Waiting for Ross – End Game – Part 3

By an anonymous friend of Metalbond

Part 3

Forcing himself to enter full awareness, Tim wrestled in confusion. The dreams of sharp pain and oppressive constriction transcended his state of awareness. “Fuck, I hate this feeling,” Tim thought, as he realized his true dilemma. Passing from sleep to consciousness, mental images were replaced by physical sensations. Waking up in tight rubber bondage sometimes caused Tim to panic, and he battled now to contain his agitation.

Tim squeezed his eyes closed, forbidding them to fight the hooded latex blackness. He forced his arms and legs to become still, ending the struggle to move. He quieted his throat, aborting audible moans and gasps emanating from his ring-gagged mouth. He silently cursed his cock, its head painfully expanding against the spikes of his chastity device.

With reality setting in, Tim felt his discomfort acutely, but it was balanced by a glimmer of bondage ecstasy, fed by the sexually masochistic pleasure of waking up in his current humiliating predicament. Inhaling cautiously, Tim composed himself as much as possible. He waited, remaining uncomfortably still. Taking shallow breaths, he hoped for no repercussions.  Tim knew the possible penalty for making too much noise and wanted to avoid it at all costs. At first able to soothe himself, he felt time going by; perhaps an interval of several minutes elapsed. He wondered how long he had been sleeping. How many more hours until morning? How many until his flight time? Was it already the next day?

Soon, the self-imposed calmness heightened Tim’s susceptibility. Areas of discomfort shifted, each piece of gear taking its turn in torturing Tim through the night. Tim’s thick rubber hood, providing a head-gripping seal, might decide it was time for claustrophobia to visit, and his posture collar and sleepsack might even collaborate in this. His butt plug and chastity device had become best friends, conspiring to ensure hopeless despair. Constantly fucked by the intruder, totally tormented by agonizing attempts at erection, Tim felt his inability to cum and massive horniness guaranteed unending stimulation and painful frustration.

Tim’s tight-fitting sleepsack, providing excellent encasement and superior security, happily safeguarded all other gear. Compressing Tim tightly with heavy rubber, internal sleeves, external zippers, and exterior straps, the sleepsack fused his limbs and body together, snug as a bug in a rubber rug. Periodically, Tim flexed his muscles and attempted to stretch his limbs, but movement was severely limited, and escape out of the question. Once enclosed in the sleepsack, Tim knew he was stuck, transformed into a compact rubber package, mummified and helpless until morning, when someone would let him out. For the past two weeks, that someone had been Mike, or Ross; who was in charge depended on Tim’s point of view. Mostly he felt Ross, acting through Mike, was responsible, but at other times he felt Mike plotted independently. Tim experienced the nighttime rubber bondage initially as a very horny situation, especially while required to suck off Mike before sleep, but tonight the tight encasement had become a sweaty endurance test.

Accustomed to flopping like a fish out of water, rolling uncomfortably on the floor while Mike slept comfortably above in Tim’s own bed, Tim resented the new restrictions, added cruelly by Mike without warning two nights ago. A tie from the toe ring of the sleepsack forced Tim to remain in bent-knee position. A second connection to the bed frame limited Tim’s range for squirming to inches.

At present, temporarily accepting his predicament, Tim zoned out, neither awake nor asleep. Time passed, perhaps 10, or 15, or 20, maybe 30 minutes – Tim could not be sure. Bondage meditation set in; mercifully, his brain shut off.

Later in the night, Tim returned to the awareness of pain. His right hip suddenly aching, Tim strained to move. Carefully wiggling to change position, feeling overworked, cramped muscles, he switched awkwardly from lying on his side to his back. His effort to reposition himself for less discomfort, however, caused his anal sphincter to clamp, squeezing tight around the wide base of the thick butt plug and exciting his cock. The chastity pain intensified, and Tim suppressed an angry groan. He felt like yelling and cursing; instead, he remained silent, but internally he fumed. Momentarily, horniness was not enough to sustain him. Why am I allowing this? Tim thought. He understood the psychology of what had happened in the last few months, but that didn’t make it easier to endure his current restless night.

It had started at the gym, when Mike rescued Tim from a bench press, followed soon after by a sweaty, muscle-fueled fuck session. While Tim enjoyed Mike’s alpha-male pounding, to achieve orgasm Tim found he needed to fantasize about Ross. In the next few weeks, Tim dated Mike often. Seeing him almost every night, at first Tim hoped to repress thoughts of Ross, only to find that the opposite occurred. Hiding his re-emerging predilection from Mike made Tim’s fetish interests seem like forbidden fruit. Gym dates, deep kissing, sweaty post-exercise fucks, athletic odors, foot and muscle worship were all fun, but the possibility of reconnecting with Ross became an obsession. Slowly, Tim began to revel in it: private Ross communications, late night phone calls, kinky web sites, GearDom’s profile, and jerking off, all of it a secret from his public life of dating a (supposedly sort of vanilla) gym hunk. Tim would have happily continued that way, but one night everything changed.

After a month or so, Tim gave in to Mike’s insistence on sleeping over at Tim’s apartment. A few nights later, Mike stayed again. While Tim was in the bathroom, his phone rang, and Mike boldly answered. Later, Mike related the story to Tim. “I should say I’m sorry I guess but I answered your phone when you were in the shower. The caller thought I was you. At first I didn’t correct him, ‘cause I was kind of impressed with his voice and he kept calling me ‘pig.’ When I told him I’m Mike, your new boyfriend, he apologized for the mistake, but then he started asking me questions about sex with you and I got really hot. He wanted to know if I tie you up to fuck you and make you sleep in bondage. I told him I didn’t know anything about that but liked the idea. He had me nearly beating off just after a few minutes. We exchanged email addresses. He says I can write to him for ideas to keep you horny and me satisfied. I’m kind of shocked but also really stoked.” Tim remembered feeling speechless and red-faced in response, and then hearing Mike say, “I think you need to get down and service my cock pronto, pig.”

Now, months later, recalling those initial events, Tim considered the ensuing transition to be a blur of hot sex, heavy exercise, and daily experiments in bondage. Mike quickly learned that he thrived on control and domination, and that he loved to practice his newfound mastery on Tim. In league with Ross, Mike oversaw Tim’s re-conversion, dictated by a daily regimen of work, visits to the gym for hard training, and household chores, such as Mike’s laundry and meals. Mike’s progressive dominance and Tim’s regression to total submission were supplemented with arriving shipments of fetish gear from Ross, and lots of sex. Tim’s nights and weekends were spent mostly in bondage, usually devised by Ross and applied by Mike.

At the present moment, seeking relief from the pressure of his butt plug, Tim rolled cautiously until he returned to a side position. As his encased head rested against the floor, Tim felt unpleasant compression of his ears and nose; the hood squeezed tightly; the posture collar restricted him; pooled saliva escaped from the side of his ring-gagged mouth. The change reactivated his sense of smell; the odor of Mike’s sweaty sock, duct taped across his nose, became apparent once again. The physical sensations reinforced Tim’s thoughts, breeding a feeling of growing dissatisfaction with his recent decisions. Suddenly craving freedom, he wanted to moan and struggle for release. Instead, Tim remained still. He knew that his bad case of nerves about the trip to California tomorrow (or is it today? he wondered) was adding to his distress. Trapped with his thoughts, he wanted to change his mind about going.

Maybe doubt was his destiny; in many ways hesitation was a hallmark of Tim’s history with Ross. Now, the reluctance was born again. Tim realized he had been eager at first to enter into the new, seductive sexual adventure: remote control by Ross, in the person of a gym-trainer muscle-stud enthusiastic for supervised learning about kink. It was a novel twist in the saga of Ross and Tim, the product of Ross’s seriously sadistic, deviously sexy mind. Tim remembered well the recent weekend surprise when Mike, acting on Ross’s instructions, applied Tim’s chastity device, oversaw his encasement in head to toe rubber, secured Tim thoroughly in a tight leather straitjacket, added heavy metal ankle cuffs, and then left Tim alone in his apartment, with dog food bowls full of water and cereal. Though Mike checked on him periodically, and Tim could open the door using his mouth to leave in an emergency, he was otherwise left to his own devices. “Practice for visiting Ross,” Mike had called it.

Looking back on that experience, Tim squirmed, reluctantly excited, as he shifted position on the floor. That weekend had been a real endurance test, and the memories aroused him further. It was soon after that Mike required Tim to sleep encased and strapped up in a rubber sack every night (no exceptions permitted), while Mike enjoyed the comfort of Tim’s bed. Tim could wake Mike by making noise through his ring gag if needed, but unnecessary noise was punished with urinal duty, which Tim disliked intensely (and which Ross, and now Mike, therefore enjoyed).

Tim felt he could tolerate his thinking no longer. Would sleep ever return while he was this uncomfortable? Suddenly giving in to his emotions, he squirmed vigorously and moaned loudly. His second thoughts about spending more time this way now seemed sensible. “What the fuck am I doing like this?” Ross and Mike provided some horny details about what was to come, and Tim understood that the intense chastity device, weekend isolation, and nightly sleepsack bondage were preparations. Vacation from work had been arranged. Persuaded by the devious combo of Ross and Mike, with GearDom’s uncertain role also in play, Tim had agreed to a period of confinement under Ross’s control. The 10-day “visit” to facilities owned by Ross and his partner was about to begin, where Ross promised no relief from uninterrupted detention, escape-proof rubber encasement, heavy constriction and total confinement.

As Tim allowed his energetic temper tantrum to continue, he suddenly felt his wiggling, trussed body being surrounded and cradled by strong arms and hands. With Mike’s limbs wrapped around him, Tim stopped struggling. The sound of Mike’s voice penetrated Tim’s hood. “It’s okay. Calm down. Calm down. What’s the huff all about? Why did you wake me? Is something wrong, or are you just thirsty?”

Tim tried to respond with the words, “I want out,” but the sounds through the ring gag came out, “ah, wah, ah.”

Mike continued, “This isn’t exactly new territory from what I hear, sweetheart. Just relax. You wanted this, don’t you remember? Do I need to explain your current situation? This is your big day, and I’m to keep you this way until it’s time to leave for the airport.” As Tim shook his head in exasperation, he felt Mike’s arms and legs pull his body in tighter, hugging Tim in a wrestling hold. Tim felt Mike’s head leaning against his own hooded skull. “Wish I could go with you to visit your Master. I’d like to be there when the fun begins. Ross tells me that a few consecutive days of… let’s see, how did he say it? – ‘stringent daily bondage,’ maybe, and ‘nightly storage in heavy restraint,’ ‘sealed up head to toe in rubber encasement’ – I think those were some choice words. Anyway, the point was he promises his strategy will reprogram your brain to accept being a bondage slave without question. At that point, he can really begin testing you. And you’ll be in no position to resist, enduring whatever he wants to do with you. I’d like to be there see it.”

Tim gave a whimpering plea in response. Through the thick encasement, Tim felt Mike’s hands groping rubber and straps; his hips bore down against Tim’s plugged ass. Mike maneuvered him, finally positioning Tim to one side and face down. Suddenly, Mike locked Tim in a firmer embrace; Tim groaned loudly. Again reluctantly excited, Tim ignored mounting discomfort and pushed back against Mike, who began rubbing and humping Tim in earnest. Tim heard Mike panting with pleasure and felt Mike’s face press against the tight rubber encasing his own. “That’s right, help me out little muscle mummy. Make me cum, rubber slut. Pretend that plug deep up your ass is my fat dick fucking you like it did a few hours ago.” Frustrated and painfully stimulated, sweaty and squirmy, Tim writhed inside the tight cocoon. Mike’s vigorous pounding accelerated. Quickly, Mike exploded, talking to Tim as he erupted. “Shit! Fuck! You really get me off, sweetheart!”

Minutes later, tormented by frustration yet worn out by the strenuous activities, Tim lay alone on the floor, still fully restrained.

 

To be continued …

 

Metalbond is most grateful to his anonymous friend sending this chapter of Waiting for Ross.

 

 

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