When The Rain Comes
Another installment of my DIY erotica.
I can hear the rain falling on the roof and onto the ground outside. I don’t remember it raining when he tied me up, so I must have fallen asleep. The blindfold on the muzzle keeps me from seeing anything, so I have no idea if it is night-time yet. When he tied the last rope and left me here it was early afternoon, but if I fell asleep… and I am now sure I did… that seems a fairly meaningless point.
I am sitting on the hard metal chair in the purpose-built closet off our bedroom. It was just after lunch when he told me he had lots of things to get done during the afternoon, and he had no time to keep me out of trouble. I had five minutes to pee if I needed to and was to meet him in the bedroom. I’d spent the morning doing chores and was irritated at the prospect of an afternoon in the closet. I guess he was feeling his oats today as clearly I wasn’t going to have any precious Saturday time for myself. I was lucky to squeeze out some drops and get upstairs in the five minutes I had. He knows I’m pee shy and can almost never let it go on command like that.
When I got upstairs I could see he clearly meant business. He was pleased at my impending isolation. He could sense my frustration from my body language, and it was easy to see from the widening grin on his face he enjoyed it. I could also sense his enjoyment by the way he didn’t say a word – no instructions, no ‘I’ll be back in a few hour’ comment, nothing. This was a well established routine and making any changes or amendments would imply he cared about how I felt in the matter. Clearly, today, he did not. I didn’t get so much as a hug or a kiss as he reached for the muzzle, which I knew was my cue to kneel and again accept my place as his boy.
On the table next to the closet door were the tools he set out for the afternoon’s confinement. In our house they are tools, not toys. Toys imply a game, of having fun. He prefers “tools” because they are the tools he uses to implement his domination over me. Even though, in theory, this is a consensual relationship, that was subsumed long ago to the on-the-ground reality of my submission to him. Toys became tools. Furniture became a privilege. Since the cage arrived last March, sharing our bed is a reward I go weeks without earning. I should say for the record, or rather my hard dick says, I wouldn’t have it any other way.
I roll my head around as best I can and feel the muzzle. The collar around my neck is tight and uncomfortable, but not constricting my air. A rope runs from a D-ring at the top of the muzzle to an eye bolt in the ceiling, keeping my posture correct. I move my face around to feel the leather of the muzzle and my cock twitches. My arms are tied to the two metal posts which hold the back of the chair, with rope at my upper arms, elbows, and wrists. The work is solid, and I cannot imagine getting out of it by myself. My legs are tied to the front two legs of the chair at the ankle. They are uncomfortably forced apart by a spreader bar attached to two leather ankle restraints he wrapped around my lower thighs. My exposed ass rests against the once cool metal of the chair; the uncomfortably large plug forces itself deeper in every time I try to adjust. I am wearing a jock strap which is a size too small for me – he likes that it makes me uncomfortable. A rope encircles my cock, encased in the jock, and runs over the spreader bar between my knees, down to the floor, and is tied tautly to an o-ring on the floor. It pulls on my cock and balls all the time, but especially when I try to adjust my posture. As I test my bonds my cock gets hard, but cannot expand much in its make-shift cage.
My cock continues to get harder as I think about what might be next. If he works a long afternoon and into the evening, he may want a good fuck. That would explain the plug. If that happened he’d probably release me from the chair, tie me to our bed, and have at me without much ceremony. I figure there’s an equal chance he’d want to flog me to let his frustration out, which would probably mean a trip to the basement and a turn on the St. Andrew’s cross. Either option would be good for me. After being alone so long in the afternoon and evening, any touch from him at all – even the touch of a whip – is what I crave and long for.
Minutes continue to drag by. I slowly work myself into arousal by imagining the endless variations on what he might do to me. I become a singular entity, solely focused on his sexual pleasure. He could not come back soon enough.
Clack clack. The sound of the latch at the door. It opens and I can see a bit of light come in through the blindfold. He stands there for a minute, staring at me in my helpless position. Sometimes he does this for a minute and then turns around and leaves me in the dark again. I hold my breath, and release it once he makes for the rope running up to the ceiling. He rapidly releases my bonds in complete silence. I leave each limb in place after the ropes have fallen away – I have learned better than to move before I have been given permission. Instead of permission he grabs the ring on my collar and pulls up, firmly, guiding me as I stand up.
I do some mental math. If we take a left he’s probably leading me to the bed and a hard fuck. If we take a right, probably the basement and a flogging. We turn neither right nor left, but go straight ahead. Shit. The cage. We get to the other side of the room and he pulls down on the collar, forcing me to my knees. I hear keys. The lock to the cage door is undone. I shake my head no, I really do not want to go in there. He pauses, then pads away. I sense I have made a mistake. As I sit there I wonder what he’s gone to get, what he might need before putting me in the cage.
He comes back a few minutes later, and kneels down on the floor in front of me. He removes the mouth panel of my muzzle and forces my mouth open with his fingers. Yuck, they taste of lube. He then grabs my cock and starts rubbing. At first it feels so good, I can’t believe he’s giving me this pleasure. I start rubbing into his hand and he keeps going. The smoothness of his hand and the lube is the most sexual gratification I have had in weeks, and I lose myself in it. After a while I realize that he hasn’t stopped, and I am getting closer to cumming. I haven’t had an orgasm in four weeks, I can hardly believe that this is when he’d let me get off. “Sir, I’m getting close.” Hopefully that’ll give him the cue to pull back.
He does not pull back, but he slows down. He knows that the closer I get slowing down makes it happen sooner. Suddenly I realize his plan. I’m sitting on my knees in front of the cage, muzzled. I’ve been alone all day. I just shook my head ‘no’ to the cage. He knows that for me the worst kind of extended isolation is after I cum. The sexual tension makes it bearable. He’s going to make me cum and then stick me in the cage for the night. Fuck.
Now I am starting to panic. I don’t want to cum, and I don’t want to spend the night in the cage. But I am his boy and I have no choice. Each rub of his hand brings me closer, and I dare not say something or make another move, I don’t want to make it any worse. Finally, unable to control myself any longer, I groan and buck and start to shoot my load. Immediately he removes his hand from my cock and ruins my orgasm. FUCK. I sit there panting and, before I know what’s going on, my mouth is full of my own seed. The only thing worse than the taste of cum is the taste of cum after I orgasm. He makes me lick every last bit of the mess of cum and lube on his hands, then leans me over and has me clean up the leather mat in front of the cage. As I’m doing that he unceremoniously pulls out my butt plug. Ouch. Before I know what’s happening it too is in my mouth and I am cleaning it off. Fortunately for me it was clean when it came out.
I hear a rattle of keys, and quickly my hands are shoved into puppy mitts. Locks click them shut and then another lock joins the mitts together. I am now completely helpless. He tugs on my cock and, after drying it off with a towel, slips on the metal chastity device he’s just bought, then locks that. The jock is slipped back up. Ankle restraints are quickly applied and locked on, and then locked together like the mitts. The mouth panel is replaced on the gag. I feel a sudden pulling on the top of my ears and I realize he is putting my in-ear earplugs in place.
He then pushes down on my head and forward. I know this is the end and I stay in place. This, for me, is as close as I ever get to open revolt. Again, down and forward. Again I sit, refusing to participate in the final act of my extended isolation. The third time he means business and all but shoves me face-first into the cage. This time I don’t resist. My head lands on a pillow and I feel that the blanket from the night before is still in there. As I start to turn over the cage door closes and I hear the snap of the last lock. He stands up. I wait for him to leave, but do not hear footsteps. I lay my head on the pillow and do my best with my mitted hands to pull the blanket over me.
My breathing slows a bit. He continues to stand there. Minutes go by and I am furious, but silent. He can control my body, but inwardly I defy him to control my mind. Of course this makes me completely miserable. Still he stands there, I sense his presence. Finally I start to let go of my anger. I test my bonds and know I am completely helpless. This, of course, is another way of saying I am completely safe. My mind starts to wander to tomorrow, and what we might do together. I imagine a picnic in the park, the exact opposite of my day of isolation. I smile.
As I drift off to sleep, I hear the faint click of the bedroom door closing.
