Wanted Karl – Part 3

By rts

(written while locked and chained in biker leathers, sweating and restrained, by order of MetalbondNYC)

I am left on the floor chained to this post for hours, enduring the abuse of the rubber men around me. I have been pissed on, whipped and hogtied until finally it’s closing time. Tom comes over and dumps a bucket of water over me. “Just trying to wash off some of that piss stink,” he says, and then he frees me from the hogtied position and pulls me to my feet. Dragging me with the chain locked to my posture collar, he leads me, my boots dragging, the leg iron chains rattling on the concrete floor, to a steel door that he unlocks, pulling me into another room. There are several steel frame beds with rubber mattresses, metal lockers between them. The walls are concrete without windows and along one of them there is plumbing for a shower with douche hose, an in-floor squat toilet and a sink. A full-length mirror is mounted on the side wall.

I am shaking with fatigue and nervousness as he removes my gas mask and then starts unstrapping the straight jacket and pulls it off me, freeing my arms briefly, then he re-cuffs them behind my back. It actually feels a bit cooler now that I am free from that jacket. He removes my ball gag, warning me not to speak.

“I am going to remove the seed pod for now and finally get the anal intruder out of you, but you are staying locked in that suit and collar and the leg irons stay on,” Tom says.

I am so grateful for this partial release. Although the suit has become very uncomfortable and sweaty after so many hours, I still like the thought of being locked in it. I just wish to get out of it for a few hours for a quick cleanup before being locked back in.

Tom gives me water and feeds me a sandwich (my hands still cuffed behind my back), the first solid food I’ve had in days.

“Tomorrow you will get briefly out of that suit for a good cleanup. I hate to cut the locks but I have plenty of others to replace them with. You will of course be locked back in that chastity seed pod and you will never again have control of your own cock,” Tom says. “I will put you to work with the other two slaves behind the bar, but you will be subordinate to them. Not only will you be locked in your suit, you will also be wearing a heavy rubber dry suit with attached boots over it, a head harness muzzle and a metal neck collar chained to the overhead rail. I think I will also keep you in that posture collar, which you must hate by now. You will work 16 hours a day in the drysuit, removing it for 8 hours for a cleanout and your personal toilet needs, seeing as how your full body suit has that butt hole, you will however only have need to remove it once a week so you can have a shower and clean up. You are going to learn what it means to be my rubber slave, in full rubber most of the time and only addressing me as “Sir.” I hope you learn to love being in the suit you stole, that’s all you will get to wear from now on.”

“Please, Sir, permission to speak,” I nervously ask.

“Go right ahead boi, I expect you have some questions.”

“How did you find out about Mark?”

Tom smiles. “That was fairly easy. I recognized the design and quality of your rubber gear, and I was pretty sure I knew the maker, that’s why I took those pics of you. I contacted him immediately and he put me on to Mark, who was happy to find out where you were, and filled me in on the details of your ripoff of him.”

I just nod my head in defeated acceptance. Tom is so fucking hot I would be proud to serve him. Pointing to one of the beds, he tells me to try and get some sleep. I climb onto it and I can only lay face down with my hands still cuffed behind me, my boots still in leg irons. I am so tired I manage to get some sleep, even in this uncomfortable position.

When I awake I sit up swinging my leg-ironed boots down on the floor, my body still aching with hands still cuffed behind me. The two other barmen are sitting on the other beds. They get up and approach me. They are no longer in the heavy drysuits, which are laying on the floor, where some of their contained piss has leaked out from the opened zipper. Their muzzled head harnesses I first saw them in have been removed, both are now wearing identical piss wet neck entry rubber suits with butt zips, their cocks locked in steel tubes protruding from their cod piece holes, and knee-high, 20-hole, lace-up rubber boots. Their heads are shaved and looking hot. They do not speak to me. One of them kneels down and removes my leg irons and then my handcuffs, while the other one using a bolt cutter removes the lock on my posture collar and finally the lock holding my hood closed. In relief, as I pull the zips freeing my sweaty head from the hood, a steel collar is quickly locked around my neck with a long chain attached to it. They point to my boots, indicating for me to unlace and remove them. My gloved hands fumble to remove them. I feel the accumulated sweat now free from the compression of the boots trickle into the suit’s attached feet. As I stand and they take hold of my arms to steady me on my shaky legs, my crotch still aching from my ordeal in the cage and lead me to the shower across the room. The floor slopes down toward the wall where there is a drain channel that empties into the squat toilet. There is a steel bench bolted to the floor, and along the wall there are eyebolts at various heights, some with attached chains and manacles. They take me to the shower, lock my neck chain to one of the eyebolts, turn it on and help me to remove my rubber suit and wash it out then clean myself in the warm water, use the squat toilet and the douche hose to fully empty myself out. It’s such a relief to be out of the suit after being in it for just 36 hours. I dread what I’ll be feeling like now having to be locked back in it for a week at a time. I take a towel from the rack, and as I dry myself off, the two barmen are shaking my suit to get most of the water out of it. They point me to the sink, indicating I should shave my face and head with the razor placed there. I look over at them with apprehension as they are now working lubricant inside of my suit.

Oh crap, I realize they are going to put me back in it immediately!

“No, please no, not so soon,” I beg.

While holding the suit open they each grab one of my legs, forcing them into the suit and pulling me off balance. As the chain pulls taut the collar chokes me, and I fumble to grab their shoulders to keep from falling. My legs feel the slime of the lubed suit as they work my feet into the rubber smoothing it as they pull it up my body. One of them reaches down inside the suit, grabbing my cock and balls while working them thru the cod piece hole. They pull the suit up over my torso and both arms are fitted into the tight sleeves and attached gloves. As the shoulder zips are pulled closed, I enjoy the thrill as the tightness hugs me in thick rubber. The attached hood hangs down in front and back from the neck, ready to be zipped closed, but before that my hands are again cuffed behind my back and more lube is smeared over my face and shaved head. They next remove my metal collar and pull the zips from the shoulder entry up the sides of the hood and work the breathing tubes into my nostrils before closing them together at the top of my head with a new lock.

The click of it seems so final, my destiny now beyond my control.

I hear the heavy footsteps of boots, Tom is back and orders the two slaves to take me over to the bed and sit me down on it. Turning to one of them, he says, “Slave Alex, take off your boots and put them on slave Karl, you may then keep his leather rangers.”

When I plead with him not to take my boots, he silences me with a quick punch to my stomach. “As long as you are my rubber slave, you will only be permitted to wear rubber,” he says.

Alex quickly unlaces his rubber 20 holes and puts the sweaty boots on my feet, tightly lacing them closed. Tom makes me kneel on the floor and bend over face down on the bed. “That hole must be nicely stretched after wearing that anal intruder for hours, and it’s so convenient that your suit was made with that accommodating butt opening,” he says.

I hear the snaps as he removes the cod piece from his rubber jeans, spreads some lube on my hole and I wince as I feel the invasive pressure of his thrusting cock, his arms are tight around me, the rubber of our gear squeaking as he pounds away. My now uncaged cock is fully erect and oozing as it rubs against the rubber mattress. My senses are totally excited, locked totally encased in tight rubber, hands cuffed behind my back, the weight and pressure of this hot rubber skinhead who has total control over me, deep inside me. “I want this!” I explode as he does. We lay together for a while. I’m still enjoying the weight of him on top of me, both panting from the effort. He slowly pulls out, stands up and slaps me hard across my butt. “I didn’t give you permission to come, slave, you must be punished. Slave Alex, get me that anal intruder and seed pod.”

“No, please not that again, I’m sorry I —”

“Shut the fuck up, you little faggot. Alex, get his posture collar head harness.”

Both slaves get the gear and tightly hold me as Tom again works the intruder over my cock and balls, pressing home the steel ball up my ass and locking the seedpod over my junk, now trapping me in it. “Now Alex, bring your drysuit, this faggot is going to be wearing it every day from now on. He should enjoy that it is still foul with your stale piss and sweat.”

The two bar slaves un-cuff me, lift the thick rubber suit then struggle to get my booted feet thru the shoulder opening and down into the suit’s attached heavy boots, then my arms into the sleeves and out the cuffs. The smelly suit is finally zipped closed and locked on me. The high posture collar is again locked on and the lead chain attached.

Tom looks at both bar slaves. “Slave Alex, you no longer will be kept in a drysuit while you work and will be in charge of the bar and operate the till wearing just your rubber body suit and slave Karl’s former 20-hole rangers. You will not be locked in that head harness muzzle and neck chain collar, I want you looking like the proper skinhead you are, and you, slave Bill, are now in charge of serving all mixed drinks and of slave Karl while at work. Slave Karl will only handle beer orders, restocking and swamping the bar and you are in charge of his discipline when he fucks up.”

“Now you two have some fun with him.”

Tom unlocks and removes their steel chastity tubes and hands the head harness muzzle to Bill.

Both slaves take hold of my arms, forcing me down on the floor on my back. They lift my legs and I can feel the old accumulate sweat and piss as it drains down and leaks into my tight body suit thru the butt hole and around the seed pod they roll me around lifting my body to insure it flows down into my arms and all over my rubber body suit, piss leaking thru the zips of it and under the hood. As they are rolling me around, the heavy anal intruder works my prostate and my poor cock is crushed in the seed pod as it tries to get erect. Pulling me to my feet, I now really feel the weight and additional restrictiveness of this drysuit, the presence of the anal intruder as I move and the increased heat of being confined in this thick rubber.

“Now slaves Alex and Bill, get yourselves cleaned up and out and up. Slave Karl, go help slave Bill to clean up and wash out his drysuit. In a few hours you will then help him back into it. You are all due back behind the bar at 7pm in your gear, locked back in your chastity tubes, and chained up. Both slaves Bill and Karl locked in their head harness muzzles. Enjoy yourselves,” Tom laughs. “Slaves Bill and Alex are fee to talk to you and explain your obligations,” he says to me. “You will obey them.”

Bill points to his discarded drysuit laying on the floor. “Pick that up and follow me to the shower.” As I start to walk towards it, he shoves me hard and says. “move it, gimp.” I feel clumsy in the double heavy boots, my vision is limited by the pinholes of my hood, I struggle to pick up his suit and follow him. At every step I am aware of the weight and additional restrictiveness of the gear I am imprisoned in, both cursing yet aroused by it, wanting to get out of this fucking rubber torment yet still wanting to be in full rubber. I have always enjoyed playing around in full gear, restrained for a few hours, but even after 24 hours I wanted out. Now having no control of my future, helplessly subjected to the will of someone else, frightens and depresses me.

Alex pulls on my lead chain and clips it to one of the eyebolts. “Down on your knees, boi, my ‘new’ boots need a good cleaning.” I quickly drop to the floor, the stiff collar hinders me as I strain to lick what used to be my 20 holes. Meanwhile Bill has removed his rubber lace up boots and is washing them out and showering off the outside of his body suit, using the douche hose to flush out the insides. Unzipping the butt zipper of his suit and letting the water drain out, he gives himself an internal flush over the squat toilet.

As I am straining to lick all parts of Alex’s boots to his satisfaction he tugs at my chain, pulling me up on my knees and forcing my mouth over his erect cock, my hooded face now pressed tight against his crotch, his hands firmly holding my head. I smell hot rubber and old piss as I gag and suck and try for air with my breathing tubes crushed against him and his cock filling my mouth. I am sweating, working hard in my restrictive rubber, being stimulated by the heavy presence of the anal intruder as it moves inside me with my efforts, my poor cock confined in the seed pod, hurting as it tries to grow. I work hard to satisfy him. I am really sweating and breathing hard thru my nose tubes as he finally shoots into my mouth and he cries out in pleasure. Pushing me away, he calls Bill over. “Get your boots back on, keep your butt zip open, and Karl, you faggot, stay on your knees.” Bill sits on the bench, pulls his boots on, lacing them up while Alex keeps playing with his cock. Bill stands, walks up to me and sticks his cock in my mouth as Alex stands behind him, grabbing him around the waist and starts fucking him while bill begins fucking my mouth. This goes on for a while as I struggle to breathe, my sweat stinging my eyes in the confines of my hood, the posture collar firmly keeping my head erect. I work hard wanting to please these men (my fellow slaves) and as the action gets intense they both cum. Alex pulls out, Bill pushes me back on my boot heels and they hug each other and kiss. It is a fantastic sight, these two skinhead rubber men hugging tightly and exhausted in pleasure. My enjoyment of the scene is cut short by the order, “get started washing out my drysuit, fag, I have to be back in it in a few hours.” I get to my feet, pick up Bill’s discarded drysuit and begin cleaning it out under the shower. It’s difficult working in my restrictive gear. As the suit fills with water it becomes a heavy handful to maneuver. It is slow and awkward to flush out the arms and legs. Both Alex and Bill have left me alone and are eating in the far side of the room while I continue to work, but they return to help me lift the finally clean drysuit and hang it by its attached boots from the eyebolts on the wall. Together they walk me over to where they had been eating. “All you get today is this oatmeal and protein shake, better drink plenty of water, it gets hot when you work the bar tonight, and I understand that Tom is keeping you poor bastard in overnight, so you will be loosing plenty of sweat.”

I ask them how long have they been here as Tom’s property and don’t they want out of this slavery?

Alex responds: “I’ve been here almost one year, and I ended up Tom’s property when I disrespected a former master who was displeased by my attitude. The bastard “sold” me to Tom for much-needed discipline and training. It was rough the first few weeks, having to live in full rubber gear day after day, locked in chastity. Whenever I resisted or screwed up, Tom administered effective punishment. After a while I became accustomed to always being in full gear, especially my full body suit and enjoyed being kept in it. Wearing the drysuit over it while working 16 hours a day has become an endurance test, though, as it becomes a constant punishment, but I accept it to please Tom. I am Tom’s property until he decides otherwise. I cannot escape. I have no ID, no money, locked in metal chastity with my rubber body suit the only clothing I have. Your story and fate, Karl, is pretty identical to mine. You will just have to get used to being in permanent rubber bondage. It gets better once you accept and enjoy it.”

I look over to Bill, one hot-looking younger than me skinhead in full rubber with his naked cock hanging out of his codpiece. “How did you end up here?” I ask.

“I’ve only been with Tom for three months, he picked me up from this bar. We got along well and he enjoyed topping me, and eventually ‘convinced’ me to submit to being his rubber slave. I enjoyed the idea of living in full rubber and serving him. I wasn’t too happy to be put into constant locked chastity, but with no choice I learned to accept it. Getting used to being in full rubber 24/7 does get uncomfortable, but I accept it as a proper slave must. I agree with Alex that having to wear that heavy drysuit while working gets difficult well before 16 hours, but knowing I will be out of it for the next 8 hours makes it possible.”

“It’s now time to get Bill back into that suit and ready for work. When we get out to the bar Tom will be locking you two in the neck chains and head harness muzzles, and myself and Bill back into our chastity devices and put the lock on Bill’s drysuit.”

Alex sends me over to get Bill’s drysuit still hanging from the eyebolts on the wall. I take it down and bringing over to a reluctant Bill we help him into it.

The three of us looking hot in our rubber gear, we slowly walk out the door and head over to a full night at the bar.

Axel places his arm over my shoulder. “Welcome to the rest of you life,” he laughs.

 

The End

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Click for Part 1

Metal would like to thank rts for this story!

 

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