By rts

The Story Continues

The rest of that day passed slowly into night, the beers I drank helped mellow my frustration in my rubber confinement and I eventually fell asleep. The next two days were pure hell as each hour seemed endless, the weight of the one piece rubber suit seeming to increase with each movement.

I was soaked in my sweat, it was uncomfortably slimy inside my boots and gloves and very hot, the suit starting to chaff my arm pits and crotch. I moved around as little as possible, dragging the heavy ball and chain behind me whenever I went outside into the blazing sun to relieve myself.

I cursed myself for wishing for this experience as the hot sun heated the rubber unbearably, telling myself that it wouldn’t have been so miserable if I hadn’t had this stiff posture collar locked around my neck or if my cock and balls had been free of their steel chastity confinement, and if this fucking ball and chain hadn’t been locked to my waist belt. This was the fourth day, I was at least more than halfway through my “sentence,” he was due back in just three days and then I would get my release.

I had very mixed feelings right now, on the one hand I was excited to be wearing this rubber constantly and being horney in my helplessness but frustrated in not being able to masturbate, and at the same time I was so miserably uncomfortable, feeling filthy, so hot and sweaty, tired of the heavy clumsiness of every movement, the itching inside the hood, under my collar and under my waist belt, the pooling of sweat in my boots and gloves and the constant pull of the ball and chain whenever I moved around.

Would I eventually get so use to this condition so as not to be constantly aware of my discomfort? I have discovered in these four days that the initial pleasure of putting on this gear fades as the time spent in its confinement grows more uncomfortable when you are alone, and how very long a week of such forced confinement and chastity begins to seem. To relieve my boredom I would occasional put on the gas mask and forced myself to remain in it for part of the day, enjoying the rubber smell and sound as I inhaled, sometimes sticking the breathing hose inside my crotch forcing myself to breathe my own funky sweaty smell.

I had almost finished all the water I had carried back from the spring and I did not look foward to my next trip to it tomorrow. That slow walk up to it weighted down by the ball and chain, the hot heaviness inside the suit, the steel chastity container dragging down my balls, the fogging up of my hood’s lenses and that awkward struggle through the mud hole. I decided to leave early in the morning before it got too hot in the hope that I would finish the ordeal without the full force of the mid-day sun cooking me in all this black rubber.

I spent most of the rest of the day drinking beer in the cabin, avoiding the sun and only venturing out to take a piss now and then. I passed that night in fitfull sleep. I kept having horney dreams but would wake up in pain as my growing erection encountered the confining resistance of the steel chastity container. I cursed the bastard who locked me up like this, my head forced stiffly immobile by the collar, the waist belt tightly constricting me with each breath, the constant taste of rubber from the hood’s moulded lips.

I got up at first light, before the sun came up, this was now day five, the home stretch, only two more days and then sweet release when he returned, I can handle this, I thought. I shoveled some of the cold leftover stew I had been living on slowly through the mouth opening of the hood, tasting of rubber with each mouthfull. I then went out side, I carried the ball and chain in my arms as I visited the outhouse. The morning air was wonderfully cool and my rubber suit felt cold and clammy as I moved. I next went over to pick up one of the water pails, taking the ball and chain up and sort of carrying and dragging it with the other hand.

The 20 pound steel ball was very difficult to deal with as I walked, so I had to take slow short steps to manage it. This was still a bit better than just dragging it along behind me with its full weight pulling agaonst my thick waist belt. The trip to the spring this time did not seem so arduous in the cooler morning, I was getting use to the thick feel of the suit against my skin, I was enjoying its rubber smell and all the creaking, sloshing sounds I made as the old sweat filled rubber moved over my body. I could see clearly as the hoods lenses did not fog up and soon found myself at the mudhole.

I picked a route around its edge where I only sank ankle deep as I slogged through it, still not getting overheated and knelt at the spring to fill the water pails. I lowered my face into the water and drank as much as I could. I rolled over on my back and lay on the muddy bank enjoing the sounds of the flowing spring drumming against the rubber of my suit.

After a while I began to get cold, standing up I picked up the water filled pail with one hand and grabbed hold of my ball and chain with the other and began walking through the muddy bog on my return to the cabin. It was hard managing the water pail, the chain and the mud with each sucking step. I started to sink deeper as I plodded on, the mud at first covering my ankles but then I took a step and my right leg sank almost to the knee as I began pulling my left leg free.

I set my left leg down it too slowly sank to the knee when I tried to pull my right leg free. Each time I attempted to pull one leg free from the sucking muck the other sank deeper into it. The mud was now half way up my thighs on both legs. I dropped the water pail as a sense of panic touched me, I couldn’t pull my legs from the sucking grasp, I struggled some more fighting to get free and but only succeded in sinking deeper, the mud almost up to my crotch. I was frightned at my helplessness, I dared not do anything that would sink me further. I saw no way out of this trap.

Would I be stuck like this until he returned in two days? Would he find me up here when he did come back? I tried to calm myself, further panic would only make things seriously worse. As long as I didn’t attempt to move I wasn’t sinking any deeper, I had to tough it out for the next two days, at least I could drink the muddy water. The nagging fear that he wouldn’t come looking for me returned.

To be continued …