They put this amazing heavy rubber suit on me, the only entry was thru the neck hole which they held stretched open as I squirmed myself into it’s well lubricated interior. The suit had attached feet but no gloves or hood, a short zipper sealed access to my bung hole (I would be able to take a dump but had no access to my cock) . They told me as the neck snapped closed tight around my throat that there was no way that I could get myself out of this suit without their help.
They sealed the neck and wrist openings to my skin with some rubber adhesive and told me that the bung hole zipper closure was also a leak proof seal. They said I would have to piss inside the suit as I lived in it for the week that I had agreed to and nothing could leak out. (I was a little uneasy about this but the idea of having no choice in the matter got me hard). It had no gloves or hood they explained, so that I could be wearing my work clothes over it all day as I went to my job sweating inside the rubber covering without anyone knowing unless they could hear the occasional wet squishing noises brought on by the build up of the sweat and piss contained inside the rubber as I moved my body.
Hello, perverts! Have you read the Leather Road Trip story here on Metalbond? You can find it in the Prison Library, under the rts author tab. I shot multiple loads while preparing it for posting. Here are some pictures from rts, the actual author of this story. It’s based on true events, he tells me, although the true events have been slightly embellished.
The first shot is what rts tells me he was wearing for the road trip itself (except for the gas mask):
And these shots were taken when rts was actually sitting down to write about his experiences:
I always like to encourage rts to “gear up” when he sits down to write bondage stories.
The light comes on, the cell door swings open, another day of hell begins after another miserable night in sweaty leathers with butt plug torment. A single skinhead steps in and says, “Fag prisoner #5, get your butt over the squat toilet and present your ass.” Jake crawls on hands and knees, chains rattling, over the dirt floor and waits by the pit. The skinhead unlocks and removes jakes’s muzzle and the crotch strap from the harness, unzips his butt access and proceeds with the enema.
Looking over at me says, “I haven’t forgotten you, fag, enjoy this.” He then presses a control on the remote box he carries, and my butt plug starts vibrating with a new intensity as my cock tries to respond in the painful constriction of my seed pod.
“Listen up both you faggots, my two mates and I have a plan to get you poor sorry leather fags out of this hell hole and us with you and stick it to that fucker overseer skin and some cowboys. We can get you your bikes, gas and all your personal IDs. Me and my two mates have also been trapped here for months with the same future you all have.
My harness is restrictive, stiff and heavy. The tight crotch cradles my butt and affects my walking. The other prisoners all have shaved heads and look to be around my age and physical build. There are three skinheads walking with us, and each has one of those control-box shockers that seems to control two prisoners. A fourth skin (the one from the gas station) is definitely in charge of the others. All four of them are booted in 20-hole Rangers, dirty Levi’s bleaches held up and pulled tight on their butts by braces and showing significant bulges, mostly stained with piss.
The three in control of us all have zippers down their butts and look to be in their late 20s. The fourth skin (the overseer) walks down the line of us and with a black felt tip writes a number on the back of our shaved heads, from 1 to 6 (Jake is No. 5 and I am No. 6). He gives the order to the controlling skins, “Move these fags out.”
For those who have been reading the series called The WORC Program by Joshua Ryan and eagerly checking back for more, just a quick update. There are three more parts to go. It will end with Part 26. The final three installments will appear tonight (Tuesday), tomorrow and Thursday. I’m so very grateful to the author, Joshua Ryan, for sharing this story with Metalbond readers. For those who just can’t get enough of his writing, be sure to check his extensive story page, located at prisonfictions.bdsmlr.com, which has many more stories in a similar vein.
And speaking of long-running stories, I am pleased to announce that there will be yet another “bondage novel” coming soon to the Prison Library. It’s called “One Year,” and it is by Taurus. I think many guys are going to enjoy it very much. I sure did when reading it in advance! In addition, there will soon be even MORE male bondage fiction coming soon from the authors Steellock, ty dehner, Nitro, rts and many others, so keep checking back. In November alone, there will have been a new story or chapter of a story every night except election night! I am especially pleased to have been able to share a new story from bootboy called Getting Wet.
If you enjoyed the story by bootboy or any of the other authors, please be sure to leave a note in the comments section!
But although he succeeds in opening the snaps on the fly of my leather jeans, he is frustrated and unable to reach my cock and balls as they are tightly contained by my piss-soaked leather jock. He moans, his body suddenly jerks with another shock, and bites down hard on my encased package. As I grunt with the sudden pain, the skinhead re-enters the cell, laughing at the sight. “Great to see two helpless leather faggots trying to eat cock.”
He walks over, straddling Jake and sitting down hard on him, pinning his head tight into my crotch. He shoves a water bottle into my mouth and squeezes, forcing me to gulp down the entire contents. Holding the empty bottle tight into my mouth, he pinches closed the nose holes of my hood, and I struggle for air while Jake is desperately reacting to multiple shocks and his inability to breathe with my wet jock rammed into his face.
Looking around my cell (as much as my posture collar permits), I see several chains hanging down from the ceiling, several eyebolts imbedded in the walls, the floor is dirt, and the air is hot and stifling. I am thirsty. The ball gag is getting unbearable. I’ve been here for a while, maybe 2 hours. I can’t move around much with my collar chained to the wall. I have to piss, and my arms cuffed behind my back are beginning to hurt.
I hear some noises outside my cell, rattling chains and heavy boots stomping along, someone shouting “move it fags” and a few heavy doors slamming and then the sounds of a key unlocking my cell. The door opens and a leather-clad and muzzled prisoner is shoved inside followed by 2 skinheads, one holding the chain locked to the leather man’s posture collar, the other holding what looks like a remote control box.
“Halt Fag” the one holding the box commands, and he immediately stops. The skinhead looks over at me. “Take a good look you sorry faggot, this is your immediate future.”
I’m a leather-loving biker riding an old rigid harley chopper, always in my boots and full hides. I made contact online with a man with similar interest, exchanging photos, both of us into just living in our leathers all the time. He invited me for a meet-up if I agreed to his conditions. I was to wear only my leathers, my leather jeans tucked unto my 18-inch westco boots, gloves on and naked under the hides except for a leather jock and pack, no other clothes. He would ship me a leather hood with an open lock but no key. I was to put on this hood and lock it while live on camera for him to see on the day I was to head out. I was turned on and agreed to these conditions.
A week later the hood arrived along with a crude map and directions to a small almost abandoned town in the desert about 100 miles down an old country road. The hood was hot, with small ”pepper pot” eyeholes, two small nasal tubes and a mouth hole lined with a rubber tube that would keep my mouth open, making it difficult or almost impossible to speak. The zipper pull down the back would fit over a small lock post, through which I would be able to fit the enclosed lock.