© Copyright 2002 - Ademetos - Used by permission
Storycodes: Sbm; latex; cuffs; gag; hood; clamps; torment; toys; cons; X
Everything is ready. All that remains now is to prepare myself. I stand naked before the mirror. My cock is hard with the anticipation of what is going to happen. I can’t resist teasing my erect nipples, making my cock even harder, then rubbing it gently. But I must be careful not to become too excited yet, or I won’t be able to stop myself.
I begin with the butt-plug pants. I pull them over my feet and up to my waist. There is nothing to them, just a thong of black latex, except of course that in the back they have a plug nearly an inch and a half across and six inches long. Once I have them around my waist, I lubricate the plug and slide it carefully into my anus. I feel an immediate sharp pain, which is almost instantly replaced by a dull throbbing. The pressure inside me makes my cock grow even harder and thicker, as I pull the pants tight around my waist and push the plug as deep as it will go, to be held in place by the rubber strap between my legs and buttocks.
There is more to these pants, though. In the front, there is a reinforced hole just half an inch across. I stretch the hole with my fingers then ease it over my cock and over my balls, making it snug around their base. This guarantees, with the plug, that no matter what happens I will not lose my erection. Of course, there will be discomfort later as well.
It is awkward starting with the pants, because I have an almost irresistible urge now to take my enormous, throbbing cock in my hand, but I know that if I do this then everything will be finished quickly and all the preparations will have been wasted. Quickly, to avoid the temptation, I pull on a pair of thick black rubber shorts. Slightly too small, they squeeze my balls and my cock against the rubber that stops them from retreating, creating a pressure that will slowly become unbearable over the hours to come.
Now is time to start the most complex part of the dressing-up. I take the latex body-suit and pour talc generously into the legs and arms, rubbing more over my own legs. Then I carefully roll the suit, with its built-in feet, over my own feet and legs. Easing the rubber slowly over my talced skin, I pull the suit up until it is tight against my crotch. That done, I pull it carefully over my body, and thread my arms into the limbs of the suit. It is difficult to get my fingers down into the built-in gloves, being sure to leave no loose flap of rubber to get caught up later on. The front part of the body is pressed tight against my flesh, and I gently work the shoulders over my body.
Once the suit is on, I will no longer be able to access my nipples. This means that now is the time to treat them to their clips. I say treat, because at first the sensation is pure pleasure. Later, it will be a different story. I caress them with my fingertips until they are as firm as my throbbing cock. Then I take the clover clips, and pulling the flesh as far as possible apply them to the thick part behind the actual nipple, where the pads of the clips will bite deeply.
I have tried putting a second pair of clips, vicious metal electrical ones, on the vulnerable tips, but it is so overwhelming that I never get any further. (A vengeful, sadistic mistress would be a help here). So I resist the temptation.
Next, I fasten the zip that runs up the back of the suit. It is impossible to reach all the way up, but a hook on the end of a piece of wire does the trick. Gradually pulling the sides together, I work the zip up to the neck. There is still the hood to deal with, but that will come later.
I pause to examine my black-sheathed body in the full-length mirror. My cock and balls, prevented from shrinking inside my body, make a bulge which I cannot resist rubbing with my hand. The layers of rubber reduce the sensation but still it creates a warmth in my loins, aided by the pressure of the butt-plug which is already becoming uncomfortable. I run my hands up the smooth rubber, pressing against the bumps of the clips and squeezing my flesh against the hard metal. My anus tenses against the plug; I must be careful not to go too far now.
For the next step, I have to sit down on the hard chair. The tension in the suit squeezes the clips into me, while the chair forces the plug little deeper into me. From the floor, I take the left shoe. It is black patent leather, a simple design, with a wicked heel over six inches tall. After sprinkling a little talc inside, I ease it on over the rubber foot of the suit, taking care to avoid wrinkles which would stop the shoe from fitting properly. Once it is on, I do the same with the right shoe. I stand up again, pushing my toes down into the shoes. It is a wonderful sensation, the tautness in my calves and feet and the pressure under my toes. Like so many other sensations, it will become harder later. I sneak another glance in the mirror, the shape of my whole body changed by the towering heels.
I sit down again, and concentrate on the bindings around my feet. On each ankle, a stirrup-like strap holds the instep of the shoe in place, preventing any temptation to relieve the torment which they will cause later on. I take two of the padlocks which lie open beside me, their keys nowhere in sight, and fasten the two ankle straps tightly. With the same locks I attach the three-inch hobble chain. From now on, my steps are restricted to a tiny mincing gait, putting extra strain on my stretched feet and twisting my insides against the plug.
Next, I fasten the wrist cuffs in place. This is awkward to do, since each has to be fixed with only one hand, and the thick rubber of the suit’s gloves makes it no easier. I am now starting to sweat profusely inside the suit, and already my hair is soaked. The nipple clips tug painfully but at this stage I am almost unaware of them. Each cuff is fixed in place with another of the waiting padlocks, avoiding any possibility of cheating.
Now I stand again, squeezing myself against the plug and rubbing my cock against the moist inside of the rubber. Before the next step of my bondage I must drink the liter bottle of water that is waiting. The first half passes easily, and is even refreshing. It gets harder and harder towards the end, but eventually the last drop passes, mixing with the liter I already drank half an hour before starting.
My belly now swilling with water, I take the thick black harness-leather belt, four inches wide. It just squeezes between my hips and my ribs, and I tighten its two buckles as tight as I can manage. My waist is cinched to six inches less than its natural size, my breathing restricted, my swollen belly crushed downwards against the plug which now makes itself felt more strongly than before. The belt is an important element of the bondage which I will soon enter, but it is also in itself a very strict discipline.
Now it is time to start on the bondage of my head. First I pull a simple latex hood over my face. This has large openings for the eyes, mouth and nose, but it is very tight around the rest of my head. It makes sure that I have no problems with things getting tangled in my hair. I tuck the base of the hood into the collar of the suit. Now, I pull up the hood of the suit itself, which is hanging across my chest. I cannot resist brushing my hands against my nipples, crushing the sensitive and now extra-tender flash against the clips. I cry out, and would willingly continue, but must resist if I am to complete the task.
The hood wrapped tightly around the under-hood, I tug the edges of the zip together at the back of my head, and ease the fastener up until the suit is completely closed from head to toe. Another padlock secures the zip to a ring sewn to the top of the hood. This hood has a mouth opening, and for the eyes two small windows of clear plastic. I can see well enough to avoid obstacles but the slight milkiness of the plastic obscures all detail. I take the leather collar and attach it, not too tightly around my neck.
I take the last remaining item, the head trainer with its huge ball gag. Being careful to make sure all the straps are the right way out, I force the black rubber ball between my jaws. I can just, but only just, open my teeth enough for it to pass, then there is a little relief as they close around the ball. I fasten the strap behind my head, holding the ball tightly in place. I can still open my jaw a tiny fraction of an inch, but this is soon stopped by the strap that passes under my chin, which I tighten until my jaw is fixed in a single position around the ball. One strap remains to fasten, which passes around the top of my head, covering the suit’s zip and fixing me tightly inside my rubber cocoon. A final lock at the back of my head secures the the trainer in place.
My enclosure is now complete. I am completely encased in tight black rubber. The heels force my feet into a John Willy posture, the soles vertical and the balls squeezed tightly into them. Already they are hurting. Their movement is strictly limited by the hobble chain, making it impossible to relieve them by shifting my posture.
Moving up my body, the next torment is the butt plug. Pressing tightly against my prostate, it is still giving me a monstrous erection, bulging under the two layers of rubber. The tiny, reinforced hole in the rubber pants is starting to chafe around my balls, already becoming uncomfortable, while the relentless pressure of the thick, too-small shorts makes my balls ache. The water I have drunk is already swelling my bladder, adding to the pressure inside me. I squeeze myself against the plug, feeling the mixture of discomfort and pleasure. (I will pay dearly for this particular pleasure for days afterwards).
I press my hand against the bulge in the suit. The sweat makes the inside slip deliciously against the sensitive flesh. I squeeze between my thumb and finger, making my erection swell still further. Invisible underneath two layers of rubber, the head of my cock is engorged and purple, my shaft as hard as bone.
My hands run up my body, caressing the encased flesh. I twist the tight belt against myself, feeling the bruising which is already making my flanks more sensitive although I have yet to struggle against the unyielding leather. My hands continue their journey, reaching my nipples which I cannot resist crushing against the hard metal clips until a stifled cry pushes its way out through the gag. I dig my nails viciously into the rubber. Dimly I see my body in the full-length mirror, my buttocks thrusting hard and rubbing my cock against the slippery inside of the shorts and the suit. This only drives me to dig harder and deeper, crying out in pain and ecstasy.
The gag makes it impossible to swallow, and I feel the first dribbles of saliva escape around it. My own spit is already in my nostrils like a snotty-nosed child. The tight leather straps force the double hood against my face, creating a unique prickly sensation that for the moment remains a pleasure. My jaw is starting to ache, my tongue involuntarily trying (in vain of course) to push the ball out of my mouth and give some relief.
I must stop this, before I am carried away. I start the tiny steps which will take me to the other end of the house, where my trial awaits me. Each step is a delicate balancing act, creating a fleeting agony in the ball of my foot and twisting the ankle cuffs around me. For the moment I can still use my hands to steady myself, or sometimes to sneak a caress of the maddening bulge or of my pained nipples.
Eventually, I arrive at the metal ring in the floor. A rope passes through it, with another padlock passing through a clasp at one end. I bend down, precariously, and fasten the padlock to the hobble chain between my ankles. At the other end of the rope is a block of ice, and inside the ice another loop in the rope holds a wooden bar. Until the ice has completely melted, the bar will stay in place and the rope will hold me to the floor ring.
My attachment is not finished. If I stayed like this, nothing would stop me sitting or even lying down, taking the pressure off my feet or even squeezing myself until I came. But the next step leaves me no such liberty. On the floor by the ring there is a strong steel bar, nearly six feet long. I start by fixing the ring at one end to the middle of the short chain that hobbles my ankles. Reaching behind me, I lift the bar until it touches the belt. Then, with another padlock, I connect a ring on the bar to a D-ring on the belt. The ring is slightly too high, forcing the hobble chain downwards and thus pressing my ankles together. Most important, I can no longer make any movement which would bring my waist closer to my ankles. I can’t bend my knees, or sit, or crouch, or anything else that would let me ease my feet.
The rest of the bar is pressed against my back. The top is level with my head. Attached to it is a short chain, which I now lock to another D-ring on the strap which passes over the top of my head. Thus attached, I cannot bend over either. Because the rod is straight, I have to choose between an holding my head backwards, or an awkward crutch-forward position that puts an even worse strain on my legs and knees. It will be even worse when I have to walk about.
Held fast in place to the ring in the floor, and barely able to move, I still have the use of my hands and arms. I give myself one last caress, passing from the bulge that covers my cock to my crushed nipples. It would be so easy to continue, but I stop.
There remains just one final act to complete my bondage. Fastened to my left wrist-cuff by a still-open padlock is a short chain. I unhook one end, then hold my wrists together behind my back. Awkwardly, I thread the chain through the D-ring in the belt, through a ring on the right cuff, then back again to the left cuff. Fumbling awkwardly with the padlock, I hesitate for a moment. This would be the last chance to stop my bondage. Then, with a click, the decision is made, and my hands are fastened together behind my back. The rest of the scene must continue as I have planned.
There is nothing to do now except to wait. Let me explain what will happen. I am held in this position until the ice melts and I can move about the house. Until then, I can reach none of the keys vital to my escape. This will take about three or four hours. During that time, the only thing for me to do is to savor the various torments about my body.
Once the ice has melted, I have to get the stick to fall out of the loop in the rope. I will have to tug at it until it slips out, but tugging will involve a lot of struggling against the bonds that hold me almost immobile.
When I can move about, I will have to get the next key. This is at the bottom of a plastic pipe that is fastened to the floor in another part of the house, tied to a cork float. The pipe is too narrow to reach into, so the only way to get the key is to pour water into the pipe until the key floats to the top. The only water that I can reach is in a bathroom at the other end of the house, and the only vessel available is a small metal cup. Many journeys will be required, long slow journey in six-inch heels and the short hobble chain.
That key is no use for any of my bonds, but it allows me to open a metal box. Inside the box is a switch, and when the switch is turned on, the timer on a cat feeder will start. The cat feeder is hanging close to the ceiling. It has been set for a two hour wait. During these two hours there will be nothing I can do to hasten my release, but I will no doubt be tempted to caress myself somehow. If I go too far at this stage, it will be too bad. The wait will just seem longer.
When the cat feeder opens, a key will drop. This key is what can release me, but only slowly and laboriously. It will open a steel box. Inside the box are dozens of padlock keys. Somewhere amongst them are the few required to release the locks that are actually holding me in bondage.
And so I start to wait. There is no clock, and I have no absolute idea of time. It is about twenty minutes since I started, long enough for the torments to start to be uncomfortable but not enough for them to be painful. For the moment, it is my feet that draw my attention, their tendons and muscles stretched and the tender flesh just behind my toes bearing my whole weight. The heels seem to be drilling their way into my flesh.
I wait. Inside the rubber I am sweating profusely. I can feel rivulets of perspiration running down. Inside the double rubber hood, pressed tightly against my face by the straps, my skin is crawling. I try involuntarily to push the ball gag out of my mouth, of course to no effect. My jaw aches, and I make things worse by trying to open and close it. Hopeless in both cases, one because of the tight strap and the other because of the unyielding rubber of the gag.
Still waiting. It must be about an hour now, because I know that it is how long it takes before the nipple clips start to be truly painful. They are like two fires in my chest, sending spasms of pain shooting down my body. Even though it can do no good, I twist inside the suit, now well-lubricated, but that just twists the clips against my flesh and makes them hurt even more. That makes me thrust my hips, feeling the plug inside me. That at least is still at the pleasure stage.
Still waiting. In desperation I try to free my feet, but I can feel that the block of ice is still big. My feet are in absolute agony. I try to shift the weight from one to another, tilting the heels the way girls do, but the chain is too short and I am too unstable to make any difference this way. My calves and thighs start to tremble. Every movement rubs my cock against the rubber, teasing me further. It is still as hard as ever. But now the tight little hole in the thong is starting to hurt me, while the constant pressure on my balls has made them unbearably tender. All of the water I drank, nearly three liters, is in my bladder.
Behind the gag I cry out. Of course it does no good. Saliva bubbles out around the gag and dribbles down the hood. My nose is full of it, my breathing a noisy, sniffly business.
Still waiting. It all hurts, badly. I wish I could escape. I try to think of some loophole I might have left in the arrangements, but of course there isn’t one. I tug again and again at the chain that holds my ankles. but it is still as firm as ever. My feet hurt, they hurt so much. They are the worst of all.
No they’re not. It’s my nipples, little pinpoints of agony in my chest that spread like waves down to my belly and round to my aching shoulders. As I twist and writhe, the clips catch inside the suit and twist the bruised, tender flesh. My nipples are the worst.
Or maybe it isn’t them either. It’s my gagged, bound head. My jaw aches so badly. My mouth and nose are full of dribble and snot, bubbling as I breath and drooling down the outside of the hood. Yet parts of my mouth are dry, and I try desperately to wet them with my tongue. The rubber, pressed tight against my skin, makes an unbearable prickly-itchy feeling.
It isn’t my cock. That is just as hard as ever. The butt plug is still vaguely pleasant. The pressure on my bladder isn’t so bad. A little while ago I gave up resisting, and wet myself. The warm piss flowed all around my hips and thighs before oozing and dribbling down between my skin and the rubber, and the pain in my groin went away. It was good, good, good.
Time passes, but I don’t know how slowly or quickly. I hurt everywhere. I can barely stand because of the trembling in my calves and thighs. Each of my torments seems like the worst as I think of it. I twist and writhe and sometimes cry out, muffled by the gag. Time passes, slowly, so slowly.
I’m still waiting, and still hurting. I tug for the millionth time at the ankle chain. I feel something give. I tug, again and again in desperation. I sense the bar touching the metal ring, and I know that I am free, of this stage at least.
Or I will be, as soon as I can persuade the bar to fall through the loop. I tug and twist and writhe, forgetting all of the pains and torments, even the agony in my feet which I am making worse. Nothing seems to be happening. I start to cry inside the rubber hood. All of the pain seeps back into my body, seeming to spread out from my nipples. I tug and twist some more, and feel that the bar is almost free.
One last tug, and my foot twists away from the position it has been held in for the last few hours, or months as it seems. I stagger and almost fall, although of course I am still held upright by the rod.
Now must begin what I have not dared to think about. Before I was held still. Now I have to walk about, putting infinitely more strain on my feet and my whole body. I start making my unsteady way to the bathroom. The hobble chain makes me take tiny, unnatural steps, even in the enormous heels, so that my feet twist and fall painfully at the end of each step.
I mince awkwardly across the room. Each step tugs at my whole body. The rod at my back moves up and down, tugging at my head and forcing me to bend my neck backwards. The plug twists inside me, thrusting in and out with each step. The thick, tight shorts squeeze my balls, bringing back the pain that went away when I pissed myself. The extra exertion makes me breathe harder, snuffling the dribble and snot all around the inside of the hoods and dribbling it down the outside. Even my eyes are covered with a slimy film of it, so I can only just see where I am going.
Passing through a doorway, I can’t resist pressing my cock, as firm as ever, against the hardness of the wall. Inside, the rubber is covered with piss and dribbled come. It slithers deliciously over the sensitive flesh. As I rub I can feel the swelling grow, I thrust harder and harder like a dog in heat.
I press my chest against the wall, crushing my bruised nipples against it. It is agony and wonderful and wonderful agony all at the same time. I press harder, first one and then the other. I let out a howl of pain and pleasure around the gag. Still fucking the wall with my cock, I press again, harder. As I hear my scream, the remaining piss breaks loose and floods up into the suit. All of the other torments are forgotten in this moment of agonized bliss.
I continue my journey, and eventually after a seemingly endless number of tiny, painful steps, I reach the bathroom. Waiting by the tap is a small metal cup, with a short chain attached. Taking great care, I clip the chain to the one that joins my wrists behind my back. If I dropped the cup it would be catastrophic. I turn on the tap, and fill the cup with water.
Now I must make the journey to the other end of the house, where the first key awaits. I clutch the cup behind my back, adding to the strain in my shoulders, and take the first step. As I teeter along my body sways, and despite my best efforts water spills from the cup.
Eventually I arrive. I can just see the grey pipe through the smeared eyepieces of the hood. I make one final twist of my body and tip the precious water into it. There is less than half a cup left, the rest has been spilled on the floor. It seems pathetic, it will be an endless task to fill the pipe so that I can retrieve the key that lies at the bottom. I turn around, and start the agonizing journey back to the bathroom.
After an endless number of tiny steps, I reach the bathroom, fill up the cup, and start the return journey. Again I spill most of the water, pouring a pathetic few drops into the pipe. Again I turn around.
Just two trips, and my whole body feels ready to break. How can I continue? It is a million times worse than when I was waiting for the ice to melt. The agony starts at the balls of my feet, battered and bruised from the pounding they take with every tiny step. The tendons are stretched beyond endurance and the flesh crushed by the unforgiving leather of the shoes. The monstrous stilettos seem to be drilling their way through my heels. My calves tremble with exertion, twisted into an unnatural form not only by the heels but also by the hobble chain. From the knees down I am on fire, burning with pain that I know must continue until this impossible task is done.
With each step the butt plug slips out and back in, bursting me open and teasing me from the inside. My bowels protest and try to expel the huge intruder, of course to no avail, but the cramps spread through my abdomen. Each step crushes my balls, trapped between the chafing hole in the pants and the tight rubber outside. My nipples, I have almost forgotten because of the pain in my feet and legs but they are just as terrible as before, worse. Each time I pass the doorway I am tempted to crush them against the clips, for a few seconds the agony is delicious but I pay for it now. With the movement, the tight leather corset is bruising the flesh underneath, chafing against my ribs and my hips.
My jaws ache terribly, forced apart by the gag. I struggle against the gag, trying to relieve the ache, but it only makes things worse. I long to take a deep breath, but all I can do is snuffle through the dribble and snot and sweat that fill the hood.
Another trip, and another and another. Impossible to describe the agony. Every part of me is screaming. My tortured feet are the worst. Now I really try to think of some way to bring this pain to an end. Surely there must be something, some weakness in the bondage? But my planning has been good, too good for me now. There is nothing I can think of. My hands are held fast by the locks, and without the key that is now floating on a few pathetic inches of water, there is nothing at all that can be done.
More trips. The inside of the rubber suit is filled with sweat, my skin itches with the mixture of sweat and talc. My feet and legs are agony, agony, agony, agony. It is terrible. I can pause to relieve the pain a little, but I cannot bend or do anything which would take my weight off them, and pausing is little help. I stagger and totter so much now that hardly any of the water stays in the cup to be delivered to my salvation.
More trips. I can begin to hear the pipe filling up now. I reckon it must be about half full. Each trip takes longer and longer as I try to relieve the terrible agony in my legs by any way I can. I lean against a wall, squeezing my cock (still as huge as ever, thanks to the pants and the giant plug that works away inside me as I walk) and fucking the wall. The inside of the rubber is too slippery for me to come in this way, but the sensation is so good and it overcomes all of my agony for a few moments. I crush my nipples against the wall, a pain and pleasure that is too good to resist. But still I have to keep walking back and forth.
More trips. I really can’t stand it any more. My legs are trembling so much that I keep nearly falling, despite the rod at my back that holds me rigidly upright. I have to stay close to the wall so that I can use it to support myself. Inside the hood I am sobbing with pain now, the spasms making my jaw ache even more against the huge ball gag, which feels as if it is filling the whole of my head.
More trips. Through the snot and sweat that mists the eyepieces of the hood, I can actually see the key floating in the water. But now I must be careful of one refinement that I haven’t mentioned. A few inches below the top of the pipe, maybe three or four cupfuls, is a tiny hole. From now on, as I add water, it will leak slowly through this hole. If I take too long adding the pathetic cupfuls of water, they will just drain away uselessly. I touch the hole, and sure enough I can feel the coldness of a little dribble of moisture through the rubber of the glove.
Despite the pain, I totter as quickly as I can to the bathroom. The tiny steps, a few inches each, make a grotesque parody of running. I teeter and totter along, twisting my feet viciously in the high heels and against the hobble chain. Trying to run like this makes every single torment much worse. The butt plug squeezes and twists inside me, ravaging the bruised flesh of my anus. The tiny hole in the strap twists against the damaged skin around my balls, crushed by the heavy shorts. The corset twists and strains against my bruised flanks. All this effort makes me want to breathe harder, and I snuffle and snort through the fluids that fill my hood and my head.
I rush back and forth, not daring to stop for anything in case all of the precious fluid drains away. After four more trips, I dip my hand in the water, pressing my fingers down and squeezing them against the tight rim of the tube. Through the rubber of the glove I can feel the coldness of the water. But I just cannot quite grasp the cork attached to the key. Weeping with frustration and pain, I set off on another agonized hobble to the bathroom.
More haste, less speed. Halfway back I stumble badly. Although I don’t fall, I spill all of the water. I rush back to the bathroom, fill up the cup again. The agony is terrible everywhere, but I am concentrating so hard that I hardly notice. I totter madly back to the pipe and pour in the water, but it is no good. Now I cannot even feel the wetness with the tip of my finger. I rush off again, sobbing inside the hood, gasping for breath against the gag.
This time, my fingers reach the cork, ease it up against the side of the pipe, and grasp it. At last, the terrible agony of the last few hours (if that is all it was) is over.
Clutching the precious key in my bound hands behind my back, I walk slowly now to the box that it will unlock. I can see nothing, and my whole body is shaking violently, so it takes me forever to get the key into the lock and open the box. That done, I throw the switch that starts the timer that will give me the next key.
There is nothing to be done now. I must wait for two hours, until the next key is released.
I lean against a wall, trying to relieve some of the pain in my legs and feet and to get my breath back after the dash of the last few trips to the pipe. Slowly, I calm down a little. I stop gasping and panting for breath. The shaking in my legs and feet and whole body subsides. The pain in my nipples suddenly takes over again. Arrows of agony shoot through my whole body. I can’t help myself, my buttocks start to thrust and writhe. Is this pain or pleasure? Of course it is both.
I have no idea how the time is passing. There is nothing to be done. I must simply wait. Each torment takes its turn to be the most terrible. The gag and the hoods have become truly unbearable. My head itches with the mixture of sweat and talc and snot and dribble that surrounds it, as well as filling my nose and mouth and ears and eyes. I bite hard on the gag, trying to shift it, but my agonized jaws can do nothing. Where the straps press tightly, around the top and back of my head, the itching is worst of all.
My feet and legs of course get no relief. I am still standing, still contorting my feet in their heels, still unable to bend my knees more than a tiny amount, or spread my legs apart, or do anything to adopt a different posture and reduce their pain.
Time passes, but I have no way to know how much time. One after another, each part of my bondage torments me the most. I turn around to face the wall, and squeeze the huge bulge in the black rubber against it. It feels so good, my cock slithering around inside, in the mixture of piss and sweat and dribbled come. I rub and rub, feeling the tension mounting inside me. My buttocks thrust, the plug teases me from inside. I get closer and closer to being overwhelmed. I tease myself like this, getting closer and closer.
But I mustn’t. I know how terrible it will be if I come before I can release myself. The pleasure/pain of my bonds and torments will become pure, literally unbearable pain. I must resist the temptation. I move away from the wall.
Time passes. My excitement diminishes again, only the ache in my balls remains.
More time passes. How much longer can it be? I turn again to the wall. I press my aching nipples hard against it, crushing them against the clips. The pain shoots upwards and downwards through me. I press again, harder. My cock almost explodes. I press again, harder still. Through my gag I scream. Suddenly, the pressure in my bladder cannot be resisted. I feel the warm piss flood around my skin, under the rubber. I can’t stop it, I feel it running around to my buttocks, running down my legs inside the suit. It seems to go on for ever.
When it stops, my nipples burn. I press harder and harder. My cock is huge again, squeezed by the rubber. I rub it against the wall, thrusting my hips and feeling the plug inside me. Again and again, the pleasure and the tension mount. It’s so, so good and it hurts so much. My breath gets faster around the terrible gag that is splitting my face in two.
Barely, I resist the temptation to let the pleasure flood out of me. I turn away from the wall. I try walking, or tottering, about. Of course my feet complain about this, but I have to take my mind off the huge orgasm that is growing inside me. I try not to think about my cock, or about my burning nipples. Oh, it would be so good.
More time passes. Who knows how many times I have rubbed myself against the wall, my cock and my nipples. Now I am doing it again. I rub and I rub, teasing myself with the growing pressure inside me, feeling as though I must surely explode. Suddenly, I am howling, sobbing, crying, the explosion is happening, I feel the come spurting out of me, mixing with the sweat and piss inside the rubber. Even through the gag I howl with the pleasure. I rub and rub, squeezing my nipples against the clamps, milking every drop of come and of pleasure from myself.
It’s over. My body tries to relax into a post-orgasmic calm. Tries to, but of course can’t. Suddenly all of my bondage, which was a source of both pleasure and pain, is now nothing but pain and discomfort. The butt plug, which has always been mostly pleasure is now utterly unbearable. I long to take it out of myself and relax. The rubber chafing and crushing my balls feels awful. My feet, which were always more pain than pleasure, make me weep with agonized discomfort. All the snuffling through snot and dribble to breathe just annoys me. One more time, I try to think of some loophole in the arrangements I have made. But there is none.
So, I wait, trying to think of other things, trying to ignore all of the discomfort that fills me.
It is terrible. This is much worse than anything so far, because there is no erotic pleasure. How much longer can it take? I have no way of seeing.
I wait and I wait and I wait. Slowly, my cock swells again, unable to resist the pressure of the butt plug. As it swells, my tortured nipples start to tingle again with pleasure as well as with pain. I turn back to the wall and experimentally crush them against the clips. I feel another surge of excitement, despite the pain. The buildup of pleasure and excitement comes much more slowly this time, but still I feel my hips start to thrust against the wall, my breath becomes shorter and faster.
I pass into a sort of trance, halfway between pleasure and agony, rubbing myself against the wall. My cock is slithering about now in its own juices of all kinds. My nipples burn but as long as I keep tormenting them it is bearable. But if I let my attention wander to the pain in my feet and legs, I start to cry, literally, physically, because it is so bad.
I wait more, continuing to caress myself like this. Slowly, the excitement builds and builds. I start to feel those early signs of orgasm again. Now I am too weak to resist. I keep on rubbing and pressing, and I experience another explosion. This time it is much weaker, but it is still so good to feel it, all of my torments suddenly become pleasure again, even my feet and the gag.
But afterwards it is much, much worse, worse even than the first time. I am so tired and exhausted, I just want to lie down and relax, but of course that is the last thing I can do. Inside my hood I sob, snuffling and sucking around the gag. My head feels as though it will explode, not only with the gag but also with the tight, unyielding straps which crush the rubber of the two hoods around my flesh.
I wait and wait, leaning against the wall for support. Inevitably, my cock swells again, but feebly this time. I try to caress it against the wall, but I don’t have the strength now. Time passes, and I go again into a sort of trance. There is still some residual pleasure, not enough to balance all of the pain and the discomfort, but there is really absolutely nothing to do but wait. And wait. So I do.
I hear the faint click of the cat-feeder opening. Relief fills me, and I go to take the key. Carefully, trembling, fumbling, twisting my bound hands behind my back, I use it to open the last box. At last I will be free, able to relax. Inside the box (as I knew) there are dozens of keys. I have no way of knowing which of them will open what, and of course most of them will open nothing at all.
I take a key from the box. It is very difficult to twist my hands around to get the key into the lock that holds them. Eventually I manage. Of course nothing happens; it is not the right key. I put this key to one side, and take another. Again it is a painful effort to get the key into the lock. Again nothing happens. I take another key. And so on. At least I know that with each key I try, there is a better chance that the next will fit.
After so many keys, so much twisting around, so much discomfort now filling my body, I reach into the box and take the very last key. This must be it! It takes me a dozen attempts to get it into the lock, I twist it... nothing happens. Exhausted, I collapse forward against the table, sobbing again. I must have made a mistake. I will have to try all of them again.
This time, somewhere around the middle of the keys, I feel the click of the padlock. After fumbling a little I release my hands and bring them round to the front of my body. Suddenly I realize how much my shoulders have been hurting, held in the same position for hours. My hands free, I can’t resist and I start to rub my cock again, vigorously low, feeling the blood flow and the excitement mount again. I press onto my nipples, feeling their pain. Maybe I could come just one more time... but all my body is crying for release, and I must continue the task.
I still can’t reach all of the locks, because the rod at my back still holds me rigidly upright. I try each of the keys in all of the locks that I can reach.
The first lock to yield now is the one that holds the corset belt around my waist. I release it and let it drop heavily, still attached to the rod and dangling behind me. For the first time in so long, I can breath normally. All of the bruising, under my ribs and around my hips, really hurts now, enough to make me cry through my gag.
As the pain subsides, I am again unable to resist caressing myself, feeling the pleasure mount despite everything. But I continue. The next lock to yield is the one that holds the rod to my head. Undoing it, for the first time I can bend, although I still have the clumsy rod attached to my ankles. Overwhelmed with relief, I sit on the floor and take the weight off my feet. That is really relief. They are still twisted into an impossible position by the shoes and the hobble chain, but at least they no longer carry my weight. I savour this freedom to move my body for a few minutes, even my sexual excitement forgotten for a few moments.
Desperate to free my poor feet altogether, I try all of the keys in the ankle locks, and soon I can remove first one shoe and then the other. I caress my feet with my rubber-covered hands, bending my toes back and forth to try and restore normal feeling in them.
But the gag and my nipples and the butt plug, and the pressure on my balls, are all still calling for attention. I find the key for the straps that hold the gag in place. I spit out the huge monster that has filled my head for all this time. The relief in my jaw is immense, and in addition I can now breathe normally. I swallow, over and over again, the first time I have been able to swallow properly for hours.
Maybe it’s being able to breathe, but I suddenly get a huge erection. I stand up to caress myself better. Pressing harder and harder and faster and faster through the layers of rubber, tormenting my nipples with my other hand, I finally feel the start of a final orgasm. This time I scream out quite freely, feeling the few drops of come slide out of me. My throat is hoarse with screaming.
Now I am desperate for complete freedom. I remove the last couple of straps, and start to undo the zip that holds the rubber suit in place. It is difficult to reach the zip at the back, and to attach the hook that will let me undo it completely. First the hood is undone. I fumble around the inner hood and tear it off my head. My head and face are free again, covered in a thick film of slimy dribble and snot, but free. I can see normally.
Now I unzip the back of the suit. The air feels freezing cold against my damp skin. I can reach my nipple clips. I hardly dare to take them off. I undo the first one. The pain is suddenly terrible. As soon as it subsides a little, I remove the other. I touch them gingerly, the pain is awful... but a little exciting too.
For the rest I must go to the bathroom. I undo the suit completely, and a flood of sweat and piss and come pours out. I ease the suit off my feet. It feels terribly cold now.
I slip off the thick rubber shorts, easily. I can’t resist licking some of the salty come off the inside, I don’t know why but that excites me too. My cock is soft now, although not completely because of the strap around the base of my balls. Tenderly, I reach between my legs and remove the plug. My anus, throbbing with pain, tries to close again. Even more tenderly, I slide the hold in the strap over my balls and cock. The pain is just as it was for my nipples, as the blood flows back into the constricted skin.
Now I am free again. I need to take a bath and get myself clean, but for the moment I lay down and cover myself with a blanket.
It was wonderful. I feel all of the pain and the pleasure and the excitement all over again. All of my body is complaining, it will be hours before I can walk properly again, I will be bruised and sore for days. But it was wonderful.
I think about little refinements to make it more teasing, more agonizing. I start to think about when I can do it all again. Soon.