By lthr_jock
“1683, wake up.”
Paul’s eyes snapped open, and immediately he could see his muscular form still in its thick, skin-tight red rubber in the mirror placed in front of him. He was boiling hot, the sweat pooling in the rubber suit and making him uncomfortable, his muscles aching from the position he had been strapped into. Drool was running freely around the ball gag, so he reckoned he’d been secured like this for some time. From what he could see, he had been strapped on all fours onto some kind of device. His stomach lay on something solid, with his mitted hands secured in front of him to the base of the device. His legs (ankles still strapped to his thighs) were similarly secured, but his knees were held apart by the device leaving his arse open and exposed.
His eyes bulged as he swore and struggled, his mountainous muscles heaving against the black leather restraints. Wrenching against the straps, he could hear them creaking and groaning, until a rubbered form behind him stepped forward and secured a wide leather belt around his waist, securing Paul tightly to the device. Now he couldn’t get enough leverage to affect anything other than a helpless writhing motion. He glared up at the figure in black rubber as he rubbed his hands all over Paul’s quivering flanks.
“Time for your last lesson here, boi.”
