear. I’m allowed to feel his feet, but only a little. I’m allowed to see him, but only from a distance. If I want more, I have to earn it.

What’s further increasing my desire is that I haven’t been allowed or able to cum since the party. Another thing that used to be a given, but not anymore. I used to jerk off at least twice a day. Now I haven’t had an orgasm in four or five days. Anyway, I haven’t touched my cock since I’ve been at Bob’s. It’s either in a cage or, like now, free, but then I’m tied up so I can’t reach it.

Yes, Bob is very careful with everything. Everything is always doubly secured. Nothing happens that he doesn’t want to happen. Over the last few days, he’s also given me a lot of housework. Because I might have a knife or scissors in my hand, which I could theoretically use to cut through the leather head harness, he put a steel cage around my head. Basically a whole steel corset! It went through my crotch, with a plug of course, and then a ring through which my cock and balls went, with a cage over it. A flat steel waist belt held the steel crotch strap, but this was then continued, with another belt at chest height, further to a collar and then the head cage with a network of steel straps, padded on the inside, quite tight. Over the mouth was a plate with a gag – and everything secured with locks, as always. Over that was a diaper, and on top a PVC overall with a zipper on the back, also locked. Sure, I could have cut up the jumpsuit, but I’d never get out of the steel corset and head cage. And the head cage, like the head harness I had recently, is attached to a chain that can slide along a steel rod in the ceiling, giving me the freedom I need for my work, but nothing more.

Bob has poles like this on the ceiling in many rooms so I can cook, wash dishes, fold laundry, iron, and do other things. My head cage is connected to the pole, and with it the frame that surrounds my upper body, and with it the plug in my hole. This is annoying when I’m working because with a lot of movement it suddenly twists painfully in my hole or unexpectedly presses on my prostate. Further restrictions include handcuffs and leg irons, which vary depending on the activity. While I was folding laundry, he put mitts on me. They weren’t padded and were only made of rubber, so I could still grip a little with my hands, but it was still almost impossible to fold everything properly. While I was washing up, attached a bar between my hands, connected to my collar with a second bar. My hands couldn’t work together. I couldn’t hold a fork or a plate with one hand and wipe it with the other; I always had to put it down first. Everything was always designed so that the restraints not only prevented me from running away, but also made my work more difficult or even prevented me from completing it properly. This kept me constantly tense, always making me feel like I was disappointing Bob. And Bob always had a good excuse to punish me, demanding even more concentration and diligence.

The punishments are also ambivalent. On the one hand, they are unpleasant. Bob spanks my bottom or ties me up in an unpleasant or painful position – for example, with my legs spread, my hands tied behind my back, and then he pulls me up until it becomes increasingly painful. But at least Bob is always there during the punishments. When he spanks me, I lie on his lap. When he ties me up in painful positions, he sits so that he can observe me in peace and I can see him. He often applies electric stimulation to my cock and balls and plays with them, in that field between pain and pleasure. And I get to see how it turns him on. And yes, as painful as these punishments are, in the end they turn me on too. And so I’m often in this strange situation where I long for Bob, where I feel neglected, so that I deliberately make a mistake just to get that closeness.

But today he’s not giving me that chance. I’m sitting here. I can’t do anything but look at him. I adore him. I pine for him. How I’d love to have my head between his thighs right now, but I’m only allowed to see this place, to long for him, so close, but I can’t get there.

At some point, Bob is finished working. He leaves me strapped into the frame, puts a blindfold on me. He pulls me along behind him on the frame, makes himself dinner, and feeds me, still strapped to the frame. Watching TV, I’m still on the frame, blind. Bob’s feet occasionally play with me, but never intensely. I’m always just a sideshow.

In the bed box

Then, finally, it’s time to go to bed. Bob leads me upstairs, still blindfolded, to the bedroom, in loose restraints. There, he undresses me, finally removing my mask. Secured only with a collar, I have to see what Bob has planned for me. He opens the bed, revealing a bed box underneath. It’s lined all around with thick, shiny black padding. I can see a few bars on it – they outline the shape of a person lying down. Fear suddenly rises within me; it’s clear what Bob intends to do. But before I can say anything, Bob explains the rules: “Slave, you will spend the first part of the evening IN my bed. Two hours. After that time, you may join me up in the bed. If you cooperate now, it will remain for two hours. If you resist, the time will only get longer.”

The message was clear. I know I have no chance against him; one way or another, he’ll lock me in the box sooner or later. I resign myself and lie down in the box. Bob places the restraints over me: one at chest height, one over my hips. Over my thighs, so they’re spread wide, my lower legs and ankles, so the lower legs are bent and my feet come closer together. My upper arms are bent, my forearms and wrists parallel to my torso. The restraints are not straps, but steel restraints, tightly padded. They’re screwed to the floor! They don’t give a millimeter, pressing me firmly onto the padded surface. Bob has me bolted to the floor under his bed! Relentlessly, without any play.

Finally, with a wicked grin on his face, Bob screws the restraint over my neck. He lies down briefly with me in the box, takes my cock firmly in his hand until it hardens. “The timer is set for two hours. If you can’t stand it, call me. I’m right above you and will open the box and comfort you. But: After that, the timer will start again at 0 for two hours. The timer will also be reset if you wake me up for any other reason. I want you to last two hours, quietly, without disturbing my sleep. I know you can do it! Only when you’ve done it you can come up to me. Understood?”

I’m lying bolted down in a bed frame, afraid of the night, but I don’t dare argue. Bob stands up, stares at me for a long moment, and slowly closes the lid of the bed box above me — the actual bed he’ll be sleeping on.

Only when the bed closes I realize what it means. The lid, just as thickly padded, is pressing down on me. I’m not just screwed to the floor by the bars, I’m pressed between two layers of padding. The padding is only cut out around my face so that I can breathe easily. But that’s really the only relief! Otherwise, everything feels so cramped and claustrophobic that I have to pull myself together with all my strength. I have to muster up everything Bob has taught me over the last few days: Pay attention to my breathing, concentrate. Panic. I can control it. Think about the hot moments. Remember that Bob wants this from me. He wants it. It’s his plan. I have to endure it, for him. I’m supposed to think about him. Have pictures of him in my head. Connect the situation with him. The padding pressing down on me from above feels a bit like Bob when he’s lying on top of me. The smooth plastic of the padding is a bit reminiscent of Bob in a rubber suit. Now Bob lies down in bed, and I feel his body pressing against me through the bed and the pillows. It calms me a little, even though it increases the pressure. And every time he moves in bed, turns, I feel him. At least a little.

If I lifted my head, he would feel me too. Maybe I could even move my knee enough in the restraints for him to feel me. Or my hand, for once not locked in the mitten. But he would consider all that a disturbance and reset the timer. Two hours is bad enough. No more! Stay calm. Concentrate!

I’ve started learning how to deal with such situations. Bob taught me. Often with the exact threat that time will start again from zero for any unwanted disruption. It’s part of the training. But this, too, has two levels. I can see it. And yet it doesn’t do me any good. One level is the obvious one: Each of these situations that Bob has played out with me in the last few days is right on the edge for me, something I can only endure with the greatest self-control. And I endure them out of fear of punishment. I’m supposed to adopt a certain behavior that Bob wants. I’m learning to adapt my behavior out of fear of the consequences. I’m consciously aware of this level.

But the second level is insidious. It operates subconsciously. The upper level distracts from it. Because I perceive every release from the unbearable situation as a release. But despite the feeling of release, it is never a release. Bob shifts my reference point for what I perceive as freedom. The new normal. This is perhaps the hardest thing of the last few days. This constant feeling of being trapped. The harder, shorter restraints distract from it. After a while in the Segufix, a simple restraint seems free in comparison. But it isn’t. What is normal shifts. Natural freedoms become natural restraints. Unfreedom, constant control of even the smallest things becomes normal. If I have an itch somewhere and can scratch, that is now a special freedom for me, even if my hands are enclosed in bondage mitts. That is normal now. I am grateful when I can scratch myself, even in mitts!

I notice how this slowly but inexorably sinks in. I see how a new normal is replacing my old normal, how former freedoms are being replaced by external control. I see it, but I can’t fight it. Because every lack of freedom, every control, connects within me with Bob, this Bob I yearn for. It’s a diabolical connection. This “Bob wants this…”, “Bob expects you…” makes me endure far more than I would have thought possible. And at the same time, in these situations in which I endure something for Bob, in which I need him more than anything else, my desire for Bob increases. I endure things for him, and because I have endured them for him, I feel even more connected to him afterwards. It’s diabolic! And even though I see through the simple mechanism, I am helplessly at its mercy. Because I am Bob’s prisoner. I am at his mercy. My feelings are in his hands. With just a few simple gestures, he can drive me to despair and then immediately create bliss. Being close to him or being locked away – for him, it’s a simple gesture; for me, it means a world!

Yes, that is perhaps the hardest thing. This constant feeling of being prisoner, which is gradually becoming normal. And this effort to resist it. Not to recognize it as normal. Not to allow it to become the new normal. To maintain control over the few things that remain to me. And then to feel how Bob, almost unnoticed, is nevertheless taking more and more control. How the chain between my feet gets one link shorter. You almost don’t notice it. At first. But as the day goes on, you are repeatedly irritated. It is so little, it hardly makes any difference. And the next day the shorter length is already normal. And two days later the chain is one link shorter again. And again the irritation, until you get used to the shorter chain again.

Yes, it’s getting to me. Because I perceive it on both levels. I see how Bob is gradually taking away my freedom. My head sees it very clearly! And at the same time, my body has no choice. It has to cope with what Bob gives me. And my body copes with it; it adapts. That’s its nature. It adapts. Because it has to. Because Bob wants it to.

And somehow it turns me on when Bob exerts his power, when he forces me to do things. It’s happening now, too. As unbearable as it is here in the bed box, it’s starting to turn me on. It’s quickly warmed up in the cramped box. This cushion, made of some kind of smooth, soft plastic, has become damp with my sweat; it’s slippery. It feels somehow good against my bare skin. I move back and forth a bit, as far as my restraints allow. My cock is wedged between my stomach and the cushion. It’s hardened, rubbing against the smooth, slippery material. Now I’m really horny, losing control, and starting to rub my cock against the cushion with the few movements I can manage. Suddenly I freeze – I hear Bob, muffled by the cushion, but clearly: “What are you doing? The timer ‘s starting over. Now stay calm!”

Fuck! Fuck! Fuck! How long have I been lying here? At least an hour I guess. Damn, I was already halfway there! Bob was just waiting for me to make a mistake, I’m sure of it. Yes, Bob wants to shape me, but he also gets a lot of pleasure from me failing so he can punish me. It turns him on. I can feel how horny it makes him because his heavy body is moving violently above me. He’s jerking himself off. It’s the typical up and down and I feel every movement. I don’t feel his movements as intense as my own movements just a moment ago, but even the movements muffled by the cushion stimulate my cock. I don’t dare move the slightest bit, I lie there petrified, but I enjoy the way Bob is indirectly stimulating me with his body. In that moment I could melt into the cushion, become Bob’s entire bed.

How will things continue if I stay with Bob? He’ll constantly raise his standards, because he loves precisely these situations, when I fail and despair. If I manage two hours, he’ll demand three or four the next time. Or he’ll make the conditions more stringent. Would I be able to handle it? I have to decide in about ten days. I don’t think I can handle Bob’s constant over-demanding.

On the other hand, he always manages to shape the situations in such a way that they eventually become arousing for me, too. It often takes a while, and sometimes it doesn’t even happen during the situation, but only afterward, in retrospect. The moment when full horniness finally arises is in his arms. This alternation of torment and tenderness drives me crazy, not least because it comes from Bob. His lustful, sadistic gaze when he tortures me, his loving gaze when he takes me in his arms afterward.

Bob’s movements above me are bringing me close to orgasm. Or is that because I’ve just had such a vivid picture of him in my mind’s eye, that fleshy, muscular area from his chest to his upper arm, into which my head is pressed when he presses me against him. As if Bob is anticipating my orgasm, he suddenly stops moving. He hasn’t come yet, I’m sure of it. His orgasms are intense; I would have felt it down here. Why didn’t he finish? Or is he taking a break? No, I notice him lying on his side. Shortly after, there are steady, barely noticeable breathing movements. Bob falls asleep.

Is he saving his orgasm for later, when I’m with him? He fucks me often and enjoys it, I noticed that quickly. In all situations and positions. Yesterday, in the shower, now completely different situation from the shower the morning before the party, when I got to soap Bob up. Yesterday Bob tied my arms and pulled them up until I was standing on tiptoes. Then he soaped us both up and rubbed himself against me until we were both hard – which happened pretty quickly. He then fucked me from behind, me on tiptoe, him behind me, his arms around me, one hand firmly around my balls. On other occasions, he fucked me straight after he had cleaned my hole, while I was still stretched out on the rack or a bench. Sometimes he came to me in the padded cell when I was blindfolded in my mask or tied up, or both. Briefly unzip the rubber suit, take out the plug, fuck me, put the plug back in, and off he goes. Sometimes it goes quickly, sometimes he takes his time. Sometimes he is still affectionate afterward, cuddles, plays with me, sometimes not. Some days he fucked me three or even four times.

Depending on the situation, I feel like he’s simply using me, like an object, or loved, like a lover or even a partner. But even if he’s just using me, when I’m in a padded cell, it makes me happy. Yes, ultimately, I almost always enjoy his closeness above all else and only sometimes wish it would last longer. In any case, I take it as a signal that now he only jerked off but didn’t come. Yes, I’m happy about it! These days, he can seduce me even with such small gestures.

As I lie so still, barely daring to breathe on my own, I can clearly feel his little up-and-down movements as he breathes in his sleep. They are so regular and calm. They calm me. They help me cope with the oppressive situation. I feel Bob. My body is trapped down here, but in my thoughts, I’m already up there with him.

There, a beep. The timer. This time the two hours flew by. I notice Bob waking up and getting up. The lid of the bed box opens. Bob is standing over me, in short, shiny nylon shorts and a tight muscle shirt, holding some leather straps. I swallow. I’m looking forward to the release I’ve earned, but at the same time the next restraints are already waiting for me. I feel something like desperation rising within me as Bob bends over me, first undoing the straps over my wrists and immediately putting the leather mitts back on and locking them. My ankles are freed but immediately locked in thick leather restraints connected with a short chain. My neck is freed, and a wide, stiff collar is put on, with a chain attached to it. Now the remaining straps are opened, and Bob pulls me out of the bed box, closes it, and throws me onto the bed. A harness is put on me, and my cock and balls are pulled through a ring. The mitts are attached to the belt on the left and right sides. A thick plug is inserted into my hole and secured with the strap through my crotch.

None of this is new to me. Bob has tied me up like this or something similar several times. It’s bearable bondage, and yet so many thoughts are coming back to me right now. Disappointment, despair. I had somehow hoped that after three hours in the narrow, oppressive bed box, I might finally be a little free. No, even such comparatively light bonds are not normal. It’s been too long now that I’ve been constantly under Bob’s control, always unfree, always tied up. I want to get out, to be free for one night, just one night! It’s bursting out of me, I beg Bob to let me free for one night, just for a few hours. I want to move freely, to cuddle up to him, to touch him as I want, not as the restraints allow. To be able to go to the bathroom when I need to! Just a few hours.

When he doesn’t react, just stares at me silently, I offer that he can leave the collar and chain on if he’s afraid I’ll run away. But please, just be free for a bit. Bob gets up silently, leaves the room, and comes back a few minutes later with an armful of wide leather straps. Now I get scared and back away, but the chain on the collar doesn’t give me much slack. Bob is already sitting on me, pressing me into the mattress with his weight. I beg, cry, say that I can’t stand it, that I’m not made for it, that I can’t do it. Unfazed, Bob takes the collar off me but has already placed the head harness on my chest. I struggle, wriggle, but with just a few simple movements, Bob has my head securely enclosed in the muzzle. Now he forces the gag with the breathing tube into my mouth – I have no chance against it. All the straps on the muzzle are tightened one more buckle, and my desperate protests are barely audible. Now he puts upper arm restraints on me, connecting them in front of and behind my torso so that my arms are pressed tightly against my body.

Next he takes several long, wide leather straps and buckles them around my torso and the outside of my arms. One strap every few centimeters; then around my legs, thighs, lower legs, and feet. Soon I’m tightly wrapped, like a mummy in a network of leather straps. It’s unbearably tight. Bob attaches a short chain from the bed to the top of the head harness, pulls me tightly down on the bed, and stretches another chain to my feet. I’m now stretched out tightly, unable to move. I’m completely wrapped in leather straps, only my cock is sticking out – and it’s rock hard. Bob lies down in bed next to me, or rather half on top of me, one leg over my thighs, one arm under my head, the other hand grasping my balls firmly, kneading them slightly. It’s painful, I want to turn away, but Bob has me trapped with his body. The kneading gets stronger, the grip harder. Tears come to my eyes. He puts his head very close to mine, stroking my face with his beard. “Boy, I promised I’d set you free when I see this isn’t for you. But that’s not for you to decide; it’s for me. You endure it because you have to endure it. In a few days, you’ll have the opportunity to make a decision, but until then, you belong to me!”

He doesn’t even have to mention it: My cock feels differently about it. While I writhe in pain, my cock stays hard, in fact, it’s getting even harder, I think. Bob’s words scare me! After all, there are still ten days left! Bob is showing me that he will do whatever he sees fit in the next ten days. My word no longer has any meaning. And my cock confirms his actions, and Bob’s announcement has an impact on my cock. Just as Bob’s words penetrate me, his hand presses harder, the pain makes me cry out and at the same time brings me to a sudden orgasm. The cum just spurts out of my cock as if Bob is simply squeezing five days’ worth of semen out of my balls.

Bob laughs as he wipes the mess away with a towel. Then he turns me on my side, opens the crotch strap, pulls out the plug, lies behind me, and pushes his hard cock into me. After a few thrusts, Bob moans loudly; I can feel his cum inside me. The situation must have made him incredibly horny too, because he never came so quickly before. He leaves his hard cock inside me, kisses my muzzle, all over my head, my ears, my neck, my eyes, my forehead. Finally, he calms down, lies down, and presses me tightly against him, his cock still in my hole and still hard enough to be felt, even when Bob falls asleep, one hand still in a firm, but no longer painful, grip around my balls.

Sleep is out of the question for me. Not just because I’m wrapped up like a rolled roast. Mostly because so many thoughts are racing through my head. I’m confused. What a rollercoaster of emotions. Despair, pain, desire, closeness, love, not one after the other, but as a cocktail, an inscrutable mixture. And worry. Ten more days. For ten more days I’m at Bob’s mercy; no stop word, no pleading, no begging can stop him. Resistance is completely hopeless — even without restraints, he would be superior to me. Escape is out of the question; everything is always doubly and triple-secured. I have to get through the ten days. But the doubts I had some moments ago are now gone. In ten days, when Bob gives me a choice, I’ll choose freedom. This is too much. Even if it’s so hot sometimes — I can’t bear it! Only: my cock is still hard. Despite my orgasm, it shows no signs of going soft.

To be continued …

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