I kneel obediently in the entryway, wrists behind my back, head down, heart racing as I hear Master slam his truck door shut and approach the door. He enters and sets down his bag, then stands in front of me and unzips his pants. “Evening boy,” He says, and before I can take my cue to bury my rubber-hooded face in his crotch, he tugs my collar, smashing my nose into the fabric of his jock. Immediately I taste the sweat and precum that absorbed into the fabric throughout the day, leaking through the metal tube that has encased his MasterNub for six months now. My body immediately relaxes as his masculine scent washes over me, even though I know I will spend the evening in agony for Master’s amusement and pleasure. But I suffer for Master.
It’s been weeks since I properly tasted Master’s full load down my throat, a parting gift before I helped him secure the custom, steel chastity cage I bought for him that has been there ever since. But in those weeks of denying his MasterCock the fleeting pleasure and release of an orgasm, he has slowly transformed, each night stronger, more powerful, more sadistic once he fully encases himself in the brand new rubber suit and heavy black molded mask. His body flooded with testosterone, ejaculating only out of biological necessity. Even without the rubber on, this denial and the accomplishment from the months-long abstinence milestone has left him in a very particular, aggressive, horny mood. He knew that with the gear on, seeing his loyal rubbertoy gimpfaggot suffer in His honor, he would finally achieve that incredible, handsfree orgasm inside the cool steel cage, releasing months of that potent MasterSeed.
Master tilts my head up to stare lovingly at his rubberfaggot gimpobject. I smile, taking in his gaze as he pets my shiny black rubber head. “Six months today, boy,” he says.
“Yes Master,” I reply. “I am ready.”
Master clips the black metal chain leash on my collar as he leads me to the playroom we’ve been building. I crawl quickly behind him, my core, arms, and legs having gotten stronger and leaner from our dedication to transformation and my loyal slavery to Master.
“Present,” he commands, as he drops the leash. I jump to my feet, shoulder-width apart, and interlace my rubber gloved fingers behind my head, eyes at the ground. I quiver as he runs his fingers over my black rubber body, pausing on the metal belt that has become a part of me, that has made me truly cockless. I’ve forgotten what it feels like to stroke, let alone orgasm, but I don’t even think about it or want one. It’s not an option, nor should it be.
“Open,” he says, his thumb now on my bottom lip. He slides his thumb into my drooling mouth and I eagerly suck it, but he pushes my jaw open. “Wider,” he demands, as he slides in a full-mouth Silencilicone gag. I growl contentedly as I bite down on the fat, squishy gag, just enough to sink my teeth into. I can barely swallow, barely make a sound. The playroom is soundproof, but even the occasional howls of pain and pleasure have escaped in the past. Tonight this gag will be very necessary.
Master slides the blindfold over my perforated eyes. I’m now in total darkness. Even though this kind of predicament is familiar, customary, for this slave and its amazing Master, I still gulp and shudder as I slowly lose my senses, knowing each night he pushes me deeper, harder.
I hear footsteps as he gathers materials from around the playroom. The clink of clasps and chains. One by one my wrists and ankles are restrained to the wall, standing spreadeagle. “Inhale,” he says, and I take three deep breaths from the poppers mask he’s holding up to my face. After the third he holds my nostrils closed. Each night he deprives me of air a few seconds longer, until I’m finally allowed to breathe out deeply. As I inhale fresh oxygen, the high hits, flooding my brain and body with endorphins. I purr happily in the gag, feeling my heart beat throughout my body.
My head lolls down as the gas does its job. I hear Master continue throughout the playroom, preparing himself for my torture. He is committed to a full, handsfree orgasm tonight, and I must suffer deeply enough to make it happen.
As the gas begins to ebb I hear his steel toe boots clomping on the floor, approaching me. Again I feel fingers on my body and hear Master’s breathing. It’s slightly obscured now, he’s breathing through the noseholes of his Brute mask. My useless cocklet immediately hardens, as much as an unstimulated cocklet can, and dribbles precum into its necessary metal prison. I have not yet seen His Glory, but I know how it looks, and I know I am helpless against His Power in this state.
He removed the blindfold and takes three steps back, under the dim light. It reflects off his own black rubber skin, growing pecs and thick biceps, a tree-trunk like torso, and bulging thighs that lead to 20-hole lace-up boots. He stares at me behind the molded rubber mask that fits his face perfectly, as if this rubber mask has temporarily become his true identity. I whimper at the very sight, such beauty, such power, such perfection that totally and completely owns and controls me.
He approaches again and holds up the biggest electro plug I’ve ever seen before holding the poppers mask against my face again. This time he buckles it on, leaving me to breathe the gas as he slowly, masterfully, methodically, presses the plug into my eager, horny hole. He unzips more of the bottom of my suit, attaching pads to my round ass cheeks and my inner thighs, one of the most sensitive areas on my whole body.
Soon the current begins, gentle at first. He’s getting me primed. Master cranks a winch down, lowering a spreader bar from the ceiling. He unclips my wrists and forces my torso to bend forward. My head is at chest level, convenient for him to lock on the rubber muzzle. When he’s not standing in front of me, I can see my reflection in the mirror across the room. He clips a chain to the top of the muzzle and attaches it to a chain from the ceiling. My head is held up now, my torso uncomfortably leaning forward, wrists behind my back, delicately balanced by chains.
I exhale deeply, bracing myself for the discomfort, having no idea how long this will be. And even if he cums inside that cage, there’s no guessing if that will be enough to satiate him.
Master approaches again. He stares behind his molded rubber mask into my perforated eyes, and without breaking his gaze, amps up the current. I hear my scream muffled by the gag. Master feels a surge of power, strength, as his locked cocklet dribbles again into the cool metal tube. He caresses my hooded face with his rubber-gloved hand. I know I am safe, and in his safety I can endure more. Another wave of zapping electro that builds and builds in waves across the pads and the plug. I gasp for air under the gag and muzzle through my nose. Master catches his own reflection in the mirror, his strong, broad shoulders and black, shiny mask, sending another surge of undeniable power through his body, another dribble of delicious MasterSeed dribbling into the tube. He feels his shrinking nub stiffen in the tube, more than it has in weeks.
Master increases the settings, over and over. I transition from bracing myself from pleasurable stimulation to searing pain, to steeling my mind and my nerves to endure sustained, sharp shocks. There’s never enough rest to catch my breath. I’m either panting, gasping for air, or screaming into the gag. But the more my screams fill the gag, the more Master’s full balls leak. He feels his shrunken nublet bouncing inside the cage now. The months without stimulation have caused him to shrink more and more, and as his Masternublet bounces his anticipation builds. He can feel an incredible release coming, but not until he’s drained all humanity out of his gimp.
“No more games,” he whispers in my ear, just loud enough to be heard through his mask. I look straight into his eyes again behind the mask. I feel the current increase again, steadily, relentlessly. My body is beginning to convulse, the sensation so overwhelming. I must endure for His Pleasure.
I’m in a heightened state of torturous euphoria, my body’s natural endorphins combatting the relentless zap of electro as Master stares at me. I’m alternating gasping and panting, my mind mush, struggling to see straight with the occasional flood of poppers. Master’s locked cocklet is pulsing now, each moan, each pant, each whimper fueling his power. His own cocklet is pulsing up and down, he knows what’s coming.
Another deep inhalation from the poppers mask. I’m desperate for fresh air and he seals my nose closed again with his gloved fingers, his cocklet still racing inside his steel metal cage. I begin to resist, beg, struggle, a symphony of desperation, arousal, and emotions all happening at once. He knows I belong totally to him, my mind, my body, my suffering is for his pleasure.
Pleasure indeed. Suddenly, without a single stroke, a single suck, a single pump inside a hole, Master feels a forgotten but familiar sensation beginning deep within his pelvis. He takes a step back and roars under the mask as hot, thick, potent cum erupts from his shrinking nub and coats the inside of metal cage. My continued screams encourage him onward, as he props himself up against the wall as waves of pleasure consume his rubber-encased body, from the first full, handsfree orgasm he’s had in six months.
Master rips off his rubber mask and turns down the electro. I whimper, relieved, exhausted. Master quickly, expertly, unbuckles the muzzle and opens my mouth to pull the gag out, in one motion releasing my restraints from the winch so I can stand upright. He holds me tight. “My good boy,” he whispers. “My good gimp.” We’re both panting, exhausted in our own ways. “Thank you boy. You make me so proud,” he says, his big hand on the back of my neck, holding me close as my body weakens. He kisses my rubber cheek.
It takes me a few minutes to be able to speak again, but he never lets me go. “Thank you daddy,” I whisper. His pleasure is my purpose.
He hands me water and as I slowly get my wits about me again, help him take his gear off. I pause to inhale his pits, natural musk with sweat and lube and the natural scent of rubber. He smiles. I’m exhausted, drained emotionally, physically, yet his essence is all I crave. His scent, his taste, his body is my nourishment.
“I’m gonna shower. Meet me under the chair,” he says.
Master goes to the bathroom to clean up and I attend to his rubber, preparing to get it cleaned and polished for next time. I walk to the living room and lay down under the rim seat, and clip my wrists to the side. Soon Master returns to the chair with a cocktail and remote in his hand. He doesn’t have to tell me what to do. As he relaxes watching the screen, my tongue and mouth lick and taste his hole, trying to burrow deeper and deeper.
Master exhales deeply, content, happy. Balls drained. He looks down at his gimp’s rubber torso and legs extending out from underneath the seat, everyone where they are meant to be.
