By bondagegimp

Rubber room

The cellar stairs? He was talking about a padded cell in his cellar! In the car, everything was still a bit playful, but gradually it became more serious. But this now? Like a dungeon under the house??? Now that’s some serious shit! I wriggle on his shoulder, trying to squirm. Luckily Bob is so strong, we could have tumbled down the basement stairs. He shakes me just once, a signal for me to hold still. But I can’t. I’m really scared shitless now, I don’t want to be locked up in some dark cell!

Bob ignores my wriggling. When we reach the bottom, he puts me on my feet and pulls the chain – I’m supposed to shuffle along behind him. No! I drop to the ground; I’m not going along with this! Without hesitation, Bob picks me up, throws me over his shoulder and walks on unperturbed. Sometimes left, sometimes right – it’s really hard to follow the path when you’re being carried blind. Then he turns in circles a few times until I completely lose my orientation and puts me back on the ground. My feet sink in deeply, as if I’m standing on a very soft mattress, but the surface is very uneven, as if it’s made up of lots of plump, thick cushions. Bob gives me a gentle push. With my feet bound and on the soft floor, I can’t move fast enough, lose my balance and fall like a sack. I instinctively try to catch myself with my hands, yank at my chains, but it doesn’t help. After all, the ground is really very soft, I don’t hurt myself.

When I get up from the shock, the first thing I do is look for Bob, still crawling on all fours. I can’t feel him, I just bump into a padded wall. I struggle to get up, not easy in chains and on the soft floor. A lot of sweat has collected in the rubber booties, which makes everything doubly slippery. Finally I’m standing again. Where is Bob? I feel my way along the wall and come to a corner. This wall is also padded, I follow it to the next corner until I have scanned all four walls. All padded. Thickly upholstered. Somehow quilted, because cushion-like panels bulge out of the wall, the same as on the floor. No fabric, it’s smooth. Then I become aware of the smell: it smells very strongly of rubber. Industrial rubber, like a car tire from the inside.

I had scanned all four walls – as best I could with my fist mitts chained tightly to my body. No Bob. Is he in the middle? I walk aimlessly through the room, hoping to bump into him at some point. It’s not easy on the uneven floor. Several times I almost stumble or slip in my rubber slippers, but I manage to keep my footing. I don’t bump into Bob. Is he playing again, like earlier, when I thought he had left the room but stood there watching me the whole time? I have to move so slowly and carefully, it would be easy to avoid me. After a while, however, I suspect that he really isn’t in the cell.

Until just now, I was focused on finding him. With the realization that he is most likely not there, I get nervous. Why didn’t I find a door when I scanned the walls? Where did we even come in from? He had turned me around a bit in the room, so I had no orientation from the start. My wandering around looking for Bob made me even more confused. Fuck! I have to find the door! I need at least one point of orientation! Some kind of focus! I systematically scan the walls again. I try to get an idea of the cell. I estimate the cushions at about 50 cm. 5 on each wall. So about 2.50m. Square. Every wall the same, no direction, no orientation! I now feel every joint. The door must be somewhere! The fact that I can’t find it is killing me! I don’t even know where to go to get out! It feels like I’m walled in! I’m getting more hectic, there’s something very oppressive about it. I move endlessly in circles, scanning everything, again and again! Nothing! Is there at least one special feature somewhere, a deviation, something that distinguishes one wall from the other? Nothing either! I walk in circles so often that I lose my orientation every time. Had I already scanned the wall? The floor here? Have I already been in this corner?

The last idea I have: If there’s a door somewhere, it has to give way when I throw myself against it. I don’t expect to be able to get it open. I just want to know where it is! That would reassure me! I could lean against the door, lie down in front of it. At some point Bob will come and I want to feel him right away! I want to know at least in which direction freedom is!!!

I’ll get started. It’s not easy in the chains and with the floor. I first try the middle of each wall, where I think the door is most likely to be. I concentrate and count so that I get all four walls. I have to hop somehow to get some momentum. The first wall doesn’t give way. The padding on the wall cushions everything. It’s hard to say whether I would even feel it if something behind it gave way. I also try to pay attention to how it sounds, maybe I can tell by the noise. Not with the mask over my ears.

Now the second wall for comparison. No difference! Ok, two more walls. It’s exhausting to jump, the floor, the feet wet from the inside. The heavy steel cuffs. But I carry on anyway. On the third wall, I slip in my booties, lose my footing and fall to the floor. To get up, I have to crawl to a wall and use it to support myself as I stand up. Which wall did I last check? Fuck! I could cry! If only I had something to mark the walls! It doesn’t help, I continue on one wall. I concentrate more. I fall over once more, but then I have the presence of mind to keep the direction in my head as I fall. I’m pretty sure I’ve tested all four walls. I can’t feel the slightest difference, they are all equally firm and bounce in exactly the same way.

Maybe the door is not in the middle? Maybe in the corner? I start jumping up against a wall, cushion by cushion, to see if anything moves. I fall over twice, I’m exhausted. I sit down, lean against a wall, think. It’s no use, I won’t find the door. It’s just a straw I’m clutching at anyway, a tiny spark of hope for a tiny ray of hope! I still don’t want to give up, at least it has stopped me from brooding over my situation, it has distracted me.

But the more I realize the reality, the more my hope fades, the darker the thoughts and the heavier the feelings. Why is Bob doing this to me? The claim that he’s doing it for me should be shoved up his ass!!! He’s not doing it for me. He keeps me here because he wants to! Yes, I admit that when he closed the mask, I felt something like lust again, but only a tiny spark. And, I have to admit that too: When I was lying on the couch with him, the thought of walking around freely in the city in an hour or two was tempting, but deep inside me there was also a tiny bit of sadness. But all that was minimal. I wanted to get out of the chains, the suit! And he can’t tell me that he’s curing my trauma! You don’t cure arachnophobia by locking someone in a room full of spiders!

No, Bob does that for himself! He always looked so deeply into my eyes, as if he was reading me like an open book. But I look into his eyes too. And I saw the lust in them! Not a spark, no! His eyes have devoured me! Sometimes his gaze scares me when he looks at me like a predator at its prey. His gaze has become more intense since yetserday. In the car, that’s true, he was more of a buddy from the higher class who taught the younger one a few things. But he became increasingly demanding. As he said himself, he’d let himself get carried away, had gone too far with the bondage that night. But this now? Didn’t he go much further now???

As he said, in the car I should have just said that I didn’t want to, then he would have taken me into town straight away. Should I believe it? It’s probably even true, it was all still playful then. But this morning on the sofa? I would have said no, I would have screamed it!!! But Bob had gagged me before I could do it, not a word came out! And yet my reaction was clear! He probably really believes he has to force me to do it now, for my own good. To deal with the trauma. Ha!

My thoughts are scaring the shit out of me! Bob scares me now! Locked away here in the cellar in a padded cell, a cell with no exit! Yes, scared. But it feels different. Not panic, but fear. Similar, but different. Fear is deeper, duller, more general, more vague. Panic is hard, concrete, current. Fear is bad, panic is unbearable. Panic comes as an attack, breathing changes almost abruptly, hyperventilation, you go black before your eyes.

None of that was the case. Rather the fear that Bob would simply keep me as his prisoner tomorrow under the next pretext. If he’s still looking for an excuse at all! On the other hand, he wouldn’t have needed an excuse today. Why the long talk? He could have stuffed the gag into me by force, zipped me up and taken me to the cell. Does he have scruples? Is he trying to justify it to his own conscience so that he doesn’t have to feel bad about it, because he’s only doing it for me, for my own good?

I buy that he has scruples. His story sounded credible. That gives me the opportunity to appeal to his conscience tomorrow. That’s his soft spot. He doesn’t want to do anything really bad to me. How would he react if I cried? I’ve felt like it at times, I’ve just controlled myself. Should I try that? Would that make him feel sorry for me? I’ll take my next chance. If I think Bob is right, it won’t be until tomorrow morning. Until then, he’ll go through with his plan without me having any chance of influencing him.

Only 24 hours! I try to calm myself down. On the other hand, maybe just 24 hours have passed since we met. I haven’t even been here in the house for 24 hours! And I’ve only been in the suit for, how long? 10 hours? 12 hours? When he said we had to do the night over again, it didn’t sound like he was going to let me out of the suit. Fuck. The suit sucks. It’s sticking to me, it’s sucked in some places. Now a shower! Please!!

The steel cuffs are also bad. Bouncing was not a good idea. They are well rounded and don’t cut in, but they hit my joints when I bounced. It’s getting more and more uncomfortable. Fuck, another 24 hours??? Really?

My frustration grows. I get up and shuffle aimlessly around the cell, always along the wall. I had given up trying to find my orientation, a foothold, anything. Running in circles, like a tiger in a cage. The irons on my joints hurt. On the one hand, running is good, it’s something to do. But the damn shackles hurt!

I sit down again and snuggle up in a corner. Boredom. Boredom was now the predominant feeling. I have to occupy myself somehow. My cock isn’t in the cage, but I’m not in the mood to play with it. The anxiety had receded since I’d been thinking about Bob. No, he wouldn’t keep me against my will, his conscience was too strong for that. I just have to make sure that his lust doesn’t become stronger than his conscience. I should give him as little cause as possible. Playing with my cock would probably also increase his lust if he was watching. To soothe his conscience, that is one of his main arguments: my lust.

I feel my chains as best I can. When I pull my feet close to me, the chains have the most play. I can feel the chain between my feet, the leg irons. I can touch my neck iron. None of this is new information. I can only reach the mask when I huddle into a very tight package. I can feel the zipper on the outer layer. Two zippers, one coming from the top, one from the bottom. They are connected with a lock. I already knew this, but now I can feel it for the first time.

The mask is closed, like tonight, like this morning. Why not panic? Yes, a bad feeling in my stomach, I’d like to see something, even if it’s only through these damn Plexiglas panes. It’s bad enough when your head is completely enclosed except for two nose tubes. But it’s even worse like this, all black. I don’t even know if the light is on in the cell or not. That’s frustrating. But at least I don’t panic!

Is Bob right after all? Haha. Bob the therapist! Lock someone with claustrophobia trauma in a small padded cell in the basement, tied up and blindfolded with with a hood, and everything will be fine. Yes, sarcasm certainly helps now! No, it must be something else. I try to remember the situation when the first panic came. Waking up, disoriented. Everything is dark. It’s the same now. But then I tried to sit up, instinctively. I can still feel the spot on my neck where the collar cut into it as I leapt up with all my might and was stopped abruptly after 30 cm. Movie scenes come to mind. When people startle in their sleep, their upper body jumps up. I know it from other situations in my sleep too. When something happens, you sit up quickly. In dangerous situations, you don’t want to lie on your back.

This morning, the next two times I panicked, I was tied tightly to the bed, also on my back, and I couldn’t sit up. Was it because of that? Was it this detail that made the difference?

I have to try it out. I lie down on my back in the middle of the cell. There is no problem. I know that I can sit up at any time. I stay lying like this anyway, I want to test it. I lie very still. I notice that I can’t hear any noises down here except my own. Stretched out, the chains are tight again, legs together, arms close to my body. Less room to move. Maybe that was also part of it, would be logical. Also not a situation you want to be in when danger is imminent or supposedly imminent. I was much more flexible when I was sitting. Lying down: I can feel the chains, the suit, the mask. Yes, everything is much tighter. I’m much more helpless than when I’m sitting. I try to imagine that my collar and feet are fastened, like in bed. But I don’t succeed. I can sit up at any time, I know that. I stay lying down anyway, letting the situation sink in. I don’t get to the point where I feel the restraints like I do in bed. It’s too voluntary, I’m too free.

I have to laugh at the thought. I’m lying here in chains, suit and mask in the cellar behind thick walls in a small cell, a completely rubber-lined, padded cell whose door I can’t even find! Isolated from the outside world. Under the control of a perverted sadist who I’ve only known for 24 hours and I think, I’m too free?! The laughter gets stuck in my throat. Suddenly the situation overwhelms me. The tight shackles are one thing, the isolation and helplessness of the whole situation is something else. Now comes the panic! I can feel it in my breathing. I quickly sit upright, but the restraints remain! They are looser again, but still unbearably tight. The mask! I want to tear it off my face, but my fists can’t grip it. I quickly crawl to the wall and stand up. Standing is even better than sitting. I can walk a bit – it’s a bit more freedom than sitting down! Nevertheless, the panic remains, I run to the corner, cuddle up in the corner. The cushions of the walls are curved and plump, they remind me of Bob’s chest. I rub my head against the padding, tuck my head into the corner. It’s a tightness, but a different kind of tightness. I imagine putting my head between Bob’s pecs.

It helps. Not quite as planned, but it helps. The thought of Bob, the plump rubber cushions, stimulates my cock. I get down on my knees, which relaxes the chains, my head still wedged between the cushions. My fists reach my cock. I play with my cock. I manage to pull back the foreskin with my fists and expose the glans. I touch the catheter; I can feel the plug inside of me. Both suddenly feel hot again. I have to think about Bob controling my holes. Plug, catheter, nasal tubes. He stuffed everything except my ears.

I massage the glans between my slippery rubber fist mitts. I think of Bob’s glans. How it felt when he allowed me to massage it in the same way. I feel an orgasm coming on, but I let go of myself at the last second. I remember the situation after the orgasm yesterday too well. I wouldn’t be able to stand it down here in the hole without Bob. I continue to play with myself for a while, always until just before I come. At some point I force myself to stop. The panic is over. I lean against the wall again.

What had I planned to do? I have to make sure that his lust doesn’t become stronger than his conscience. I wanted to give him as little reason as possible? Fuck. If he was watching, I had just given him a great show. I could see his bulge getting fatter and fatter in my mind’s eye as he watched me. Fuck! It had all gone back to the way Bob had planned it. I never had a chance.

What is he still waiting for? Hasn’t he achieved what he wanted? Usually he waited for me to react somehow, then he came. The labyrinth with only one exit. Yesterday he had once waited until I almost orgasmed, then pulled my hands away. Today he didn’t come, he would have let me come. But of course, he knew exactly that I was aware by now how unbearable the restraints and the mask would become after orgasm.

The impending orgasm was yesterday an exit, today just a dead end in the labyrinth. What is it this time? Is this somehow still sex? Or is he playing Escape Room with me? Yes, we’ve already been there, sex is about power, Oscar Wilde.

I’ve never been in an escape room. It’s supposed to be a fun game, a friend once told me. A real thrill. And great fun. Yes, if you are a group of friends! I wonder what the game would be like if everyone was alone. I’m sure hardly anyone would find that funny. I’m sure there would be anxiety too. I can imagine the hysterical crying.

In my cell I’m alone, completely alone. Now I get a lump in my throat.

Bob’s labyrinths had another big difference. The exit is not a real exit. It doesn’t lead to freedom, it leads to Bob. Nobody knows I’m here. Only Bob. If he falls on the stairs and breaks his neck, I’ll die here in the hole. Walled in alive. At least Aida and Radames were walled in together, a pair of lovers. I try to remember the duet at the end while their last prison is being walled up. I had seen the opera years ago. In the final scene, they clung to each other in a mixture of love and despair, so intimately and so vulnerably. With the pleading music. It brought tears to my eyes.

But I’m all alone! No one I can cling to. Bob, Bob, Bob over and over again. When he’s not there, he’s everything to me! His labyrinths are brainwashing. They make me dependent on him. In the last 24 hours, Bob has become more and more important to me, indispensable. He’s getting bigger and bigger in my head, more and more overpowering. When he’s there, it can mean extreme pleasure; when he’s gone, I feel so empty, so lonely. I really need him, even physically. I can’t do anything without him! Without him, I’m lost in this cell. Without him, I can’t even carry out my most basic needs, my holes are blocked with plugs or catheters.

With his labyrinths, he turns a physical addiction into a psychological one. Stockholm Syndrome as a concept. And the only thing he needs is time. He just has to let me stew. My head does the rest for him when he slowly shifts the thoughts from my conscious mind into my subconscious, where they are then anchored.

Is that why he wanted another day with me? Does he need more time to brainwash me? If I keep brooding about it, it will only help his plan. But what should I do instead? How could I distract myself, here in this hole, without any external stimulus, I only see a black nothingness, I only hear my own noises. If I don’t move and hold my breath, it’s quiet. Absolutely silent. An oppressive silence that I can’t stand. At least a few noises when I move, the chains, the squeaking of rubber on rubber. Better than nothing at all.

Maybe just not thinking at all. When I once had a crisis during my studies, I took part in a meditation course. It sounded exciting, Zen meditation, the path to enlightenment and all that. Man, that was boring. Sitting and thinking nothing. Letting your mind wander.

I try it. Think nothing. The image comes back: the padded cell without a door. The thought should move, fly on like a cloud. It doesn’t fly any further. I was never able to think nothing in the meditation course either. After just one minute, my thoughts were back to everyday topics: What else do I need to buy? What am I going to eat tonight? Oh, I still have to call this or that friend back. Things like that. But at least the technology had helped me not to think about my exams for a while, to replace the heavy thoughts with lighter ones. That took the pressure off me.

The idea of the padded cell doesn’t fly away, it can’t be replaced. It only gets bigger, darker. It becomes a black cloud, a threatening dark sky. The exams had worried me, but they were only so big in my mind. Looking back, I sometimes had to laugh at myself for how seriously I had taken it at the time. The cell is different. It is real. My shackles are real. I can feel them constricting me all over my body. I have examined the cell thoroughly enough. There is no way out. There are no thoughts that can suppress the thought of the cell, of my situation. The cell, my shackles, these are not just thoughts, they are reality! I am not only trapped here psychologically, I am also physically trapped. And it’s not just an idea, it’s a perception! I can’t deceive myself, I can’t talk myself into a different reality. I can feel it all physically! The suit that constricts me so much, my rubber prison! I can feel it on my skin, on every square inch of my body!

I’m still leaning against the wall, gradually slumped down inside myself. The whole situation is so relentless, so hopeless. I feel so small, so alone, so abandoned. Everything is tightening inside me, I’m on the verge of a breakdown. Then I feel the cushion beneath me give way. Very little, barely noticeable. But it’s the first time in hours that I’ve felt something that wasn’t caused by me. It snaps me out of my thoughts. Bob! Bob is there. I want to jump up, but he’s already standing in front of me, pushing me against the wall with his body. His bulge presses against my face, he presses my body against the wall with his thighs. One foot is between my legs, pressing against my cock and balls. I clutch his leg as tightly as my restraints allow. I cling to him with all my strength. He must never leave again!

We remain in this position. Bob says nothing, doesn’t move. He just stands there motionless and lets me claw at him. Has he been in the cell for a while? Has he been watching me? Could he tell from my body language, from the small changes in my posture, what was going on inside me? After a while, I start moving my head, massaging Bob’s bulge with it, rubbing my head against his bulge. I can feel the hard cock behind the codpiece. Bob pats my head. Just as I nestle my cheek against his bulge, he pushes me against the wall. My head is now pressed between the thick, plump cushion of the wall and Bob’s thick bulge. I continue to cling to his leg. That’s when I feel his hand on my face. A sweet smell. Then I’m gone.

In the labyrinth

I wake up. I lie on my side on the padded floor. I can no longer feel Bob. Is he gone? I could cry. Was it just a brief glimmer of hope, nothing more? But a lot has changed. The iron shackles are gone! Even the collar. What a relief!

Only the steel belt around my waist has remained, including the crotch strap and everything else. The cage is also back over my tail. Instead of a collar, there is something softer around my neck, possibly the leather collar from the car again. Much more comfortable than the collar!

And: I can move my hands freely! However, there are now thickly padded second fist mitts over the latex mitts, made of leather, as far as I can tell. Only my legs are now more tightly bound than before. It feels strange. My lower legs and thighs are pressed together, I can no longer stretch my legs out. They are in a sheath, each leg separately. I test them, can move my legs, which are now more like stumps. But I feel every movement of my legs as movement in my hole. I explore the situation with my fists. There seems to be a different plug in my hole. It is also pressed into my hole by the crotch strap, but then sticks out 10 or 15 cm as a rod. A chain goes from the rod to each my left and right leg. When I move my leg, it pulls on the rod and presses the plug in my hole against my prostate.

Wow, Bob has come up with something! I move my legs. It doesn’t feel bad how the plug moves inside me. Anyway, I’ve had much worse bondage with Bob. Except for my legs, I feel almost liberated. Despite the suit, mask and gag! Two steps forward, one step back… this game again?

Examining the new bondage has distracted me, maybe even aroused me a little. I carry on, it feels good. New impressions, new stimuli. After hours of stewing in my own little world, without any external stimuli. But where is Bob? Is he still there? I try to sit up. Every movement that puts weight on my bottom is bad. The movement of my legs only pulls gently on the plug. But when I sit down with my weight on the bar of the plug, it becomes uncomfortable to painful. I manage to turn onto my stomach and stand on my knees and fists. I can let myself fall backwards a little, but not much. Kneeling is not possible with the bar in the hole. So back to crawling on all fours. Only now, unlike yesterday, my lower legs are tied to my thighs and my feet are touching my bottom. My knees are padded. So this seems to be the planned position.

It’s exhausting, but I can crawl on all fours like this. I crawl off, looking for Bob. Surely he must have been watching it live, not on camera. I bump my head against a wall. I turn around. I crawl in a different direction, somewhat aimlessly around the cell. Bump my head against a wall again and again, then turn around. Like a robot vacuum cleaner… Earlier, when I could still walk halfway upright, I could fumble a bit with my fists. Now I need my fists to crawl and can only feel my way with my head.

Bob isn’t there or always avoids me. Suddenly I feel something else. The air. It was stuffy earlier. The air is a little fresher. I can even feel a breeze. I am electrified, crawl to the next wall, then along the wall, always touching it with my shoulder. My head hits the corner, next wall. Suddenly there is nothing on my shoulder, I almost fall into the void. The door is open! I crawl out of the door in disbelief. It’s easier to crawl on the hard floor. Where is Bob? Is he around here somewhere? I grope blindly through the narrow corridor. No Bob. And no exit. The only open door leads to the cell, but I don’t dare go back in. I discover two more doors.

Another difference to yesterday: I couldn’t grip anything with the bar between my fist mitts. Now I’m able to turn the door knobs. One door is locked. But with a little effort, I can turn the knob on the second door and open it. Another corridor. I bump my head on something – the stairs. Crawling up them is quite an effort. Once at the top, I move in the direction where I think the living room is. Bob is probably sitting on the couch in the living room, laughing. I keep bumping into something, but the excitement of finding Bob is so great that I crawl as fast as I can. An open door, yes, that must be the living room. I’ve already seen the room, I can get my orientation, find the sofa, hope to feel his legs at any moment. But nothing! I brush my arms across the seat. No Bob.

Disappointment. But I keep looking. At the dining table. All the chairs. No Bob. As I crawl, the plug presses on my prostate the whole time. Sometimes more on the left, sometimes more on the right, depending on the leg. It was even pleasant for a while. In my euphoria in the hallway, expecting to see Bob straight away, it was even very hot for a short time. But slowly it became a bit annoying, exhausting.

Wasn’t there another exit from the room? The kitchen. After wandering around for a while, I find it. But no sign of Bob here either. Back to the living room. I’m a bit exhausted from crawling. I can’t sit down because of the plug in the hole. I lie down on my side, rest for a moment and think. It’s a big house. I only know a fraction of the rooms. Apart from this one, only the bedroom and the playroom. Bob is somewhere, that’s for sure. But where? Upstairs or here on the first floor? I shy away from the stairs, especially downstairs. It was difficult enough when I could see and my legs were much more agile. If I go upstairs, I have to be sure he’s not here on the first floor. So, I look here first.

I crawl into the hallway, feeling my way along the walls bit by bit so as not to miss any doors. One door is locked. Go on. The next door opens into a room that appears to be empty. Another corridor? There are several doors. It’s starting to get a bit confusing. I try to stay systematic. There are four doors, all open. I go into the first room. I bump into furniture. Shelves, table, chairs. I check to see if Bob is anywhere. Discover another door. Another room. Furniture again. One door is locked. No Bob. Back to the other room. Is it different now? There wasn’t a bed here earlier, was there? Wait, I went left from the corridor into the room on the left, then right into the other one. Or was it straight ahead? I had to go around the table. It’s not easy not to lose direction, or when I’m crawling in circles looking for Bob. Did I turn right without realizing it? Or was it in the next room? Did it have two doors? Which way was the corridor I came from? Damn! I’ve completely lost my orientation! I grab at the mask with my fist mitts, wanting to tear it off again! If I could see, nothing would be a problem! This fucking mask! I was completely lost.

I feel it again, like in the cell. I feel abandoned, alone, lonely. Helpless! I lean against the wall. Catch my breath. I want to give up. Just lie down and stay there. Cry, until Bob finds me. I lie down briefly, the feeling gets worse! Even more helpless. I still rest for a moment, but get up again straight away, I can’t stand it like this.

Concentration. I crawl systematically along the wall, trying to make a plan of the layout. The plug in my hole is slowly becoming a pain. Sometimes it’s still pleasant, but then sometimes something presses painfully somewhere. It distracts me. More concentration! Here’s the bed. Here’s the door. Just one door. Good. Same thing in the next room. Yes, it had two doors. Back to the previous room. It has one more door than I thought, first a dead end. Then, finally, back in the hallway! The next door. I’m more careful now. A room leads off from here too, another room, also with another door. Behind it is an empty room, no further door. Back to the previous room, the second door. Another room! I’m going crazy. More doors lead off this room. From the mental labyrinth into the physical one. I take the next one. Somehow the room feels familiar. From where? I was in that room at the very beginning, I must have come back into the hallway from another room. Which doors have I already been through? Not this one yet. Exasperated and frustrated, I crawl into the next room, here too there is a door on the first wall, a small room, little furniture, no other door. Back, continue searching in the previous room. I bump into a table, then into something soft. A leg? A leg! Bob!

He pats my head. I’m so relieved, grunting with pleasure into the gag, rubbing my head against his leg. He’s sitting at his desk, seems to be working. He presses me gently to the floor, telling me to lie down. I lie by his feet, clutching them. He’s only wearing socks. Strokes my face with his feet. I lie here, just relieved and happy. I can hear him typing. It’s so good to feel him close to me. I want more of him, reach for his legs, straighten up a little . He pushes me down again with his foot. I accept it and make do with his feet.

After a while, I hear him close the laptop. “Wait here,” he gets up and leaves. I immediately get restless again. I straighten up and stand on all fours, facing in the direction I felt him go. And wait. A few minutes pass, I practice patience, but even after such a short time, I miss him so much! I don’t want to lose him again right away, like earlier in the cell downstairs. I’m afraid he’s playing with me again! I can’t cope with another wander on all fours through this labyrinth of a house!

He comes back, attaches a leash to my collar, pulls on it. I follow him. We go out through another door, left, right, I’ve already lost my orientation again. As humiliating as it is to be led around on all fours on a lead: I am so happy to be on the lead. It calms me, almost gives me a feeling of security. I can’t see Bob, I can’t feel him, but the tug on the lead shows me that he’s there.

In the garden

“Come on, let’s enjoy some more sunshine!” I can feel the fresh spring air and the sun on my black rubber suit. Grass under my paws. Bob pulls me into the garden on the lead. I feel something like a blanket under me. Bob sits down and pulls me towards him. He removes the lead, takes off my outer, thickly padded fist mitts and lies down. I immediately crawl to him, snuggle up and lay my head on his chest. I can feel him falling asleep. His chest moves up and down under my head. He puts an arm around me and I am happy and relaxed. He wakes up briefly, turns onto his stomach and goes back to sleep. While he was turning, he briefly pushed me aside. I squat next to him as best I can. I can hear his deep breathing.

I’m outdoors. More mobile than I’ve been for a long time. Not attached anywhere, no leash, no chains. I could run away now. Theoretically. I’m blind, I can only crawl. I wouldn’t get far. But apart from the practical side, there’s also a feeling. I feel so good next to him right now. Without him, I felt so alone and abandoned all day. The thought of crawling away, being alone, maybe not finding him again, scared me! Even now, when I’m not touching him, it makes me nervous if I don’t hear him breathing for a moment.

I quickly snuggle up to him again. I rest my head on his broad back, enjoying the sun on my back, even though I’m starting to sweat again. I start exploring Bob’s body with my fists and my head. He’s still wearing the rubber shorts. I trace his back, grasp his upper arms. I trace the line from his shoulders to his buttocks, feel his bulging buttocks, grasp his powerful thighs. I rest my head on his butt, play with his thighs, reach between them with my fist. He spreads his legs wide and lets me feel everything. He playfully clamps them together so that my fists are trapped between his thighs. He lets me play like this for a while, but at some point he pulls me by the collar. I understand the signal, slide back up, lie on his back, my head between his shoulder blades, my cock in its cage between his thighs, just below his ass. Bob falls asleep again. I doze off a little too, relaxed and happy.

At some point Bob gets up. “Wait here!” I yowl through the gag. Bob scratches my head: “I’ll just get us something to eat!”. Alone again. Feeling restless again. The fear that he won’t come back or will take so long again. Please, don’t play with me now! I can’t bear it. And luckily, Bob comes back after a short time, lies down next to me again, behind me, so close that our bodies are touching. He opens the outer mask a little. Just far enough for him to open the zipper on my mouth and take out the gag. The gag was surprisingly easy to bear, but it is still very pleasant to get rid of it. There is now also some light in the mask. Very unusual after a whole day in the dark!

This time I don’t have to wait until he has eaten. We eat at the same time, more or less. He feeds me in bites. Gives me a drink. It’s not easy in this lying position, but he lovingly holds my head in the right position as required. From time to time, he presses his thigh against the rod of the plug, which makes me groan in pain or pleasure.

It’s slowly getting cool and the sun is setting. We’ve finished eating, he closes the zipper on my mouth, then the one on the outer mask and secures it again with a lock. The little bit of light – gone again. I just sob to myself, there’s no point in begging. He holds my head and comes very close to me: “I think your training is going well. You’ve coped very well with the day. I’m sure you’ll get through the night in the mask just fine.” Indeed I did. It went well, with all the ups and downs. The mask depresses me at times, but no panic – except for the scene in the cell this morning. I want to know one more thing, but he interrupts me. “Now let’s go into the living room. I’ll tidy up here. Can you find the way yourself?” I shake my head vigorously. Not this wandering around alone again. I’ve just got my emotions under control again. “Please, keep me on a leash.”

The evening

I hear him laughing and immediately feel him on my collar. He already had the lead in his hand. I crawl behind him on the lead into the living room. Left, right, left – I wonder if he’s taking a detour to confuse me. The plug moves inside me, now it feels hot. In the living room, he helps me onto the couch and leaves me alone again for a moment to tidy up. Another agonizing few minutes without him. The one or two hours with him in the garden were such a contrast to the hours before. The fear of losing him has only grown. I can hardly cope without him any more. Fortunately, he’s back quickly and lies down on the couch. I can hear the television. He pulls me towards him so that I’m facing him. He presses my head against his chest, wraps a leg around me, presses me close to him. Every now and then I can hear a few bits of the movie, but whenever he touches my mask, brushes over it or something similar, I can’t hear anything. At some point, I give up trying to follow even one sentence and become completely absorbed in the situation. Just enjoy the closeness.

At some point the movie ends, Bob gets up, pulls on the leash and I follow him upstairs. First we go into the tiled room. This time he straps me to the rack a little less elaborately, almost provisionally. More or less on all fours, but supported under my stomach by a padded plate. He takes out the plug, the crotch strap and, to my surprise, even the waist belt and the cage. He inserts the plug for an enema and rinses me. At the same time, he opens the catheter and simply lets it leak out. No long game, just empty everything once, done. Another plug goes into the hole. I think it’s the one from last night, but maybe a size bigger – I can’t tell. It is only secured by the zipper.

Off the rack, on the leash into the bedroom, onto the bed. There he takes off my leg restraints. I am now freer than I have been for a long time. Just the suit I’m locked in. But with the fist mitts and mask, I’m still pretty helpless. “I had seen that the iron shackles were starting to hurt and I don’t want anything like that to make your sleep more difficult. On the other hand, I don’t want you to sleep any less tightly bound than last night, that’s what we talked about. So, I thought about an alternative. He lifts me up briefly and lays me on something, like a thick blanket. He takes my legs and puts them in something, a kind of sleeping bag. But each leg has its own compartment, with padding in between.

Now he takes my arms too, they are pushed into their own pockets at the sides. The bag is then pulled over me and closed with a zipper. Bob pulls everything a little tighter with a drawstring, but not so tight that it pinches. I am now wrapped up like a mummy, my arms secured to the sides of my body. Bob is right, it is similar to being in chains. To some extent it’s even more comfortable, nothing pinches, nothing cuts in anywhere. On the other hand, my movements are even more restricted. The legs are now pressed really tightly together, the arms have no more room to move. The rapid loss of all movement options is also a bit of a shock, as I feel very restricted again. I can still roll back and forth on the bed, even rearing up, but next Bob attaches the chain from the foot end of the bed to the bag at the bottom and the chain from the top end of the bed to the collar. Now I can bend my legs only a little and raise my head only about 30 cm. It’s a difficult moment, memories of the previous night come flooding back. Bob holds me tight, strokes me.

I feel him playing around on my lap, he opens something, pulls my balls and cock out of the bag and closes the opening so that it encloses me tightly behind my balls and cock like a cock ring. I was already hard from this action. Now he turns me on my side and works on my bottom, where there is obviously an opening in the sack, with the zipper of the suit underneath. He pulls out the plug, lies down behind me, hugs me, kisses my mask, licks it. One hand stays on my cock the whole time, plays with the glans, kneads my balls. Kneads them so hard until I groan and try to pull away, but the iron grip won’t let me. Keep kneading. I moan in pain, my cock likes it – it’s getting even harder, dripping. Bob’s other hand grabs my head and strokes my face. I feel his cock against my hole. He penetrates me, thrusts. My prostate, irritated all afternoon by the moving plug, reacts with a mixture of pleasure and pain. Bob’s hand brings me to the brink of orgasm several times, but never lets me cum.

At some point I hear him moan loudly and feel him relax. He pulls his cock out of me, puts the plug back in and closes everything up. He turns me onto my back again, a little further, towards him. Presses my head against his chest and I can feel him ready to fall asleep. This is the right moment. After the orgasm, his lust also subsides. Now his conscience is in control, not his lust. I haven’t forgotten about my plan.

“Bob, one more question.”

“Yes?”

“Will you release me tomorrow?”

“If that’s what you want, I’ll drive you into town tomorrow and let you go, yes. But we’ll discuss that in peace tomorrow. For now, let’s get some sleep.”

His answer reassures me. Bob holds me tightly in his arms, wrapping one leg around me. I feel safe with him. The suit, the bondage bag, the mask – it’s still a bit annoying, but a warm, cozy feeling spreads through me. Maybe Bob was right after all with his approach to therapy. My panic from last night in the mask is wiped away. My cock hasn’t lost any of its hardness since Bob let go of it, squeezed between the bondage bag and his thigh. I feel safe and protected in his arms. I fall asleep with a mixture of horniness and security.

I have a dream that night. It’s one of those dreams that have such incredible clarity that we can mistake them for reality. In the dream, Bob gets up and frees me from my restraints. We have breakfast, pack my things. He drives me into town, I get out, we hug briefly, I leave, turn around again, he drives away – we never see each other again.

I relive one scene in slow motion in my dream. We are hugging. The traffic is loud, Bob isn’t actually allowed to stop here. I hug him. I press my head against his chest, between his broad pectoral muscles. His muscular arms, gripping me. My hands on his back, clawing at his muscles. He holds me tightly in his arms as if he never wants to let me go. He rests his head on mine. A tear rolls out of my eye. A moment of silence, the traffic noise has faded out. He kisses me on the forehead, gets into his car and drives away.

***

The story is a mixture of different fantasies. Some scenes I have experienced myself in a similar, usually somewhat more harmless form. Some scenes came to my mind when I saw photos or videos of sessions, and some scenes were inspired by stories I read here or elsewhere on the internet. However, the feelings I am describing are to a large extent what I have actually experienced.

And by the way. If there is a “Bob” somewhere outside, please contact me on Recon or Romeo. If there is more than one: I have a few requests and would be happy to pass them on. I think many of us would love to fall into the same trap. Thanks!

Please feel free to comment here or send me your comments directly. You’ll find me:

Romeo: bondagegimp

Recon: bondagegimpSTGT