All the usual disclaimmers. Over 18s only. This is imagination, not based on reality.

Surely Hell.

This is surely hell.

The bed is soft, but that is the only comfort, and for his benefit rather than mine. I roll a little to ease the pain on my arms, which are folded tightly behind me, secured together across the small of my back with cable ties. My legs are bound separately with more of the unyielding plastic, but with ankles tied to thighs, thus legs folded, I cannot move even enough to fall off this bed or out of the cloying sheets that cover me. The darkness is complete here, and my breath is laboured through the tight rubber hood with its single pinprick breathing hole. I try to crawl, seeking fresh air out from under the heavy blankets, but they are holding me down, securing me in place.

       I try to calm myself, try to stifle the panic in my mind, and it is like this I stay, unmoving and focussed on breathing gently enough to live, my limbs aching in their bondage. How long I don’t know, but I mange to dream a little. I see him watching TV below me. And then like some out of body experience, I see myself pinioned here, unable to flee, unable to resist, simply awaiting him like the dumb slave I am.

       My penis, hard and steel, is getting stimulation from the sheet as I toss and turn in my half-dream. This awakens me, and I feel again the leaden throb of pain in my balls, so familiar yet so impossible to stand. I groan with the truth of my pitiful existence.

My cock remains hard, betraying me my disgust at what he will do. It is tightly bound to my balls with more of the plastic ties, and he pulled them very tight before he left me here. The plastic imprisonment holds the blood in my swollen genitals, forcing pain and increasing my Judas arousal.

I feel the specific terror of my aversion to ejaculation rise in my deepest being. In my half-dream state I see images of the cruel training he used to teach me my terror of ejaculating without his express command. Some part of my remaining free mind wonders at the efficiency of his control, but the rest of me, and the core of me, just feels the terror as it rises through already aching limbs and settles as a massive stone weight in my bowels.

I can’t help it, I expel a soft mewl of terror through the little hole in the tight rubber hood, and then my breath begins to whistle softly as it increases under the influence of the rising fear. My rigid cock finally becomes limp and I drift into the half-sleep of terror warring with exhaustion.

I awaken with a start, the roaring of my own breath suddenly silenced by my jerk and awakening realisation. He is behind me, has his hand over may face. I can feel his other hand snaking across my side, dallying to flick the new rings in my nipples, and then sliding down to grip my tight swollen scrotum. He puts his hand over my breathing hole, and I struggle a little; a fool ignoring his training to be completely submissive.

Now there is no air, and the hood tightens drastically against my face, its blackness blinding and near-deafening me to the real world. He squeezes my balls and I try to scream, maybe I do scream, but it is unheard in this black airless jail.

“I could pop them, here in this tight wrapping, shall I pop them?”

Confusion fills me for a moment, trying to remember the rule on answering direct questions. He tightens his grip and the pain crawls up into my belly, gloats there. I shake my head, half in negation and half in panic at the bursting pain in my deflated lungs. He lies there behind me, pushing tightly against me with his hand across my rubber face, and he lays his head on mine as he grips my balls. Inside, I am screaming, and knowing the rule, I fight my body to stay still despite the rage for breath within. I know the consequences for struggling against his torments. I feel him smile, the expression evident through even the tight latex, and he waits another moment. I wonder can he feel the roaring pressure in my head as my brain begins to pass into oblivion. I imagine he is taking the negative energy into himself, feeding in my fear.

He opens my airway and the air shrieks into the rubber hood, too slowly for my comfort but enough to keep me alive as he lays there upon me, controlling me.

Now I feel his large cock nudging at my virgin anus. The deep revulsion of this situation hits me nearly as strongly as the fear and I am disgusted by what I have become.  Another small mewl of pain escapes me as he squeezes my balls a little tighter.

“Tomorrow, I’ll pop them tomorrow, and make you eat them, but for tonight they’re my toys,” he squeezes them again for emphasis, and I scream a little exasperated yelp. There is nowhere to run, no way to fight him off. I feel his cock getting bigger and stronger and he closes my airway again and I know that he is going to rape me.

But he lays there for a while, holding my pulsing balls tightly, and taking me to the brink of unconsciousness before allowing me to breathe a little, for a short time. He talks to me as he does this, and has before his voice is hypnotic to me and I can’t help but focus on his pain-pinpointed words:

“I dream of cutting you up with a bacon slicer, it’s what I think about when I’m bored. I want to stick your hand in and cut off your little finger first. Then we’ll fry it, stick it in the dog’s dish and I’ll film you eating it.”

He is still laying with his face atop mine, his arm under my neck with fingers over the hole in the mask again, his left arm is across me, grasping my balls so tightly I think they’re going to burst, that he will pop them now, rather than the promised tomorrow. He is breathing heavily, and I feel envy for that, and his cock is pushing at my soft anus.

“We’ll see how long you can live, eating only your onwn body parts. Fingers first, toes, ears, lips nose, nipples, bollocks, cock, one piece a day. What do you think?” I gave my pathetic little head-shake again and he laughed.

“But before that I want to do other things,” he said, his voice was throaty now, full of excitement, and it said a lot about the conditioning that I felt endeared to his childish and horny-little-fantasy tone of voice.

“I want to sew up your eyes, and I think I’ll do that pretty soon, and I want to fuck about with your voice, maybe have you speaking like a little girl all the time, can use the electricity again for that.

I flashed back to the memory, as I was conditioned to do. The tiny black box, and his voice or his cock always at the only small hatch. He had shouted his rules at me for hours, had me repeat them back, and upon any mistake he electrified the steel of the box.

Back to the present with the gift of air again, but he moves his hand to my newly pierced left nipple, its large ring still very sore with every movement. He plays with it as he squeezes my balls in rhythm, as if he’s trying to pump my stale cum from me physically as if I’m just one of those cream-filled plastic sex dolls, and he starts to push his massive cock into my anus.

I’ve never been fucked before, and so the pain is intense as he drives it slowly but unstoppably inside me. He grunts his exertion with each thrust, using his grip on my balls for purchase and thus yanking them painfully, and I yelp in time with it, the pain sharp and tearing.

I’m squealing before its half way inside me, the size so massive that I feel my gorge rise again. I know that if I puke in this hood, I’ll surely drown in it, and it seems to be only this thought that keeps the vomit down.

After a period of time which seems stretched in my memory, a short vacation to hell, he is fully inside; I can feel him throbbing and it is as if my own heart beat is being dominated into time with the monster piercing me.

       “All sorts of evil things I’m going to do to you, and you’re going to live in that box only coming out for chores and raping and torture and mutilation,” his voice is hoarse and I can feel his heart hammering in his chest and through his giant cock within me. My own flutters feebly, the victim.

       He blocks my air again, and flexes the tool inside my rectum. I gasp a sigh of pain and obliteration; it comes out as a sad whimper through the narrow pinprick. Half of me wants to die here, the sick revulsion of this act chopping at my soul; but he won’t allow me to die, so the other half of me wants to please him, so the pain will be short.

       “How long can I human live in box in a dank cellar, eating only cum and scraps? How long can a miserable piece of excrement live being whipped morning and night? How can a fucktoy be fucked by this monster every night?” And he pulses it again and it makes me shudder deep within myself.

       I don’t know the answers to these questions, but as he begins to fuck me, playing with my balls, nipples and air, I know that I will find out, and that I am his slave.

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