By bndwolf80
Matt had said it, and he was right: I was fucked.
I was tied up, tighly packed in neoprene, a plug pulsing inside me, and my cock straining and leaking in its cage. Trapped in the back of his van while he went about his day. My head covered in his sweaty gym gear. And yet, had there been no hood (or muzzle) you would have seen a contented smile on my face. His scent on his gear was intoxicating. I was trapped, but secure. Safe. And at constant maximum horniness.
Things were never boring, though. As the afternoon went on, Matt would switch up the program running the plug. He seemed to prefer strong pulses or cascades while he was driving, and low, gentle waves while he was at a house working. I always froze when I heard him open the rear of the van to get his gear or pack it back away, sometimes while chatting with his client. I was terrified of them finding me and getting Matt in trouble. (Don’t worry about me, I’m VERY happy where I am, thank you very much. Just don’t take away this beef stud of a man that I met only a few hours ago and who now had total control over me!)
