By FirefighterSIR

Part 4: The Cadre

In the dry hills of California, water is the factor that determines success or failure.

In June, the last wildflowers have gone to seed and the grass in the meadows is gold, dry and brittle. The brush begins to take on a grey tint, and even the huge oaks drop leaves under the hot sun to preserve their lives through the six months without rain. The valley beyond the Bear Trap Ranch begins to resemble a parched African savannah, and one might almost glimpse zebras and elephants milling in the midday heat ripples rising from the valley floor.

The importance of water had already been drilled into the slave over this first week at the Bear Trap. Drinking water had been carefully measured out and even showers had been a lesson in submission. At the end of each grueling day of hard labor, the slave had been dragged over to the outdoor shower set up at the edge of the small fenced garden surrounding the tiny cabin where the Captain lives. In the slatted wood floor of the open shower was a metal ring to which the slave would be chained by the neck, on all fours. As the Captain soaped and washed himself in the cold water raining down, the slave would have to wash himself as best he could. The slave struggled to clean away sweat, dirt, concrete dust, cum, piss and whatever else the slave had encountered that day. All the while the Captain straddled him, naked, bathing and watchful of any missed dirt the slave failed to wash away.

The Captain showered very quickly to conserve the few thousand gallons that the ranch well was able to pump into a huge metal water tank resting in a hollow about an eighth of a mile up canyon. That tank provided water for showers, drinking and for the two steers and the horse, irrigated a vegetable patch all around the cabin. Plus many tiny fruit trees that the slave had just dug holes for in the hot summer sun. The thin apple saplings needed a dose of water delivered slowly and carefully each day, and the slave had already felt the whip several times for being careless with the cans of water he hauled to each baby tree.

The slave had little time to reflect on the importance of water today, even though he was bound spread eagle against the massive hot metal side of the water tank baking in the midday sun. For today was the day that the Cadre had arrived.

Right now, he could only hear them chatting and laughing about 10 yards away as they drank and smoked cigars under the shaded wooden arbor the slave had been forced to build in the days before. The slave was spread eagled across the water tank’s side, hooded completely, his head baking inside the black rubber. The collar around his neck was locked to a ring on the tank, and his balls and cock — freed from the chastity device for the first time in a week — were tied off and pulled down to another ring bolted between his legs at the base of the tank. Attached to his nips were two electrified clamps cutting into the thick stretched pec meat slabs, while a pair of electrified rings gripped the base of his balls and the top of his shaft, standing painfully hard and constantly dripping juice down his legs to the dust. Another electro probe rested in the slave’s tight, clenched asshole.

The slave was panting and moaning into the gag in his mouth, his massive muscled body flexing and jerking involuntarily with each pulse of electricity through the various electrodes.

Sometimes the intensity was a steady pulse, others were quick jolts ripping through his tortured sweaty nips. Each jolt forced the slave to yank the chain stretching his balls and his cock jerked and spurted more juice.

The controls for the electro unit rested on the table among the drinks and food and cigars of the gathered men, seven altogether. Two were clad in desert BDUs, one in an all-black leather uniform, one in the tight khaki of the California CHP and tall boots, and then the Captain in dark blue and tall black harness boots showing under his pant leg. All of the men were powerful, strong and muscled, relaxing in the shade to share in the sadistic game that the slave was enduring. Resting at their feet were two naked muscled slaves, one about 25 and the other about 40. The leather officer’s boots rested on the back of the older one. This collection of soldiers, LEOs and firefighters were part the Cadre.

The leather-clad man was a massive, bearish man with smooth white skin that contrasted sharply with his shining black leather uniform, which was tight against his thick chest and arms. He set down his cigar and reached for the electro remote in the middle of the table. The others glanced at him casually.

“Seven,” he said and laid down his chips. The others laughed and looked over at the slave as the leather man turned the knob.

The slave’s body suddenly bucked and he flexed against his shackles as the electricity shot through his balls and anal probe. He screamed into his gag and thrashed futilely.

“Uggh, uhhhnnn! SIR! Please! Aaagh, uh! Please SIR!” he was able to beg through his gag. The slave’s cock jumped as the electro pulses throbbed again and more juice spurted out.

The slave had not cum in a week and was struggling to resist the electro torture milking he was being subjected to. The gathered men were wagering on how much electro milking the slave could take before cumming. The winner would get to use the slave all night back at the ranch camp, no limits. And the members of the Cadre were ready to wager anything to use this massive muscled slave long and hard. No one noticed that the tall young CHP patrolman did not wager.

“Nine,” barked one of the soldiers and grabbed the remote, eager to inflict the slave with a heavy dose of electro. He ramped up the pulse and the slave bucked and screamed, dick juice and sweat splattering out across the dirt and the hot metal. The soldier had set the remote on a pulse setting as well and now the slave’s nips balls and cock were being shot with intense throbbing sensations. The slave had no choice, his hips began to pump even as his nuts were stretched and tormented. The slave moaned and panted as his cock was mercilessly pumped with electricity.

The Cadre leaned forward now, setting aside their drinks to stare at the slave. His abs flexed and his legs strained. The slave’s hips pumped and suddenly his cock erupted in a huge flow of white thick cum. The slave screamed into the gag and drooled as his body convulsed in the throes of his tortured orgasm. More cum pumped out as sweat dripped out of his muscles and down his flexing abs and he arched forward to fully drain his ball sack.

But the electro did not stop as the last drop of cum shot free. The slave screamed more franticly as the electro continued to pump his cock and balls. He strained against the bonds and thrashed, barely able to make to beg for mercy.

The Cadre roared with pleasure and the men’s cocks swelled in their uniforms and leather. The soldier would get the slave tonight!

The Captain let the slave buck and scream for a while longer on the Nine setting and the slave pumped another load out of his tortured cock before he sagged exhausted and whimpering in the setting rays of the sun. The slave’s skin showed dark now under the shine of sweat, where a week ago it had been white. Already some of the work was showing on his huge biceps, triceps and legs. Also the pec meat was more striated and cut and his abs were starting to show lean under his skin, ripe for the gut punching workouts the Captain enjoyed.

The Captain took the gag out of the slave’s mouth and held up his chin to drain cold water down his throat. He then fished some pills out of His pocket and washed them down the slave’s throat, massaging his neck until he swallowed and gasped. The men had walked away with the two slaves back down to the camp as the Captain whispered words to the slave. The soldier and the patrolman remained.

The Captain unshackled the slave from his ordeal and let him fall to the ground, barely able to move in the dust. The slave moaned and rolled onto his back. The Captain opened his mouth again and poured more water down his throat until he sputtered and moved a bit.

“6 a.m.,” was all the Captain said to the soldier, who nodded and shouldered the massive slave’s body on his own strong shoulder and walked away, carrying the slave.

The patrolman stayed behind, staring into the eyes of the Captain. The Captain stepped close, staring up into the eyes of the 6-foot-4 younger man.

“You will be my boy from now on,” the Captain said, and Levi gripped him in an intense embrace, khaki against blue. Their muscled bodies gripped one another, and the kiss was as electrifying as the slave’s torture.

Part 5: The Workout

“Uggh! Uhhh uh uuhhh……” the slave panted, trying to catch his breath around the rubber ball gag gripped in his teeth. His lips pulled back and his jaw opened in a desperate attempt to draw in air, drool gushing out in thick ropes that dripped down his chest and abs onto his cock finally exposed after 3 days of confinement.

His muscled arms had been pulled back and stretched over a bar against his back and chained to the spreader bar shackled to the slave’s ankles. The slave’s balls were chained to an eyebolt in the ground, causing his nuts to be stretched and tugged with each new punch during the Captain’s workout. The slave’s head snapped back from the flurry of jabs directed at his punished bruised abs again. He growled deeply into the gag and more spit flew.

The bar behind the slave’s back was just high enough to keep the slave’s sweat and dirt streaked body stretched out and open to the Captain’s human punching bag workout. The first morning rays of the sun broke over the distant hills and reddened the scene on the bare hilltop. The Captain had rigged the bars and chains among the bare framing of the new compound He was creating.

The slave began to cough and gasp.

The Captain reached up and loosened the gag, allowing the slave to spit it out, gulping down air and spit. He grabbed the slave’s chin with one black-gloved hand and poured water down the slave’s throat. As He did, He produced a pill somehow kept at the ready even though the Captain had stripped down to a leather jock strap and his heavy black boots. The pill was swallowed with some stroking of the slave’s stretched neck. The effect was immediate. The slave knew what was about to happen and his sore cock stiffened and grew painfully hard in anticipation of the milking he would receive.

The Captain pushed the gag back into place and cinched it tight. The slave’s eyes closed as he tried to prepare for the next flurry of punches.

Over the weeks the slave had grown lean and dark from the constant labor on the ranch. And the Captain’s lust for torturing the slave had grown with each day as well. He now laid into the slave’s bound body with gusto, punching his abs and stretched pecs with increasing speed. Left, right, left, right, then pecs, then abs, and then pecs again. A quick stroke of the slave’s cock and a slap to his cum-swollen balls. Then another hit and another stroke to his cock. Then another stroke, and another, just slow enough to make the slave want more and strain to push his rod up toward the Captain’s hand even though it stretched and tortured his bound nuts.

“Ahhh unnghh S…SIR, ahh uhhhmm pl….please ahh unggh!” he gasped trying to form the words around the gag.

The Captain responded by resuming the barrage of jabs to the slave’s guts.

The slave’s head rolled back and lolled against his straining shoulders, his wrists being tugged down with each blow.

More strokes to the slave’s cock followed, the Captain lubing up the leather glove to make sure each touch send shivers up the bound body. The slave pushed his loins forward as the Captain began series of strokes, twisting as he rose up the shaft with the tight leather gloves slicked with lube massaged the slave’s purple straining rod.

Then His right fist made contact with the slave’s flexing abs again as the left continued to stroke his stiff dick. The Captain ground his right fist into the slave’s lower abs and the slave’s thick gut meat flexed tight in response.

“Uungghhh ahh! Oh Gooooddd” the slave bellowed as the first stream of cum shot out of his cock and the Captain continued to work his rod. The slave jerked wildly but the Captain was unrelenting, working the head mercilessly as more cum shot out. He slumped against the hanging bar and his nuts were brutal tugged by the weight of his own muscled mass but the Captain continued to stroke his head until the slave moaned and his rod stiffened again.

The Captain resumed a slow rhythm of punches to the slave’s upper abs now, hearing each labored gasp while the other hand worked the slave’s rod up and down. The black leather gloves were slick with cum and every fifth punch was hooked up to the slave’s balls.

“Ahh unggh ah p..p..please ah SIR” the slave gasped and more cum shot out. The slave now slumping further in his bonds, his legs stretched out and his body nearly doubled over. The slave’s hands were turning purple from the strain.

The slave was spent. But there was work to be done and the whole day was ahead of them both.

The road up to the hilltop was bordered on one side by a cut bank where some wildflowers still bloomed despite the desert-like heat that seems to intensify by the day. Scarlet penstemon grew underneath the spiny brush lining the road. Their trumpet-like blooms were arranged on long, bare stems, visited by hummingbirds. The tiny birds were blurs of green or brown with iridescent flashes of purple or pink showing briefly in the sun.

The slave would catch himself staring at such a sight, panting, his tired body allowing his mind to drift into daydreams easily. The beauty of the ranch could at times be overwhelming. Other times the slave would allow his own doubts and fears to creep in, the slow gnawing feeling in his gut about how his former life back in far off New York was falling apart during his protracted absence. Some nights he would lay awake, watching the stars wheel above the cage bars, concocting elaborate escapes in his mind.

He had often glimpsed the lake far off across the valley floor and thought that he might pass off his cuts and bruises and general lack of clothes in a scenario where he was a stranded lake visitor who had fallen off a party boat, swam to shore, then wandered for hours through the brush looking for the road.

But every time he thought of this plan, it ended with a cop pulling over to rescue the near naked man on the side of the road, cuffing him and having his way with him on the hood of the patrol. Ben shook his head, suddenly growing cold as he thought of his own name. Even he had started calling himself “slave” in his mind, to condition himself to his new life that he wanted and was afraid of at the same time. No, not Ben, slave, slave, slave.

His current reverie was cut short by the familiar sound of the ATV grinding to a halt not far above him on the road.

The Captain was glaring. Time was being wasted. The Captain had an overwhelming obsession with time it seemed, in 15-minute increments, no less. Any instance where the Captain was kept waiting was a punishable offense more than any other. He likened it to stealing. The slave breathed deep, gathered up the shovels and slung them over his shoulder, resuming the half-mile hike up to the hilltop.

The routine of life at the Bear Trap was setting in just like blue shadows of nightfall were filling the canyons like cool water from the distant lake.

Part 6: Punishment

The slave turned over on the floor, pulling the thick blanket close against the chill at the foot of the Captain’s bed.  He was trying to get his sleep-addled brain around what was happening.

The Captain had jumped out of bed suddenly, quickly as a cat, and was now standing in the open door listening intently and scanning the midnight darkness of the Bear Trap Ranch. A silvery light outlined the edge of the canyon high above and was moving along slowly, dropping down towards the camp. A low engine rumble could barely be heard over the chorus of crickets and cicadas in the chill air. A truck was making its way along the road above. Intruder!

Even as the slave tried to rub the sleep from his bleary eyes, the Captain had already pulled on his dirty Carhartt pants, scuffed boots, and slipped a wrinkled tee over his head.  His handgun was out and strapped to his leg in a quick movement.  He slipped out of the door and through the camp gate, disappearing into the trees, his movements marked only by the flicker of his flashlight.

The rumble of the truck engine came closer and closer and the slave was now crouching breathless behind the glass, knowing the truck was coming this way!

The headlights lit a cluster of grey manzanita at the edge of the camp and barely missed the Captain dodging into the brush. The truck stopped abruptly, just a few hundred yards away, dust kicked up into the beams of white light. The slave’s eyes were clued to the spot of light and his heart pounded. Behind the glass he could not hear anything but the rumble of the engine. Minutes ticked by and nothing happened. Did a shadow flick across the road? Was someone coming? Where was the Captain?

Ben began to think about the humiliation of being discovered in his naked and chained state for the first time.  The outside world seemed suddenly not so far away as it had for the last month of hard work and training.

Time ticked by very slowly and the slave began to cramp in his crouched position, but still there were no sounds or signs of movement.  The clock read 12:32, 20 minutes since the Captain had left.  Then suddenly, the truck began to move, pulling forward, turning, and disappearing up the hill road towards the new compound site.

Had the Captain warned off the intruder?  Or had he been overpowered and dragged off by the group of drunken, trespassing soldiers that he had warned off the property the day before?  Were they enacting some revenge on Him right now, overwhelming him with their young, strong, battle-ready bodies?

Each irrational thought in the slave’s mind was followed by another, more wild idea.  Without the Captain to order him, the slave was suddenly totally alone after a month of constant contact with his Master.  The slave was chained to the base of the bed.  How would it get way?  The slave crouched over the eyehook in the floor, pulling on the chain, trying to unscrew the hook.  The slave began to sweat and shake, how long had it already been?  What was that noise?  Were the soldiers coming back?

The slave managed to turn the hook a bit and felt a rush of hope.  Ben wrapped the chain around the hook to get a grip and strained to turn it again.  The hook was moving! Cold sweat covered his naked back.

It must have been an hour at least before the slave managed to turn and yank at the hook enough to pull it out of the floor leaving a torn hole in the wood.  The slave’s desperate escape now seeming a reality, he grabbed a pair of the Captain’s boots and a fresh pressed uniform hanging by the door.  The slave stumbled out into the yard, gathering up the long chain around his neck in his arms.  Ben paused, panting, trying to collect his thoughts.

He needed to get the collar off right now.

Tool shed!  The slave whipped around to the back of the cabin, tripping over shovels and picks resting along the wall.  The shed door was unlocked but the slave realized he had no way of seeing the tools in the dark.   He dropped the boots and uniform in the dirt and ran back to the cabin.  Flashlight, flashlight … where is it?  He fumbled along the Captain’s desk, papers, and books cascading to the floor.  The slave never needed a flashlight of his own, the Captain always kept the necessary items at hand, always.  Ben found the flashlight and raced back to the shed, leaping over the fallen tools.  The bolt cutter was right where it was supposed to be on the shed wall.  The slave grabbed it and opened the metal jaws.  He turned as he tried to position it on the hardened steel of the lock at his neck.  His hands were shaking and his mind was a blur.  The slave closed his eyes and felt the cutters bite into the lock shank.

The last thing the he heard was the chuckle of the Captain.

“Going somewhere?”

* * *

The stars were finally dimming in the dawn sky when the slave finally broke.  Blubbering into the gag in his mouth, he tried to form the words to beg for forgiveness.  He had already endured the longest session of punishment the Captain had ever inflicted on him and truly regretted his panicked action of the night.

“24. The slave damaged the bolt cutters,” said the Captain, reading off the next offense from the slave’s attempt to escape.  He gripped the switch in his gloved hand, some sweat trickling into His eyes as he pulled back and laid the length of the flexible rod across the slave’s red streaked back muscles.

Whack!  The slave jerked weakly, hanging spread eagled from his massive muscled arms.  He was strung up in the timber framing of the unfinished compound, where only a day before he had enduring the Captain’s new boxing workout.  But this dawn was different, now another muscled man, wearing desert boots, and desert bdu’s was bound shirtless, hooded and gagged, on the opposite wall of framing.  The slave tried to focus on the muscled, bound soldier with dark curly hair to try to pick out what was familiar about the other captive, but the tears welling from his eyes obscured his vision.

“awwwgghhhh awawahhhh” the slave bawled, “ahh p…ppplleease SIR! Ssss top! Awwahh!”

“25. Stole and soiled an official uniform of the County Fire Agency” Whack! The switch came down across the slave’s tight buttocks. The slave thrashed and jerked wildly, screaming in the gag.  He continued to thrash, screaming and choking on his own spit.

“Stop! Stop! Stop! Oh SIR please stop, slave dddiid … not … want … to … go! Please Stop!”

The gag had come lose and the slave gasped for air, gulping hard and jerking his arms in the shackles.

The Captain stepped back to survey the scene.  The slave slumped in his shackles and panted. The other captive shifted in his boots and his cock, pointed out from the fly of the bdu’s was erect and dripping copious amounts of juice.  He panted a bit and drool dripped down his whiskered chin.  The Captain walked over to the captive and surveyed the bound muscle meat.  The captive could hear the fall of His boots and his cock jerked again.  The Captain reached up and rubbed the side of the captive’s head and the captive responded by nuzzling the black leather glove.  He then rubbed the bound man’s neck and moved towards the black short hairs of the stretched pecs and then down the trail of hair on his abs that ended below the belt.  The Captain stroked the captive’s ab ripples up and down.  The tenderness of the touch was in stark contrast to the brutal punishment of Ben, a point not lost on the sobbing, pain-wracked slave.

The slave moaned loudly and began to sob and cry even more from watching the Captain cup the soldier’s chin in his hands and plant a deep kiss on the whiskered face.  The slave realized suddenly who the other man was.  It was the handsome muscled CHP officer who had raped the slave in the back of the truck weeks earlier! Despite his pain and the numbness creeping into his arms, the slave bellowed like a buffalo and jerked violently at the shackles on his arms and legs.  The slave was now enduring the ultimate punishment: the loss of the full attention of the Master.

To be continued …

Metalbond would like to thank FirefighterSIR for the latest chapters in this story. And … for those who have been emailing Metalbond asking for more details about the author, the answer is YES. He is definitely for real. If you don’t believe it, click here.

By rts

1. It is months now since I agreed to be here. I met Trainer online, a rubber/leather top looking for a boi to help out on his small ranch and looking for some bondage and play time in full gear. This place is a totally isolated 100 acres with a house and large barn. (I have never been allowed into the house, always kept in the barn ) .   When he met me at the airport I saw a well-built man taller than me, head shaved wearing black leather jeans, a tight rubber T-shirt, and red laced 20 hole Rangers.

Following his instructions that he would provide me with gear, I had no baggage, only the clothes I was wearing — 501 bleachers with braces, my Ranger boots, sox, jock, T-shirt and bomber jacket. We didn’t talk much on the way to his panel truck. Opening the rear door he handed me a “work contract” to sign before ordering me inside. Bolted to the floor was a steel cage, which he shoved me into, closing its bared door and locking me in the confining space. It was a long drive over some rough roads to his place, and I got banged around against the metal bars all the way as my jock got damp with pre-cum from my nervous excitement. When we finally arrived he unlocked my cage, and as he pulled me out he placed a metal collar around my neck and handcuffs on my wrists that were also attached to the lead chain locked to it. I was then led into the dark barn and against a wall. He fastened the end of the chain to a metal ring embedded in it, pulling my arms above my head as I kicked my boots on the floor now struggling to stand on my toes.

I kept struggling and cursing him. He replied with a heavy boot to my butt, kicking me again and again, and then he pissed on me — his warm urine soaking my bleachers. That first night he just left me there, scared and helpless.

2. Awake all night, my legs aching, my arms hurting, pissing myself, I was a sorry sight when he returned in the morning, still wearing his boots and leathers.

I was begging and cursing him as he walked up to me taking my head in his hands. He pressed his mouth against mine as he rubbed his crotch against my piss-soaked Levis. As he kissed me I felt his hard cock pressing into mine and as he vigourously slammed against me. The excitement of my helpless situation as I pressed my groin to his overcame me, and we both shot again and again into our jeans.

I hung there exhausted and breathing heavily as he backed away, knelt down and began unlacing my boots, holding each foot firmly with his legs. I protested losing my boots and begged him to keep me booted. Saying nothing, he pulled them off as he began telling me of his plans.

The “contract” I had signed gave my consent to be kept in a custom rubber drysuit 24/6, worked hard all day until I “earned” the suit, this would take several weeks. I would have no other clothing. Then he would put me in a custom-fitted leather motorcycle suit and be kept in it for 24/6 as he physically trained me to pull a “chariot” working to earn this suit too. My boots would be returned once I was in the leathers. If I performed in harness to my Trainer’s satisfaction I was free to leave in the gear earned, any additional I would have to work off. As he was telling me this he began cutting off my bomber jacket, pressing himself against my squirming, protesting body. As I shouted and begged him to stop, he quietly told me that only my boots would be returned. I cursed and spat at him as he dropped the torn pieces of my jacket on the ground, pissed off at having my boots taken and my gear destroyed. He then cut my braces and started working on my bleachers, cutting through the seams and ripping them apart, leaving me hanging there in only my pissed-in and cum-soaked jock, T-shirt & sox. The shirt and sox were quickly removed, leaving me in my jock.

The restraining chain was removed from the wall ring, and taking hold of the end of it with my hands still cuffed to it, Trainer led me barefoot and mostly naked through a steel door into a metalled, cell-like room to a toilet and open shower stall located at one end. He locked the lead chain around one of the pipes, unlocked my cuffs, leaving me chained by my collar with enough slack to reach the shower and toilet. Telling me to clean myself up, my eyes followed him as he crossed the room to one of two metal lockers built into the wall. There were some muffled grunts and pounding coming from it as he began to unlock the door. It swung open as a figure fell out against it and into Trainer’s arms, a naked skinhead about the same size and build as myself! He had a rubber gag strapped into his mouth, cuffs on his wrists joined by chain to a metal collar locked around his neck. He was totally shaved smooth. His cock contained in a stainless steel tube also locked in place. I got an erection at the sight of him.

3. Trainer led this boi over to me, ordered me to remove my jock and told the boi to shave my body handing him a razor and soap. As I reach down to touch my cock, Trainer grabbed my wrists and re-cuffed them to my lead chain. The boi began lathering my crotch and as he worked, my penis went to full attention. It was a great sensation having this hot cuffed and collared naked skinhead carefully shaving my body. It was awkward for him, as his cuffs chained to his collar forced his head to rub against me as he slowly carefully worked all over my body. Trainer had me stand and bend over, and he held my butt cheeks spread apart as the boi gently shaved my butt crack. Once he finished, Trainer took my body measurements with a tape and told me that they would be used eventually to make a fitted leather motorcycle suit for me and that from now on my only name would be “boi” and that the other skinhead was “Alpha boi,” both of us a team, but I was subordinate to Alpha in the absence of himself. He now removed Alpha’s gag and ordered him to kneel down and service my horny erect cock, telling me to enjoy it as my cock would be off limits from then on. Alpha took this on with enthusiasm and it was so hot having this handsome skin working away on me that I exploded in a short time with him taking my cum in his mouth, continuing to work my penis driving me wild in painful ecstasy, then suddenly standing up and spitting it all in my face, kneeing me hard in the groin.

As I bent over in the unexpected pain, cum and spit dripping off my face, he whispered in my ear that payback will be a bitch. Trainer was laughing, and he took my now limp cock and forced it into a steel chastity tube, locking it on around my scrotum. This tube was a tight fit now, and the situation excited me but as my erection tried to grow the painful confinement of the device left no room for it.

I stood there collared, cuffed and chained, naked, cum and spit running down my face and dripping on my chest, hairless with my cock now locked in a stainless steel tube. I was scared, tired, aching, thirsty and hungry. Trainer ordered Alpha to give me water. Alpha complied by filling his mouth with water from the shower tap then while holding my head with his cuffed hands he pressed his mouth against mine and spit it into me. He repeated this several times. While he was doing this I saw Trainer removing a black rubber suit from the second locker. Once Alpha was finished giving me the water, Trainer removed his cuffs and his metal collar and ordered him to put the suit on. This was a heavy rubber drysuit with attached boots, gloves and hood and Trainer had to help him get his head through the neck seal and rubber hood, adjusting the eye, nose and mouth holes for him, then pulling the back shoulder zipper closed and locking it in place. Alpha looked so fucking hot now, the suit was snug on him, the attached gloves were thick industrial ones, there was a zipper running through his crotch giving access to his cock and butt, which also was controlled with a lock. The attached boots were thigh high heavy waders, and Alpha’s movements were restricted by the heavy rubber of the entire suit. Trainer now fitted the metal slave collar around his rubber-encased neck.

My confined cock was painfully trying to react to this scene as I watched Trainer place a rubber head harness gag on him, locking the straps closed around Alpha’s hooded head. The gag had a tube to permit drinking liquids. Trainer returned to the locker and removed a second rubber drysuit, this one he brought over to me dropping it at my feet. He ordered Alpha to hold me as he removed my cuffs and collar. I didn’t resist much as I was eager to put this hot looking gear on (not actually realizing that it meant I was going to be confined in it for a long time). The suit was very heavy and snug getting it on, the boots fit my feet and I had to struggle to seat my hands in the thick attached gloves. The two of them helped me work my head through the neck seal and into the hood and then I felt the thrill as the back shoulder zipper pulled the suit snug around my torso and I heard the click of the lock sealing me in it. Alpha handed Trainer the metal collar, and he placed this around my neck, locking it closed. I too was fitted with a locking head harness gag with drinking tube. Finally Trainer took a 6-foot chain and locked each end to our slave collars. The suit was feeling very warm, and movement was clumsy. The thick gloves restricted my hands and the booted legs felt heavy when I walked. My suit also had a locking crotch zipper, but even without the lock I wouldn’t be able to access it with these confining gloves.

Trainer looked us both over now, turning us around as he explored our rubber confined bodies. We both looked so hot in the gear, and Alpha had the same reaction as he embraced me and we rubbed the squeaking rubber together.

Trainer now reminded us that we were sentenced to be confined in our suits and locked in chastity until we worked off their value, the suits would be staying on 24/6, the crotch zipper would be opened once a day for the toilet as no taking a dump in the suit would be permitted, any piss accumulating during the day would just be endured. Every 7th day we would be let out of the suits for 24 hours, they would be cleaned out and our bodies shaved.

We would be doing much physical work 12 hours a day, six days of the week in the heavy suits and once we had “earned enough” we would be able to remove them and get into the custom-fit leather suits for the next phase of our training.

He told us these dry suits were valued at $1000 and the chastity device at $300 and our pay would be about $2 per hour, so we would have to complete about 650 hours of work. We would start working tomorrow and would receive our first meal in the morning, until then we would be kept free in this cell to enjoy each other’s company, and should be able to get enough water through the drinking tubes, we might have to suck it out of the toilet.

We stood there letting his words sink in, each of us trying to say something but our rubber gags just permitting grunts and mumbles. Then he left the room, closing and locking the door behind him. The lights went out, only some daylight from a high small barred window glistening on our rubber suits. We tried to speak, but all we could manage were grunts and mumbles through the gags.

I held out my arms to Alpha, but he suddenly lunged at me, knocking me down hard on the ground, landing his body hard on mine punching and driving his knee hard into my crotch. As I lay there partially stunned he sat up on my chest his legs pinning my arms down. When I tried to struggle he tightly placed a gloved hand over my nose and gagged mouth. I couldn’t breathe. I frantically thrashed about as he kept trying to shout something he eased the pressure on my face, I stopped struggling as he kept trying to say something. He took hold of the chain joining our collars and quickly wound it tight around my face and head while rolling me over face down holding pressure on the chain as he grabbed my arm and pulled it hard up my back.

Alpha next forced me to my feet, painfully pulling the chain tighter and shoving forward toward the metal locker that he had been confined in. As I struggled he put more pressure on my arm and pushed me hard with his body, and I stumbled forward into the open locker, my thick rubber suit wedged tight against the metal sides. He unwrapped the chain as he kneed and booted me tighter into the confining space. When he forced my boots in he pushed the steel door closed, fitting the chain linking our collars under it. I couldn’t move as my body was wedged tight in the claustrophobic space. I heard the door latch click, and I could feel Alpha’s movements pulling tight on my chained collar. I grunted shouts as loud as I could and they were answered by Alpha’s pounding against the door. The chain was keeping him close so he could only stand or sit just against the door. The bastard was getting back at me for being forced to suck my cock, now asserting his dominance over me. I was ready to submit to get out of the fucking locker, but my gag prevented me from speaking.

My cock tried to respond to my helpless situation but was painfully controlled in its steel prison. My position in the locker was becoming very painful, impossible to move, one arm pined behind my back, the other across my chest, my heavy booted legs crammed tight together the toes and heels wedged tight. I was really sweating now, rich hot rubber smells filling the space. I began moaning in frustration. Alpha answered with a loud grunt and a few blows to the door. My eyes stinging with sweat trapped inside my hood, my tears of frustration in my painful helplessness I only wanted out and would gratefully yield to him as “Alpha boi.”

He kept me in that locker for several hours, and when he finally pulled me out I collapsed in a cramped heap at his feet as he vigourously rubbed my arms with his thick-gloved hands. I was then made to kneel and follow him on all fours pup style over to the toilet as he held the chain to my collar. After flushing it he pushed my harnessed head down into it so that I was forced to drink by sucking on my mouth gag’s tube. The rest of that day and night was spent with us on the ground, sometime holding each other tight and whenever Alpha felt the desire to demonstrate his dominance he would punch and kick me, sit on my face cutting off my air and generally slap me around. I fought back and we wrestled and stomped each other until we collapsed sweaty and exhausted in each other’s arms.

4. In the morning Trainer entered the cell and led us over to the toilet, making us both kneel on all fours, our aching mouths still gagged with the head harness. He worked on Alpha boi first, unlocking his crotch zipper while some piss dribbled out he took an enema hose from the shower pipe shoved it slowly into his bung hole and began filling him with warm water. Pulling the hose out he ordered Alpha to hold it while he repeated the process on me. I was compelled to maintain control while Alpha was permitted to use the toilet and then it was my turn. Alpha now lay back on the floor, lifting his legs in an attempt to drain the accumulated piss and sweat out of his suit while the crotch zipper remained opened. I followed his example while Trainer was now locking closed Alpha’s suit.

Trainer then came over to me as I lay on my back, legs lifted trying to drain my pissed-in suit. Reaching inside my unzipped crotch, he grabbed my steel-encased cock, and pulling hard on it he forced me to my feet. Once he had me standing, he reached between my legs and slowly pulled the zipper closed, locking it in place. He led us both from the cell into the main room of the barn. Several stalls were built against the walls. On the floor were two large bowls filled with warm cereal, a duffel bag to one side. We knelt in front of them while Trainer removed our head harness gags, put his hands on our necks and forced our hooded faces down into the cereal, holding them there while we struggled to eat the bowl clean. He poured some warm black coffee in the bowls, and once we finished and tried to speak he silenced us. Telling us we were not allowed to speak to him or each other when he was with us without his permission. He informed us that he had given the keys to our chastity cages to a M8 living miles from us with instructions to keep them for two months and not return them after that time until Trainer requested. He was smiling as he told us there was no way we could get released if we tried anything on him. We were locked in these heavy rubber dry-suits, even if we cut them off with nothing else to wear we’d be naked, miles from a main road with no money and according to the contract we signed still owing for the value of the suit and our chastity cages.

He now started pulling out more rubber gear from the duffel bag. He came up to me holding a pair of large thick rubber gloves. I had to force my already thickly gloved hands into each one and then he secured them on each arm with a hinged metal cuff bolted closed. He did the same for Alpha boi. Next he picked up two gas masks these were fitted with drinking tube gags which were shoved in our mouths as the masks were strapped in place over our hooded heads locks keeping them there. Finally rubber body harnesses with crotch straps were tightly buckled on. Mounted on the back of these was a rubber water bladder with a hose leading from the bottom along the harness strap passing through the crotch up to the drinking tube on the gas mask. The bladder held one gallon of water, adding another 10 lb. to the already heavy gear we were locked in. As we stood there sweating, the breathing flaps on the masks rhythmically beating the lenses slightly fogged, he gave us the days instructions handing us shovels and buckets. We had to walk down a path to a marked location and proceed to dig a pit 8 ft. x 8 ft. x 8 ft. There was a ladder, rope and a water tank waiting on site, when finished another job would be assigned.

Alpha boi was in charge leading the way as we shuffled down the trail chained together, gagged again unable to speak, our hands clumsy in double layers of thick rubber, breathing restricted by the confining gas masks, the heaviness of all the rubber gear, our cocks weighted with the steel chastity tube locked in place and in our sorry condition started us working at the marked site.

And so began weeks of miserable labour.

5. With the two of us chained together only 6 ft apart, the digging was awkward at first then becoming much more difficult once we had to fill buckets to haul the dirt up out of the pit and using the ladder required both of us to keep climbing up and down to dump it. Working in all our gear was tiring, breathing difficult if we exerted too much, so we had to pace ourselves. We were filling our suits with sweat and piss. The water bladder felt heavy when full, and it was easy to suck a drink while working, but the placement of it on the back of the harness meant that water was forced into your mouth if you lay on your back or leaned against anything, and gravity kept it flowing if you lay face down, so this made it impossible to relax in any position other than standing, kneeling or sitting up.

Being gagged all the time was frustrating, as we had to rely on hand gestures while we worked. The double heavy rubber gloves hindered handling the shovel and dealing with the buckets. The lenses of the masks would often get so fogged up that we could hardly see to work and couldn’t follow the trail back to the barn ending up stumbling around in the woods and fields afraid we might fall into the pit we had dug.

That first day of work was hell, and all the days that followed were no better, sometimes worse. It took us two days to finish that first pit, and Trainer wasn’t impressed and immediately set us to work on a second pit in another location If our day’s work displeased him we would be put us in uncomfortable bondage overnight, gagged with either a head harness or the gas masks. If he was really displeased with our work we would be compelled to spend the night still wearing the body harness with water bladder, making it impossible to lay down without choking on the water that would then be forced into our gagged mouths.

Sometimes he was harder with Alpha boi to encourage him to get me to do better. So after those nights Alpha would ride my butt all day. Over the next weeks I spent several punishment nights in the wedged into a locker. I was left hogtied or in suspension on many others, sometimes gagged or gas masked. Some days he would add more restrictive items to our gear, ball weights when he opened our crotch zippers in the morning, left in place for 24 hours, or partially taping closed the air intake on our gas mask further slowing our work pace. Some days we had to work with both our legs and wrists locked in metal fetters and chains. It was hell wearing the dry suit 24 hours a day, always living in your own piss and sweat and such a relief to get out of it once a week for 24 hours. On every seventh day he would unlock our suits and collars, replacing the collars on our bare necks once we had pulled our heads out of the attached hood and neck seal and then we removed them for a clean out.

We would be left naked so we could clean ourselves up and shave all our body hair.  Wearing only our cock cages and collars still chained together, we would spend those nights wrapped in each other’s arms for warmth under a single blanket, frustrated as our caged cocks painfully swelled against their confinement. The other nights we would be encumbered by our heavy rubber full body suits, holding each other, often being compelled to wear the head harness gags or gas masks as punishment only able to grunt and mumble to each other, our suits creaking and squeaking when we move over each other, stinking of rubber, sweat and stale piss trapped inside.

Our work schedule remained the same day after grueling day. Trainer would unlock and open our zippered crotches, give us an enema clean out, feed us breakfast in a bowl on the floor, strap on our gas masks and body harnesses, fill the water bladders and send us out to work. We would take a break after 6 hours for our main meal served in a wooden trough back at the barn. He would remove our gas masks for this then refill our water bladders and send us back out re-masked. At the end of our work day, we were given a light meal in our bowls before being locked in the cell for the night.

6. When we had completed digging the second pit we were set to work clearing an oval dirt track in a large field. Trainer now told us that we would be pulling a “chariot” on this track as part of our training and to prepare it with this in mind. We had to load the dirt from the two pits we had dug into a wheelbarrow and haul it to the site using it as fill to even out the surface, building the track as level as possible, digging out any large rocks and making it about 8 feet wide and 1/8 mile around.

This was very slow tedious work, both of us always chained together, the sun heating our black rubber suits, soaked in sweat as we dragged ourselves back and forth hauling and shovelling the dirt. The restrictive breathing in the gas masks we were compelled to wear and the difficulty to see as the lenses fogged forced us to rest frequently to cool down. The mid day round trip to the barn for our meal just added additional punishment to our work day. To “encourage” our efforts Trainer added leg irons tight around our booted legs, the chain linking them just long enough to walk in and adding more weight to our heavy gear.

We struggled each day to complete work on the track, longing for the day when we would have “paid off” the gear we had been kept locked in for weeks, the perpetual chastity a constant torment. I was depressed and tired of being trapped in the heavy rubber gear, living in my smelly sweat and piss, gagged most of the time I just wanted out, or at least to get this fucking chastity cage removed.

Finally at the end of another gruelling week of work the track was finished. Alpha and I were put through the scheduled suit removal and mutual body shaving and clean up. Our naked bodies showing more muscle and firmness after so many weeks of hard labour felt so good as we slept in each other’s arms. It was a pleasure to look at Alpha’s handsome face, and we kissed as our metal-sheathed cocks banged together. The next morning when Trainer entered our cell, booted and in full black leathers, he was carrying an armload of leather gear and our boots that he had taken from us weeks ago.

Our rubber confinement was over, the dry suits now belonged to us. It was time to start earning our new leathers. He handed each of us a one-piece thick black leather motorcycle suit and told us to suit up. We were stilled collared and chained together but free to manage pulling the suits on. These were very tight on us as we had both developed more muscle since we were first measured for them. The thick leather was a struggle to pull on. These suits were entirely made of leather without any fabric stretch panels the leather was not perforated with vent holes and had a front zipper, a hole for the cock and balls to fit through into a removable cod piece, and a large metal grommet lined hole that provided access to our butt holes. There was internal hard plastic armor on the knees, elbows, shoulders, chest, back and hips. It was a struggle fitting our metal cock sheaths through the opening and pulling the suit up over the shoulders. The front zipper pulled the leather tightly closed and Trainer locked this to our collars. Zippers on each forearm were also closed pulling the sleeves tight. He handed us our boots and sox, the 20 hole rangers we had both worn when we arrived here. The boot laces were now yellow. The one piece suits had been made to fit our standing form tight and the thick leather made it difficult to bend over enough to pull the boots on so Alpha and I had to pull and lace up each other’s boots.

It was so hot having Alpha boi kneeling before me tightly lacing my boots while his shave head rubbed against my metal cock sheath. The suit looked fantastic on him, the internal armor exaggerating his muscles and my caged cock tried to react to the stimulating sight. It felt great to be back in my own boots and in the full leathers.

Trainer put leather fist mitts on our hands, locking their wrist straps closed, now making our hands useless. We were now full contained in our leathers and only Trainer could release us. Trainer now made Alpha boi bend over, his tight leathers creaking as he strained against them to comply, his shaved head now sweating as he forced himself to maintain the position. Trainer then held up a pup’s tail butt plug, lubed it and slowly pushed it into Alpha boi’s bung hole, working its base flange inside the grommet hole of the suit and since the base flange was a larger diameter, once in place it could not slip back out by itself. Alpha was gasping and grunting during the process, and when he stood back up had a stiff 8-inch tail sticking out of his butt, and looked humiliated.

It was my turn next, and Trainer repeated the process. The two of us stood there checking out each other’s new tails, any movement or touch transferred to our butt plugs as Trainer demonstrated by pushing and slapping them around. He now made us kneel, Alpha boi in front, myself behind him. Taking out his cock he began face fucking Alpha holding his head tight to his crotch while forcing his leather clad butt into my face ordering me to lick it while he humped away. Both of us had our arms wrapped around Trainer’s legs, I pressed my face tightly against his moving ass as he moved rapidly back and forth until he finally shot grunting and sighing in his pleasure.

He had us stand up, hugged and kissed us both, all of us looking hot in our black leathers.

7. Trainer now told us of his next plans for us. He would remove our steel chastity cages every night, and we were permitted to suck each other’s cock, but forbidden to fuck each other. To insure our compliance we would be wearing our butt plug tails all night. We would remain in our motorcycle suits the same 24/6 schedule that we had been subjected to when in the dry suits. We would get a shower, full body shaving and clean sox once a week. We would remain chained together in our collars at all times. The locked fist mitts would stay in place 24/6. We would not be hooded except for punishment, we would be head harnessed when we worked, sometimes gas masked. We would be wearing a full body harness with butt plug all day.

Any substandard performance or disobedience would earn punishment. We could expect to be fucked or to suck his cock on demand. We would remain in his service until such time that we had “earned” the value of our custom motorcycle suits. We would be training to pull a chariot around the track we had worked on. Every day we would be harnessed to it and we would be working out to build our endurance and speed so that we could proudly serve as Trainer’s “team” in a “Masters and bois” competition to be hosted by Trainer in a few weeks.

He then unlocked our chastity cages and removed the steel sheaths that had confined our cocks for so long. Telling me that Alpha boi would be my ‘top’ every night and to enjoy ourselves, he left the cell locking the door behind him. Alpha and I just stood there looking each other over, our chain rattling as we walked around each other.

The motorcycle suits felt stiff and creaked with every movement, the internal armor making us both look and feel hot. Our balls and cock swinging freely hanging in front of our leathers. The fist mitts frustrated our touch as we slapped at each others tail adding to our stimulation as our erect cocks pressed together when we tightly hugged and kissed. Our suits pulling tight against our movements as we started to wrestle and struggle together, Alpha kneed me in the balls and I cried out dropping to my knees in the unexpected pain as he shoved his erect cock against my face, telling me to start sucking boi, his fist mitts pressed firmly to the sides of my head as he forced his cock into my mouth and face fucked me pressing me further backward my tail pushing against my boots shoving my but plug tight, pumping his hips as I beat my mitts against him.

Finishing up he sat down hard on me forcing me down on my back as I tried to arch it as all my weight was pushing now painfully hard on my tail. Straddling my head, his balls on my face he ordered me to suck on them, desperate to reposition myself I bit at them and he yelped and rolled off, getting to his feet he started stomping me with his boots as I tried to struggle away, movement awkward in the stiff tight suit, the chain joining us wrapping around his legs pulled him down hard on his butt and he grunted in the sudden pain of his tail hitting the floor driving his butt plug tight.

Things calmed down after this when I acquiesced to his demand that I would lick his boots clean then and every time he wished from now on and would respect his dominant position over me. We spent the rest of that night in a 69 position on our sides, sucking each other off a couple of times, and the following ones (whenever we were not in some punishment bondage) like that or in a face to face embrace.

8. Every day from then on, Trainer would remove our butt plug tails, strap us into a body harness with attached butt plug and chastity cup add a head harness with a rubber covered bit gag. We would then be hitched up to a chariot. Our fist mitts were locked to the front push bar and our harnesses were chained to the chariot’s tongue, the chain from our collars hooked to the body of the unit and reins from our head harness were held by Trainer riding in it.

Trainer worked us gradually day after day, getting use to pulling the weight of him and the chariot around the track. The first days we only had to walk the circuit again and again, lap after lap building our stamina. We were always soaked in sweat in the black leather, the stiffness of the suits easing as we broke them in. Our mouths drooling from the bits, enduring the butt plug and being left harnessed to the chariot all day, we had to piss through the chastity cup, the urine running down our leathers and boots. Trainer held a whip and used it occasionally when we lagged. The track was rough and not very level there were some low spots that tended to get muddy whenever it rained. It was exhausting just pulling Trainer at a walking pace. He worked us every day rain or shine, we were either hot and baking in the sun and soaking in our sweat, or rain soaked and struggling in the mud that was churned up getting deeper with each pass we made. As the mud slowed and stopped us we would feel the whip stinging on the unarmored areas of our motorcycle suits.

Gradually we were made to increase our pace from a walk to a slow jog and so we struggled to please Trainer. The hardest day was the first time he made us run a complete circuit. He would give us a rest and we would have to go again and again. The daily workouts built our stamina and we were getting stronger. We were dead tired each night, returning to our cell in our sweat soaked leathers, splattered in mud. I had the additional chore of licking Alpha boi’s boots clean of the crud before going to sleep. He had no qualms about booting me around if I objected.

We had a week of pure hell, it rained every day and the track was a mud pit. We struggled around it getting the chariot stuck and busting our butts pulling it free. It was impossible to move any quicker than a struggling walk in spite of Trainer’s efforts with his whip. We spent every night that week in gas masks, and Trainer crammed us into the metal lockers twice as punishment for our sorry efforts.

After a few weeks of constant training, the time had come for the competition, arriving now at the ranch were three teams with their chariots. They came with their chariots loaded in the back of pickup trucks, each team a Master and two bois, all of them in black leathers and boots.

9. The bois unloaded the chariots while all the Tops sat around drinking beers. The bois all wore one piece motorcycle leather similar to ours in various states of wear but not nearly as filthy. Two of the teams were physically larger than us. All of the bois were in harness with chastity cups and they all wore slave collars, but none of them were locked in fist mitts like ourselves nor were they chained together like Alpha boi and me. All of the teams were skinheads.

That night all of the bois were locked in our cell with us, Alpha boi and my self were the only ones not locked in chastity cages, our cocks and balls hanging out vulnerable, the only ones wearing butt plug tails and locked fist mitts, and the only ones chained together. We were nervous as they started to play with our balls and cocks, pulling us around by our neck chain pushing and pulling our tails. These were hot bois all in leathers, booted in 20 and 30 hole steel toed Rangers and the attention they were paying to us got us hard. The four larger bois were more aggressive toward us and the other two bois and started slapping us around. Two of them pulled Alpha boi and me down on our knees and made us lick their boots clean while holding tight to our neck chain. The other two forced the two smaller bois to do the same and then dragging them to their feet they frog marched them to the wall lockers forcing them, each inside one as they closed the doors threatening them if they made a sound. Alpha boi and I had to lick clean all their boots, then they took turns sucking us off until we came. They kept pushing us down on our butts enjoying our struggles as we tried to squirm our butt-plugged tails out of the way. They sat on our faces and let the piss drain from their cock cages on our mouths, encouraging us to drink. They were laughing at our helplessness as they stomped on us, shouting that we would be in no condition to beat them in the upcoming races.

They finally left us alone when they went to sleep. I could hear the other two bois stuffed in the lockers whimpering. Our hands locked in mitts made it impossible for us to open the doors to free them. Our bodies ached from the stomping and our energy sapped we didn’t get much rest. We had been effectively handicapped and so had the poor bastards stuffed in the lockers all night.

In the morning our four abusers greeted us with friendly hugging tenderness, and freed the tired and cramped bois from their night’s confinement, holding them in support as they walked them around the cell to get their circulation going. All the tension of the night was replaced with a warm friendly exchange between all of us and they laughingly apologized for their treatment towards us, just screwing with the competition to beat our butts.

The cell was opened and Trainer and the other Tops entered and taking their teams to get ready for the days events. Trainer took a hard look at Alpha boi and myself as he took in our sorry looking condition. Pulling Alpha boi toward him by his chain he told him he didn’t care how fucked up he was, he expected him to perform, no excuses.

10. Each team got their body harness buckled and rigged to a chariot, all the rigging squeaking and rattling. Head harness with mouth bit gags were strapped in place, the reins now held by the Tops as they mounted their chariots. Trainer led us out down the trail to the track, all four teams in a row, worn black leather on the teams, shiny black leather on all the Tops, 8 pair of boots stomping in the dirt and mud puddles.

It was an easy pull, the trail not too muddy, and thankfully Trainer did not use the butt plug when he put us in harness, which was a relief.

Arriving at the track the event schedule was announced. Two teams in two heats of three 1 lap races, best of three wins. Winners of each heat, race for first and second place. The first two teams were the two larger bois against the other smaller bois. Our team were racing against the other big bois in the second heat. Trainer took us out to lead a slow walk around the track to warm us up and to let the other teams see the track conditions. Most of the track was dry or damp, but there were muddy areas in the low spots, my boots splattering through churning the surface. The pulling got heavier in all these soft areas, and it would be getting worse once the teams began racing. Trainer knew where all the firmest routes through the mud were, but on this warm up lap he led us through the worst of it not to give away any advantage.

The races began with the first two teams moving off fast, the bigger bois easily beating the other team, both teams now mud splattered. We raced next and had a difficult time staying with our rivals. The mud holes had been churned up by the first racers, and we had some trouble in the deeper spots, the larger bois pulling stronger through the mud. They easily beat us and Trainer was pissed at us. The first teams followed us next, running their second heat, and again the larger bois won, leaving the other team struggling far behind and would move up to the final. We got beat bad in our second heat, the mud much worse, we sank up to our knees as we struggled to pull the stuck chariot Trainer gave us a work out with his whip. Exhausted, we stumbled in far behind the winning team, gasping and covered in mud and were eliminated. The two teams of larger bois ran the final race for first and second place, that left us one of the two loser teams.

The wining teams led the way back to the barn. They were feeling good in victory and managed a brisk pace while we trudged beaten behind them looking far worse in our muddy sweaty leathers.

Back at the barn the winners were promptly unhitched from their chariots, the harness and chastity cups removed, and immediately put to work cleaning their Tops’ muddy boots, one boi licking each boot. We and the other losing team were left still hitched to our chariots, fully harnessed and gagged enduring the weight of it as we stomped our muddy boots and tiredly stood there. Once the boots were all cleaned Trainer removed our head harness gags but left our body harness still hitched to the chariot. Ordering us to kneel we were turned over to the bois of the winning teams. Two of them approach us with enthusiasm and promptly shoved their cocks and balls in our helpless faces, making us suck and lick them then slowly face fucking us until we got them off. They then forced us face down on their mud clogged boots and we struggled getting mouthfuls of the clinging muck before we even could get our tongues on the leather.

As we worked on them streams of warm piss splashed on our shaved heads, leaving us finally exhausted laying face down in the piss soaked dirt. Trainer gave us bowls of water and food, which we had to eat still harnessed to the chariot face down on the ground while the winners and their Tops all were drinking beer and feasting off a table. The mud had dried on our sweaty leathers, our boots were heavy with it.

I joined Alpha boi in a struggle to get back up on our knees and then to stand on our tired legs as the full weight of the chariot dragged on our harness again. We stood there shuffling our boots hoping to be unharnessed from the chariot.

Eventually Trainer returned and unhitched our fist mitts and body harness from the chariot, freeing us from it. Then he removed the harness and cup from our torsos. My balls and cock hung free but the fist mitts prevented me from handling them. Trainer now pulled my arms behind my back locking the wrist straps together, and then I felt the cold steel as he slid my cock quickly into a chastity cage’s sheath, my heart sinking at the sound of the lock closing it on me. The feel of its weight hanging there began to excite me and my cock did its best to painfully force itself tight in the familiar metal encasement. A Russian gas mask was pulled over my sweaty and pissed-on head, its black rubber hood enclosing my entire skull smelling or rubber, stale piss and cum. There was a long flex hose attached to the air intake which Trainer routed down my chest and through my crotch attaching the open end to the metal grommet of the butt hole in my leathers. This hose had an adjustable secondary intake that could be open or closed. Trainer demonstrated this when he closed it, suddenly my air was restricted now that most of it must come from inside my tight suit and I struggled for a breath finding that I had to adjust my stance, wriggling to get room for some air to seep in through the cod piece hole and down around my crotch. I had to move carefully as I kept sucking the suit tight. Thankfully he reopened it enough that I no longer had to struggle for air. My mask filled with the rich smells of my sweaty crotch and leathers.

Trainer now gave Alpha boy the same treatment then told us that punishment for being losers would begin. The masks are staying on all night and every day we would be training in them, being removed for food and water. Our required work service had been lengthened and once our leathers had been destroyed from the constant sweat and abusive training we would be required to “earn” the replacement gear. The chastity cages would remain in place, the keys were “won” by the first place team and the winning team’s Top will keep them until a rematch race is held in 4 weeks. If we lost again we would become his property. I stood stunned at hearing this while Alpha boi’s shoulders drooped in obvious despair.

Trainer now grabbed our lead chain and took us back to our cell, locking us in for the night, two sorry bois in muddy boots and leathers stinking of sweat and piss, hands restrained in leather mitts locked behind our backs, breathing hoses to our gas masks plugged into the butt holes of our tight leathers the constant sound of our laboured breathing as we inhaled the rank smells of our own bodies, our cocks locked in steel cages for the next month not even able to console each other with a hug or kiss.

We sat down back to back, legs spread apart in an attempt to not obstruct the breathing hose, our restrained hands pressed together. We both were sobbing in the realization that we might never get free from this constant bondage and if we lost the next races we would become the property of another Top and his sadistic bois. We managed to talk with some difficulty in the gas masks cursing ourselves for ever wanting our fantasies to be realized like this and fearful of getting owned by another Top, our only consolation the feeling of contact with each other as our armored backs pressed against each other.

THE END

Metalbond would like thank rts for this story. To contact rts, click here.

By FirefighterSIR

Part 1

If you travel over the rough Santa Lucia Mountains, past towering Cone Peak, and away from the white water Big Sur coast, you come to set of broad oak studded valleys and chaparral covered ridges descending eastward toward the Salinas Valley. The Bear Trap is named for a box canyon among the ridges where oaks stud the grassy north facing slopes and brush and ghostly grey pines the sunburn south faces. Long ago, Mexican vaqueros would lure grizzly bears into the steep sided “trap” with live bait, such as a steer, to be roped and killed.

The ranch in that canyon is accessed by a 7-mile dirt road, and no one lives out there except the Captain. And the muscled work slave.

The slave, curled inside the barred cage, tried to sleep during that hot night. But despite the grueling first day of his ordeal, he could not. The slave shifted in the cage, his locked metal collar biting into his thick neck. The chains clinking, he reflected back over the last 20 hours.

The slave had started this trip like any other to a leather event; bag packed with harness and boots and sex toys, boarding the plane. First-class ticket to San Francisco. His rented car waiting at the curb, a sunny bright early summer day spent on the wide freeways heading south for his sexy weekend of leather play with a Master from the internet.

But something went wrong. The landscape began to change as he drove, no more suburbs and Starbucks, no shopping malls. No palm lined streets of coastal cities. The directions were sending him deeper into the agricultural fields away from the kinky vacation he imagined. When he arrived in the tiny farm town just off the freeway, he was already nervous but something deep inside stirred and his cock swelled as each dirty pickup truck passed by on the street. So the slave had waited, texting to his friends in New York, listening to music is his comfy rented SUV until he was startled by a knock on his window.

He had ignored the huge muddy Chevy truck that had pulled up next to him. Now a large strong man clad in a deep blue uniform, crisp long short sleeve shirt, shining badge and heavy black boots was looking in at him with an annoyed expression.

The slave had no time to react. The car door was open, the bag was over his head, the cuffs locked onto flailing arms, his head hitting the door on the way out, the phone crushed under the boot, his body thrown up into the truck bed, cuffs on ankles, a strap around the chest cinching arms close. The sound of the rental car door alarm still dinging as the truck started up and began to pull away. The slave’s mind had raced! My phone! My wallet! My stuff! What is going on?? It is being all left here open and available?! Is this some mistake?

An hour later, the truck finally slowed down, then stopped. He could hear military radios making muffled chatter over the rumble of the diesel engine.

The firefighter inside the truck was talking with the gate guards at the edge of a sprawling military base! Oh fuck! Now what?!? The slave steeled himself for the embarrassing reveal he was sure to come any second now!

But when the truck begin moving again, there was only the sound of the wind again.

The truck moved from pavement to dirt, dirt to rougher dirt, the slave’s body bounced and thumped in the bed, no way to protect himself. The sun was heating the heavy bag and making it hard to breathe and sweat dripped into the slave’s mouth and eyes, his arms totally numb. The only way in or out of the ranch was through the army base, like having a massive 24-hour guard force to keep the slave in his place!

The rest of that hot midday was a blur even now.

The sudden stop, the bag ripped away, the firefighter barking orders and grabbing the slave, cutting off his clothes with the big knife. The cuffed slave strung up spread eagle between to posts outdoors, the cold hose down, the inspection, the punches and flogging. And brutal first rape, worked over by the hairy muscled Captain who stripped down naked except his heavy black boots as he had become more aroused with each yell of pain from the slave and the massive load the slave gave up unwillingly at the Bear Trap.

Part 2

For a day that had ended so brutally hot, the night was painfully chilly.

The slave shivered and stared upwards into the dim dawn sky through the branches of a spreading blue oak. That tree, which provided shelter for the primitive cage, shaded the slave by day and sheltered his naked collared body by night.

But that tree was not his friend and did not move to ease the slave’s hard use and suffering.

The slave guessed it was about 6 am and the sun was still not over the rim of the hills when he heard the Captain stir in the small cabin about 20 yards away. He appeared at the door, totally naked except for unlaced boots shoved onto his feet, two dogs bursting out of the door behind him. His hairy muscled body was deeply tanned with thick black tattoo bands on his forearms and shoulders. His body hair was also black and trimmed tight against his  heavy pecs and down his abs and legs. His cock was fully erect and he stepped out into the chill predawn easily.

The slave was now fully awake and staring but scared to move.

The Captain walked slowly over to the cage, his stiff cock slapping against his abs until he stood above the cage. Up close you could see the man’s dark mustache, sharp beard and hair flecked with silver. The slave was paralyzed with fear, still sore and cut from the long hard ordeal of the day before and the long hard raping that he experienced that night until he had passed out. The Captain never looked down but simply gripped his stiff rod and bent it down towards the cage. A stream of hot yellow piss splattered the slave’s muscles and face. The slave sputtered but then suddenly he eagerly opened his mouth and accepted the stream. He moved quickly to his knees and pressed his face against the cage bars and tried to push his face up to towards the long slow piss stream. The Captain’s piss was dark and rich and he shuddered as he pushed out the last of the stream. He looked down now at the slave, collared, naked and chilled. The slave looked deep into his eyes but then looked away, suddenly aware that he was no longer the man he was yesterday. Now eager to do nothing more than to be used and to please. The slave began to shiver and quake as the first rays of sun hit the cage and he bent to lick up the last drops of piss on his own arms and legs.

The Captain reached into the cage and grabbed the slave’s heavy metal collar and yanked his face up to the bars.

“Lick,” he grunted deeply and pressed his still stiff rod into the slave’s face. The slave’s eyes widened in fear and he gagged a moment as his face made contact with the shaft of the hard cock. He tried to pull back but then began to lick, the Captain’s rough hand guiding his head up the shaft, then over the top, then down, and towards the warm shaved balls. The Captain’s nuts were large and sensitive and he groaned softly as the slave licked the dark shaved skin. He yanked harder on the collar and tipped his head back as the slave probed his tongue deeper under the sack and into the hairy crack between his legs. All the slave could see was leg and hair and he smelt the deep rich sweaty odor of the Captain. The slave’s head was pulled up again to engage the round balls and pushed over towards the left to worship his right nut. The slave could glimpse the Captain’s black boots spread far apart now against the cage. His cock was growing purple, the slave’s own cock was dripping a puddle of juice into the concrete cage floor and slicking his abs and legs.

The slave reached out and gripped the scuffed toe of one boot with his hand. The Captain did not stroke his own cock but let it stand free and it slapped against the cold metal of the cage while the slave licked and sucked the right nut. The man grunted deeply and suddenly when white cum burst out of the head and down onto the slave’s dirty, sweat-streaked face. The slave looked up and tried to lick some of the delicious cum but the Captain held his face on his balls and jerked the collar to keep the slave licking. The Captain panted and grunted now heavily and bent low over the cage, supporting himself with his left hand. His eyes were closed and a bit of spit dripped out of his clenched teeth and onto the slave’s back. More cum shot out of his cock and the he pumped his rod against the metal while it continued to drip and drool white juice.

He pulled back suddenly and the slave tried to lick up the cum covering his still stiff tool, but the man walked away without a word, back into the cabin, followed by the dusty dogs.

The slave stared after him for several minutes before trying to lick up the last drops of cum and piss anywhere he could see them. When he looked down, he realized that he had shot a load of his own onto the rough concrete.

An hour later, the Captain was back, wearing his heavy black boots and thick Carhart work pants, a thick black belt with leather sheathes for cuffs, knife and police radio. He wore a sweat-stained cap and sunglasses. Hanging from his belt was a leather crop. He was shirtless and the heat was already rising in the ranch camp under the oak. One hand held a plastic water flask the other a bowl. The slave heard more than saw the door open and eagerly scrambled out of the cage, trying to stand up, but his sore arms and legs were no match for the swift grip of the Captain. He grabbed the loop on the collar and snapped a chain leash to it.

“You like that boy, don’t you boy?” he grumbled deeply and jerked the leash hard forcing him back down on all fours.

The bowl was set carefully just outside the cage. There was a mix of scrambled eggs and cut sausage and several pills. Then he set down the flask.

He looked directly at the slave but the slave was crushed under his stare and looked away. No words were exchanged but the slave scrambled over and eagerly gulped down the pills and food, not even caring what he had just ingested. He grabbed the water flask and downed the water as well. Panting, he finally had the strength to look up, his gaze following the heavy scuffed black boots, then the worn pant cuff then the crop and then the Captain’s chest. He stopped short of His face.

The Captain dropped a pair of heavy leather gloves in front of the slave and pulled a tube from his back pocket.

In a swift move He yanked up the slave by the collar, tossing the chain over the low branch of the oak above them. He yanked hard on the leash and the slave was suddenly pulled straight up on tip toes struggling to stand, hanging from the collar. His arms propellered around but they were cuffed behind his back in seconds.

The Captain began to talk as He opened the tube and squeezed out a gob of white cream.

“The slave will work today to earn its keep. There are many chores that need to be done today,” he said in his deep, but somehow soft voice.

“We will start with something simple. You are to be my ‘swamper.’ That means that I will run a chainsaw and cut brush and you have to drag it away and pile it up. Got it?”

The slave tried to grunt an answer but could barely breathe. He was having a hard time thinking while trying to stand on his toes as the Captain rubbed the white sunscreen all over the slave’s bound muscles. His cock was rock hard and he grunted and panted as the rough hands rubbed over his thick 6 pack and wide lats. He managed a loud moan as the hands stroked heavily over his pecs and big hard nipples.

“You like that boy, eh? Like your nips worked, huh, boy? Well I will have to train them special now that you are mine!”

“Uhhhh hah!” was all the slave could manage as the Captain worked down the slave’s wide muscled back and into his cut and bruised ass cheeks and down his legs.

Then he came around the front and looked at the slave’s massive erection and the juice dripping copiously to the dust.

“The slave won’t cum on his own ever again, boy,” he said softly.

The slave tried to look down as the Captain grabbed his stiff cock and pulled a metal object out of his other pocket. The slave’s cock was painfully bent forward and slid into the cold metal chastity device. The slave began to panic! His cock felt like it was being ripped off! He struggled and tried to kick out but the collar bit harder into his stretched neck and was choking him! His balls were pulled, squeezed and locked up in the device.

The Captain looked up and admired his work. The slave stretched by his neck, his muscled body shining with the drying cream, the silver device locked onto his balls.

He walked behind the cage and produced a pair of black combat boots.

He threw them down in front of the slave and unlocked the leash, the slave stumbling backwards into the dust. He stepped up and unlocked the cuffs and brought them to the front, pulling the slave’s muscled arms together again.

“Put the boots on, we need to get to work!”

The slave struggled with the laces as the Captain loaded up the dirty ATV with a chainsaw, oil, water, and fuel.

It roared to life in a puff of blue smoke when the Captain mounted it like a horse.

“Here! NOW!” he shouted over the engine noise and the slave struggled to his feet running over with arms held in front of him even as he wondered in his mind what he had gotten into and when it would end.

The Captain waited, holding a long piece of rope with a clip on the end. When the slave was close enough He grabbed the cuffs and clipped the rope to them. Without warning He turned and gunned the ATV. The slave jerked forward and stumbled to the ground.

“Keep up, boy!” He shouted and gunned the engine again. The slave had to run just to keep up with the 20 feet of rope leading out now and up the trail into the brush. His eyes were wide with fear of being dragged or falling on the sharp rocks but he kept his footing.

Day Two at Bear Trap Ranch had begun.

Part 3

The slave suddenly realized that it must be about 2am.

The slave could hear the Captain laughing and talking with some of the truckers gathered around the massive dirty Chevy truck and smell the beer breath and cigarette smoke. The truck stop bar must have just closed for the night.

The slave was bound in the truck bed, his arms stretched and shackled to the sides, his booted legs spread wide and chained as well, his ass exposed as he laid chest down on the rough saw horse set in the pickup. On either side huge semi’s rumbled in the hot night sheltering the depraved scene from the rest of the truck stop.

The slave spit to get the cold cum and piss out of his mouth and panted and moaned as he heard another burly trucker climb up into the lifted pickup and unzip his jeans.  The trucker’s rough, heavy hands cupped the slave’s face and pushed his thick dirty cock toward the slave’s exhausted mouth. The slave began to tongue and suck the thick meat as he felt another man grab the slave’s abused ass and finger and grope his tortured hole. The second trucker’s cock slid into the raped hole easily and began to pump the muscled slave furiously. Both men were massive, burly, hairy-chested bears. The one being sucked and serviced by the slave pulled off his tight tee and mauled his own huge nips while the other used his hands to grip the muscled slave’s tight waist to drive his rod deep inside with each thrust and pull out fully to make his raped hole snap. The first trucker took the leather crop laying across the cum drenched slave’s back and began to stroke the nips of the second truckers huge pecs. Then begin to beat the slave’s back in unison with the double fucking thrusts at both holes. Both were grunting and panting in the diesel fume filled air.

The slave could barely remember the day that had just unfolded.

The Bear Trap Ranch consists of three parallel ridges that enclose a deep canyon in the hills beyond King City. The middle ridge is the lowest, ending in a small meadow with a tiny cabin resting on it.  The mouth of the canyon is narrow, guarded by a grove of ancient oaks and a heavy rusted cattle gate. In colonial times, fierce grizzly bears would be lured into the canyon and roped by vaqueros to be tormented and killed for sport. The road that leads up the canyon to the middle ridge is narrow and rough, just wide enough to allow a pickup to scrape by with spiny dry brush over hanging both sides.

After the slave had been roped to the ATV the morning before, he had been forced to run behind it down the narrow road to where they would work that day. The sun was already burning full in the canyon and the dust marked their travel eastward. The ATV stopped and the Captain jumped off, busying himself with the chainsaw. The slave panted and blew about 15 feet away still shaky on his feet and sweat drenched. The slave was totally naked except for a silver chastity device locked to his cock and metal cuffs and collar.

The chainsaw roared to life and the Captain slipped a dirty flannel shirt over his bare torso. He dropped an orange helmet and earcovers onto his head and uclipped the rope holding the slave to the ATV.

The slave ran forward when the Captain motioned him.  He shouted over the chainsaw.

“Take the brush and pile it over there, boy! Watch out for the bar!” indicating the racing chain blade.

That was the last thing the slave heard before the Captain revved the saw and climbed up to the fringe of brush along the road. The slave had no time to think as branches began to drop and fall toward his naked body. The brush was spiny and sharp and each huge limb, over 6 ft long, had to be pulled out, gathered up and run over to the pile across the road. The slave learned this the hard way. After the first few cuts, the Captain stared angrily at the slave as he stood there afraid to move stopped in mid pull. The Captain cut the saw motor and grabbed the leather crop on his belt.

“Pull the branches! Put them in the pile!” He shouted and slapped the crop across the slave’s massive pecs, making sure to hit both of his huge nips. The slave grabbed and pulled an ran while the Captain resumed cutting, but did not get the rhythm: cut, pull, gather, run, to the Captain’s satisfaction until he had suffered a several more hard lashes with the crop to the slave’s back, legs and abs. The marks stood out very dark red and black on the slave’s already red and sweaty smooth skin.

An hour later, the slave’s head was spinning and he stumbled into the road. The two had made good progress, widening the road track over twenty feet along several yards, but there was still almost a mile to go!

The Captain gulped cold water from the cooler in the shade of a scrawny pine and motioned the slave over. The slave fell to his knees at His boots and hung his head, panting and hot, his sweat dripping off in puddles, mixing with pre-cum that had been drooling out of his caged cock all morning.

The Captain reached down and grabbed the slave’s face and shoved a dirty thumb in his mouth to open it. He poured cold water down the slave’s throat. The slave sputtered and gulped greedily. The Captain then shoved a pill into the slave’s mouth and more water to follow until the slave swallowed.

Without a word He pulled off His sweat and dirt drenched shirt and threw it aside. He backed up against the tree and gripped the lowest branch, exposing his ripe hairy pits and his large dark nipples stretched against his thick pecs clothed with trimmed black hair.

The slave shakily rose and stepped close, meeting the Captain’s eyes. The smell of sweat and testosterone was as intense as the dust and sage in the air.

The slave moved forward and placed his face in the sweating armpit and licked eagerly, deeply inhaling the scent. The slave’s head was a blur and he closed his eyes trying to stay standing. The Captain grunted and breathed deep as well pushing the slave towards his pecs with one hand.

The slave licked and bit the nipple and reached one shackled hand down to rub the heavy fabric of the Captain’s Carharts. The Captain’s other hand reached and gripped the slave around the waist and pushed him forward toward the back of the ATV. In one deft move the slave was spun around, cuffed and pushed over the rack.

The Captain mounted the bike and shoved his crotch into the face of the slave doubled over on the machine. The slave took no time in grabbing the unbuckled belt with his teeth and working open the dirty work pants. The slave strained his neck forward to exposed the black jock strap inside and the Captain’s engorged cock shoved free on its own to meet the slave’s mouth. The Captain reached over and pulled the slave closer by his cuffed wrists and began to face fuck his muscled animal property.

The slave took the entire length but knew that he needed to massage the man’s cock slow to induce the river of white hot cum out.

The slave opened wider as he worked the massive meat tool. The Captain laid back on the handle bars, his sweat running down his abs towards his cock slave’s open mouth. The Captain’s balls tightened and his hips pumped the slave’s mouth pushing deep inside until the cum came. The Captain grunted and moaned, emptying his nuts and holding the slave to his cock.

He was breathing heavily into the hot air under the pine but was not done. As the slave attempted to pull away, The Captain pushed his face back down over His shaft and begin to work the slave’s face up and down the shaft. The slave could not beleive it! He was being forced to polish the man’s head and rod immediately! The slave tried to keep up and begin to suck with all his might. He could feel the cock stiffen and swell again, seemingly bigger than before inside his mouth. The Captain pulled him down to suckle his balls and begin to use his dirty hand to stroke His spit-lubed rod. The Captain pumped a second load down the slave’s throat before he was let up and the Captain dragged him back to camp.

The slave was ripped out of his thoughts as the huge trucker cock in his abused and ripped asshole yanked free from a deep thrust and shot hot cum onto his sweat drenched back. He must have been taken by 8 men already in that truck stop outside Paso Robles. The slave’s hand dropped and he panted, and tried to move his tortured cock, locked in cruel chastity and drooling a constant stream of juice. The Captain was telling one man, with a huge thick chest, and knaki uniform, that he would be the last one to ride the slave tonight. The slave tried to look up but could only see the shining boots and blue stripe down the uniform pant under the edge of the blindfold. The CHP officer’s soft black gloves pulled up on the slave’s chin and guided his mouth to the massive rod sticking out under the heavy black leather gun belt laden with tasers and cuffs.

The slave knew what he was sucking. Cop Cock! And he got a second wind, straining up against the bonds to try and take the full measure of the cop meat. The cop pulled out and moved to the slave’s hole and shoved his gloved hand deep into the slave’s hole while the other squeezed its swollen balls. The slave moaned desperately. The patrolman slipped his cock inside and began to pump the cum splattered hole. The Captain climbed in behind the patrol man and opened his tight knaki shirt shirt, slipping his hands in under the tactical vest to grope the massive pecs encased in kevlar protection. The patrolman’s dark, close-cropped hair brushed against the Captain’s face as he murmured into his ear. The slave only heard a single sentence above the diesel roar around him and the moans of the patrolman.

“ … Yeah, Levi, this slave is real good isn’t it? Well, you and the rest of the Cadre are gonna have a good time on Sunday … don’t forget … you owe me for this … “

The CHP shuddered as he shot his load with the Captain’s muscled arms wrapped around him and the slave passed out again …

To be continued …

Metalbond would like to extend great thanks to FirefighterSIR for the latest chapter of The Bear Trap — a story that makes him quake in fear yet also tremble with excitement.

FirefighterSIR may be contacted at bigsurleather@yahoo.com

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.