By Rubber Dog

His Master brought the straitjacket back from the far end of the playroom where it had been stored with some of the other larger pieces of restraint he often used; his boy laid out on the table was still trying to keep still but had taken to gently and ever so slightly pushing his butt down into the padding and thereby gaining some leverage with the plug.

He let him do this for a moment or two until the slave started to moan and then firmly slapped the slave’s dick through the restraints.  This elicited what would have been a yelp and a well-caught instinctive attempt to move his hands to his dick’s protection.  He would have been disappointed if the boy hadn’t caught this reflex and he smiled to himself that already the boy was learning.

Getting the jacket on was not as difficult as it sometimes was when he’d gotten slaves to this point of the storage process; occasionally they had already decided they wanted out and wrestling the straitjacket onto them took time and considerable effort.  In fact the last time that had happened had made him rethink just how much of the impending captivity he let the slaves see before beginning the encasement.  Certainly the desperate struggling and fight for freedom had its plus points and he still wasn’t sure if he should hood a victim early on since this deprived them of a view of the box up-close, and deprived him of seeing their reaction to it.

He had swung the boy around on the table so that his bound legs hung over the side and he was otherwise sitting up – with this particularly sensitive boy the pressure this put on the rubber inside his ass probably kept him from resisting too much.  Easing the thick, cold rubber of the jacket up the boy’s arms he noticed him pull back slightly, almost a hesitant gesture, as he came to realize what was being put on him.  He held the jacket in both hands by either side of the collar and pulled it up firmly onto the boy’s shoulders, it felt icy cold even to him and he could see the boy shivering.  Ignoring this he deftly turned the slave over again back up onto the table but now face down, restrained legs out stretched behind him.  Sometimes they panicked at this point with their faces pushed down into the leather padding of the table, feeling their breath, hot and damp off its surface whilst the last hope of their freedom was strapped away . But this one didn’t – perhaps it was better to hood them early.

The jacket was extensive and secure.  The back was strapped up and padlocked over each buckle.  As with the legsack he fastened each first then returned to yank the final bit of slack from each before securing them.  The 2″ high collar, now flush with the rest of the boy’s rubbered body fastened shut with two smaller straps – smaller but no less secure.  The crotch straps of a regular jacket were, on this jacket, used instead to secure it to the leg-sack; the anchor points on the legs were reinforced to take the strain and set at angles to ensure the best possible alignment with the jacket.  This made it possible to pull the jacket tighter down onto the slave whilst pulling the restraints on the legs up and more secure at the same time – they had been made to work together and held the victim well.

He pulled the arms thru loops in the sides of the jacket and behind the boy’s back.  Here they were attached and padlocked.  A final strap was fastened at the front over the boy’s wrists – padlocking this with a satisfying click he left off the pinion straps above the elbows as it would only get in the way later on.

The boy was now his; encased in rubber, restrained without any hope of escape, each part of him controlled, every opening plugged and each limb rendered useless.  But not yet entirely dehumanized.

He felt his slave trembling, despite the thickness of the rubber, as he carried him to the box – some mixture of fear and anticipation, it no longer mattered which.  Sitting the boy into the box he pushed his back flat against the rear side, and nudged his butt into the edge.  The first retaining belt came across the boy’s waist immediately below his folded and restrained arms.  The broad, thick, leather strap buckled tightly, squeezing the boy back into the heavy padding of the box.  The boy squirmed a little.  The next strap across the chest was difficult to get on.  He needed to bring the ends between the captive’s arms and pecs.  Once threaded through, this also was pulled firm and buckled.  Not happy with the tension, he unbuckled it and, placing his boot on the boy’s chest, yanked hard and closed it up again.  This had the effect of winding the captive.  Still, it was necessary to ensure he became as well fastened into his prison as possible.

Two smaller straps at the same height retained the boy’s upper arms to the back of the box, effectively cutting off any previously possible upper body motion.  This was the point where he usually hooded them, that way they’d see how cramped the box actually was on the inside with all the padding and besides, the wide-eyed look of panic on their faces as the rubber hood came down over them could be quite special.  But with this boy, he didn’t seem to have that much experience, and he’d wanted to make sure that if he did freak out, it wasn’t until he was safely locked away and couldn’t harm himself in the struggle.

Now was the hardest part, for him, as well as the captive.  He took hold of his bound up ankles in both hands and, crouching in front of the boy, slowly pushed, allowing the knees to bend upwards and steadily forcing the boy’s feet back towards his butt.  It was hard because of the tightness and thickness of the restraints already around the slave’s legs, but by pushing back slowly it was possible to get the feet to almost touch the ass.  The added benefit of his strain in the rubber was that the straps holding the jacket to the leg-sack at the back crossed over the plug so that when the boy bent at the knees these tightened and raped the boy’s hole relentlessly by pushing the plug further into him.

This was obviously driving the boy mad, as the sounds escaping from the gag were low and guttural, sick with the need to cum.  Just how he should be.

He fastened a leather cuff around the boy’s ankles and secured it by two chains to the far back corners – this held the tension perfectly and prevented the slave shuffling his legs at all in any effort to get comfortable.  Two additional chains were clipped to the leg-sack straps at the knees and then to the side walls of the box, thereby preventing even any side to side movement of any part of his legs.  Some captives had been able to swing their knees from side to side and thereby rub their dicks along the inside of the rubber – this in turn had allowed them to cum.  Certainly he wanted them to cum, but on his terms, not theirs.

The last and final attachments were around the captive’s head – a broad strap over the forehead, secured and locked, and a chin strap going diagonally up the sides of his head and attaching to the back of the box.  With the snap of this padlock the boy was rendered motionless.

Looking at the boy held there, sunken into the padding, he saw him flex and heave at his bonds, but there was no real give anywhere and yet, from the stabbing grunts coming from the boy, each flex and each pull against the restraints was taking considerable effort.

The box itself now stood open on two sides, the front, where the captive had been loaded in and the top side.  Each was hinged open and stood ready for closing up.  He brought the front side up first, padded as the rest were, and closed it snug against the edges of the rest of the box.  Clasps on the outside fastened over the edges, and once done up he turned his attention to the top.  The top was a little different, still padded and designed to fit flush with the others, but in the center a number of different gauge tubes and pipes came through from the outside.  Depending on the predicament of the victim, he used these for various attachments to the restraints, but with this boy he used only one – a medium sized corrugated clear plastic pipe which he connected up to the breathing tube on the boy’s gag.  He held the free end of the pipe, outside the box, to his cheek for a few moments, checking to feel his boy’s breath was coming through properly.  It was sweet and warm and in short, eager gasps.

Happy with this he brought the lid down and let it drop the last few inches.  Inside all the boy heard was a low thud, and then a distant sound of metal on metal, the padlocks being slipped into their anchor points, locked and let fall against the exterior of the box.  The exterior.  Outside, not inside here where he was.  He had felt his encasement progress, but had no real idea anymore of what he looked like, he felt disoriented – was he still in the same room with the box, or elsewhere in some other device?  Was he now to be left alone?  Could he cum?  He was desperate to cum, his dick was aching and straining for just one slight touch and he was sure he’d shoot.

He tried to struggle and pull against what held him, he fought and tried to beat it; he felt himself try and yell out as he put all his effort into not escaping, that seemed a remote fucking possibility, but just to get some movement over the end of his dick. Nothing he did brought any relief. The heat now was tremendous, the more he tugged at the rubber that held him firm, the more twisted and tight he became.

With one desperate spasm of effort he tried to tense every sinew of muscle he had, and actually managed to force out a heavy scream from the exertion.  But it was no use; he was no freer now that he had been before, just dizzy with the effort and swimming in his own sweat.

Defeated, he sobbed at his own horniness, his hormones that had led him and his dick, no, he thought, these hormones that his dick had used to lead him here had now fucked him up completely.  He was more worked up than he’d ever been, his dick hurt from the need to cum, his balls were numb and at that ecstatic point just before they churn and shoot and yet he had not one fucking single fucking way to fucking get off!

As much as his restraints enabled him to, he wept.  He couldn’t help it, he was that frustrated.

In the moments between the sobs he felt the plug get heavier and seem to pull downwards out of his butt.  His insides, he reckoned, had had enough of it and were forcing it out.

But then he was pulled straight out of his sobbing as he distinctly felt the plug lurch back up into his hole, almost making him jump – if that were possible still.  And then nothing.  Another sob escaped him, the tears adding to the sweat bathing his motionless head.  Then it happened again.  Slowly the plug felt heavier and started to pull out of him, ever so gradually, then snap back.

This happened over and over, he couldn’t keep track of how many times.  He started to become lost in the feeling it gave him, rubbing gently, slightly, but definitely over his prostate.  Then it all stopped.  He had been on the wave of anticipation of it pulling down again but it didn’t.  He wanted it to start again, he wanted it to keep doing it, keep moving. In sympathy he tried to suck in his stomach and release it over and over to try and mimic the movement, but it wasn’t the same.

It started again, but more definite.  This time instead of snapping back in, it rose as gradually as it fell, as though it were really fucking him.  He knew his mind must be playing tricks on him, but it really felt like he was being slowly fucked by the massive thing.

When it started to get faster and deeper, he knew it wasn’t just his testosterone picked brain that was making it up – the plug was actually moving.  Fuck that, it wasn’t moving it was fucking him, fast.  Ramming into him hard, then pulling back slowly this time, stretching against the rubber straps of his strait-jacket and forcibly fucking him.

What he hadn’t known was that the plug shoved into him earlier had a steel core, not big enough to feel, but solid enough to snag a good enough magnet if brought close enough.  Aside from the strict bondage of keeping the boy’s back and body entirely motionless, the point of getting his butt into the corner was to position the plug over a large electromagnet beneath the base of the box.  By varying the strength and frequency of this, Master was able to control the movement of the plug inside the captive’s butt.  The rubber bondage itself prevented the captive from pushing the plug out, but the pull on the steel core was enough to pull against it, only to be forced back inside as soon as the power was cut.

In this way he could make it fuck whoever had been stored inside the box any way he chose; from a gentle, barely noticeable pulse in and out, to a full-on rough fucking that would grab every ounce of the captive’s attention in their need to get more of it.

He set it on moderate fuck and, after rechecking the breathing tube and feeling the stored boy’s breath fast and desperate, he sat down to listen to the suffering.  The sounds, the gasps, the strangled howls – he loved them all.

The fucking didn’t stop now, it was hard and the shape of the plug hit his prostate head-on every time it shot back in and jolted his dick almost to the point of orgasm again and again.  It was relentless, it never changed its tempo, and it never tired.  The fucking thing just kept on going, hard and fast and totally without feeling for his dick.

He didn’t want to hold out, he wanted to cum, and when, after-fuck-knows-how-long of being pounded, it tipped him over the edge he felt his dick just explode, his balls pulled right up, tight and churning, load after load, he couldn’t breathe, he couldn’t breathe.  He pulled and pulled on the gag to try and draw air in, but nothing.  Fuck, fuck, fuck.

He had heard the slave begin to climax and at just the right moment had stoppered the breathing tube.  If the boy’s orgasm wasn’t going to be powerful enough, this would ensure it would be totally unforgettable.

His dick kept shooting, but he still couldn’t breathe.  He fought hard, harder than he had before, his life depended on it. But the fucking kept going and he was still on the crest of his orgasm.

Feeling he’d denied him long enough, and stopping short of making the slave faint, he opened up the pipe and felt the rush of air being dragged into it.  He smiled to himself, and left the boy in the box, stored and packed away to enjoy the agony of the severity of his bondage post-orgasm.  By this time tomorrow he’d be ready enough to do it over again and he wouldn’t have moved an inch!

 

THE END

 

NOTE: You can contact the author through his own website, Male Restraint Stories. (And thanks to Rubber Dog for letting this story be re-posted here)

 

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