By TheBadOne

Chapter Two- Programming

My racing heart begins to settle in the first few minutes alone, as I take stock of my situation. The rubber suit is well-lubricated on the inside, and fits precisely over my muscled body. I had never tried rubber on before Master introduced me to it, but I took to it immediately- I always look forward to when he has me wear it, and have so far never reached a point where I wanted to take it off. But, I’ve also never had it on for as long as I’m about to. Still, so far so good.

In the rapid transition from standing at attention to isolation bondage, I didn’t even realize that I was still in my boots. They were expensive, a big purchase I made after a modeling gig I got for an athletic wear company- one I never would have gotten without Master’s demanding workout routines. Though a gift for myself, they were also an homage to him- twelve inches high, just about midway up my calves, stitched and laced in yellow- a color that was always one of my favorites, suiting my dark hair and deeply tanned olive skin, but which has since evolved to indicate my growing affinity for watersports- piss play being something which simultaneously turns me on deeply, but is also profoundly humiliating.

The only skin left bare to touch the inside of the leather sleepsack is between the top of my boots and the bottom of the rubber bodysuit, which comes to about mid-thigh. I suppose my cock is bare, too, unless you count the chastity belt, which I absolutely do- it’s a custom ‘Holy Trainer’, in the largest size. Master has assured me that he will gradually get me accustomed to each step down until I’m locked in the ‘nano’, which at present I cannot even imagine. I’ve grown more comfortable in chastity since Master has begun training me. I’ve even begun to perceive it as a sort of armor, protecting me from myself and anyone who might tempt me.

Above the collar of the sleepsack, I’m basically free. No gag, no muzzle, no hood- just a blindfold. It’s leather with holes the size of pinpricks. When Master was in the room, I could just barely make out his movements as he secured me in the sack, but now that he’s gone, I can’t make anything out but a low light. The lack of headgear is a relief after two hours in the isolation hood.

All in all, I’m currently pretty comfortable, swaddled in my favorite materials, and honestly pretty forgiving bondage, aside from the fact that I’m to spend another eighteen hours in it. I realize I have no idea what time it was when we started the session this morning, or what time it is now, or what time it will be when this is over. I silently pray to myself that I manage to sleep through whatever portion of it is overnight.

I attempt to struggle within the sack. I have just enough room to shift my muscles so that they don’t cramp, but there’s really no going anywhere- I hear a dozen locks clink against their fasteners, a final insurance for Master in the zero-probability event of me somehow getting myself free within the sack.

Having explored my confines, I finally turn my attention to the task Master has given me for the duration of my isolation: listening to the hypnosis recording. When we first started seeing each other, Master and I made this recording together. It consisted of him reciting an order, and me repeating it back.

 

You are a submissive.

I am a submissive.

 

I’m meant to repeat the order out loud to myself, anytime I’m alone. When I’m in public, I’m to say it in my head in unison with the tape. As I’m currently alone, I repeat the orders aloud, as loudly and confidently as I would if Master was standing right in front of me.

 

You will obey Master Shephard’s orders.

I will obey Master Shephard’s orders.

 

Obeying Master’s orders brings you pleasure.

Obeying Master’s orders brings me pleasure.

 

Master Shephard owns your body.

Master Shephard owns my body.

 

As I say the sentence aloud, I hear my voice crack in the audio. Master Shephard had me straightjacketed and tightly restrained to the chair I was in when we were recording this. As I repeated back his command, he had grabbed my package firmly, surprising me. I wasn’t yet in chastity at that point, but I should have seen that as foreshadowing.

I wait for the next audio command, but it doesn’t come. Instead, I hear that same robotic voice as earlier, reading from the chat log. Did Master say he’d be streaming this, too?

 

SlaveMilo says, “Wonder how long he’s going to make it?”

RbrPupDan says, “He’d be stupid to screw this up with a Master that hot.”

SlaveMilo says, “Wish it were me instead.”

 

I smile as I listen to the chat room submissives ogle and envy me, but it doesn’t last long before the hypnosis tape resumes.

 

You will keep your body in perfect physical condition for Master Shephard.

I will keep my body in perfect physical condition for Master Shephard.

 

Master Shephard decides what you are permitted to wear.

Master Shephard decides what I am permitted to wear.

 

Master Shephard decides how you will be used.

Master Shephard decides how I will be used.

 

Master Shephard decides.

Master Shephard decides.

 

The audio goes quiet again for a moment. I expect to hear more of the chat room, but instead, after a minute, the hypnosis tape starts again. Eight simple sentences that lay the foundation of our relationship: It brings me, a submissive who is owned by Master Shephard, pleasure to obey his orders. Master decides how I look, how I dress, how I behave, and everything else.

I fucking love it. I feel my cock swell within its cage, proud that a Master of His echelon considers me worth the effort to train and keep. As the hypnosis tape repeats and repeats, I continue to take pride in my training, repeating the commands clearly, and am rewarded periodically by messages from the chat room- alternatingly admiring, demeaning, gratifying, and humiliating.

Time passes. Of course I have no idea how much, but changes in my body suggest it’s been nearly four hours. My throat is parched from hundreds of recitations. I’ve become a little restless, shifting every so often for a fresh position. Finally, I hear the door open and see movement through the tiny holes in the blindfold. Master has returned for my ‘sanity check.’

“Hello boy,” he says as he sits down next to me.

“Hello Master.”

“How are you feeling? It’s been four hours.”

“I feel great, Master. Thank you for training me.”

I hear him chuckle. “Settle down, Dax. You’re going to be here for a long time yet. I need to make sure you get through it OK. Lift your head, I brought you a drink.”

I lift, and take long gulps of some kind of sports drink- It tastes familiar, like one of our workout supplements. He holds my head in place until I’ve had the last of it.

“Thank you, Sir.”

“Your voice was getting a little bit hoarse there. You don’t need to recite from the audio recording for the next segment of your punishment, just listen and repeat it in your head.”

I feel a flush of relief at his instruction. I was just barely able to get through it as long as I did, I had no chance of doing it much longer. I feel my body temperature rise slightly and a tingly feeling course through me.

“Was there… Master, was there something in that drink?” We’ve discussed this before, and I agreed to some light experimentation in this area. I secretly hope he has, maybe if I’m knocked unconscious from a sleeping pill this will go by faster.

His mouth broadens into his disarming smile.

“Dax, don’t be ridiculous, you’ve had this dozens of times. You don’t recognize the taste by now?”

I stutter helplessly, fearing that he’s really done what I think he has.

“It’s your pre-workout drink. 250 mg of caffeine as well as a variety of other supplements to provide energy and pump to your muscles. I didn’t want to take the chance that you slept through any of this. This is supposed to be a punishment, remember?”

My jaw opens slightly. This might actually be one of the crueler things he’s done to me, and it makes me realize that he’s even better at mind games than I’ve given him credit for.

“Uh-uh, careful what you say next, boy.” He stares deeply into my eyes as I look at him with a mixture of fear and awe. “At attention.”

I have no idea how to come to attention in my present situation. I do my best simulation of it in a laying down position, straining against the sleepsack to present a long, proud, obedient posture. My eyes fix straight up at the ceiling. I hear the distinct sound of duct tape peeling off the roll, then feel Master raise my head as he wraps it around me, sealing my mouth shut. As always, he’s managed to make it perfectly tight without overdoing it. I’ve no choice but to be silent until he decides to remove it.

I hear Master unscrewing something. I want to look, but I haven’t been released from Attention, so I continue to stare straight up. In my peripheral vision I see him pour something out onto a rag and it’s only a moment before the rag is dropped over my nose that I smell it. Poppers.

The rag hasn’t been forced down over my nostrils, so the first few breaths I take don’t produce too intense of an effect, though I feel it build and build until suddenly my heart is pounding and my head is swimming. I struggle to keep my eyes open and forward. I manage, but I’m not able to stop myself from moaning slightly. Master doesn’t react to it, instead turning his attention to the sleepsack.

He undoes the lock directly over where my locked cock is, and opens the zipper slightly. With a deft hand, he wraps something around the base of my cock and balls, then once again around the balls alone, stretching them slightly. He quickly zips the sack back up, then reattaches the lock. “At ease, slave.”

Slave, again. In our discussions, Master has outlined several roles that he wishes to keep me in, and I’m to perform in the role he indicates when he addresses me. In public he addresses me by name, Dax, and when he does I’m supposed to be his boyfriend- an obedient one who anticipates his needs and is more deferential than the average boyfriend, but nothing suspicious. At home, I’m usually boy. This means we are officially in a dom/sub space, but one that’s slightly more casual and playful, even if there’s intense play. When he calls me slave, it means that I’m under total control, and I’m to address him respectfully and under protocol, meaning I don’t speak or act in any way unless ordered to. At this point together I am trained enough to switch between roles like a light- and Master likes to keep me on my toes. His favorite is to make me a slave at the gym.

I am now fully in the throws of a popper mindfuck, so at first I don’t notice as the electricity starts pulsing into my cock and balls. It starts low, then builds gradually. Every successive wave is stronger than the last.

“This should keep you occupied, slave.” He presses the poppered rag onto me. “Five big, deep breaths before I go.”

I take deep, slow, methodical breaths, inhaling as much of the poppers as I can, as he intends. An amount that will keep me out of my mind for the next ten minutes.

“See you in four hours. I set it to go all the way up. Have fun.” He kisses me on the forehead, removing the rag and taking a sniff of it himself as he walks out.

The door clicks shut. The waves of electricity keep coming, stronger each time, until soon I am clenching my abs and moaning loudly. My reactions grow in proportion to the size of the shock until it’s so high that it actually immobilizes me, my mind going completely blank until the wave ends.

Finally the cycle ends. The next shock is child’s play compared to the last, but I know I’m going to experience the whole thing again… and again… how many times over the next four hours? As the shocks begin to grow again, and I begin to moan, again, I hear the computer read text from the chat room.

 

SlaveMilo says, “Listen to him scream!”

RbrPupDan says, “No wonder he’s so well behaved.”

ObjectMaster says, “Music to my ears.”

 

I’m clenching my abs and gritting my teeth, concentrating on compartmentalizing the pain and getting through it, when I hear the hypnosis audio begin again. This time it is only one of the phrases, on repeat.

 

Master Shephard owns your body.

Gagged, and unable to recite it aloud, I think to myself through the haze, “Master Shephard owns my body. Master Shephard owns my body. Master Shephard owns my body.”

He really does.

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Metal would like to thank TheBadOne for this bondage fiction!