Vegas Twelve to One · Part 8

Vegas Twelve to One · Part 8 (8/14)
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erful vibration. I am informed it is this last attachment that will be used.

The chair has been designed to accept this machine and so setting up beneath me is quick. My butt hole is lubed up and the machine angle is set to squarely penetrate me. The drive rod is rotated so that I am pierced by the dildo and adjusted so that I will be invaded to my limit but not escape me when it cycles back. He starts the machine, thankfully at a slow speed, and my ass begins to be fucked with deep slow thrusts, with each lunge retracting back almost the full length, yet keeping the head embedded in me before it moves upward again. The first three or four rotations are painful, but manageable.

After that, my butt accepts it just like all the cocks and dildos that have previously entered me, just smoother and more even in its assault. This will change as the speed is varied and vibration turned on and up. The machine drives on without effort and I come to the realization that my ass could and may well be fucked for hours, who knows? I hope I can bear it and that my hole doesn’t tear or become rubbed raw, a distinct possibility.

And the slow dripping in my mouth continues.

They are not done; my chair sitting will feature at least one more antagonizer. His co-master opens an unassuming case, the one his sub carried in with him when we first ‘met’, He pulls his toy out of the box. “I brought this just for you. It’s a Milker Automatic Masturbation Machine,” he too acts like the many salesmen I chatted with at the trade show earlier in the week.

As he holds it up, I recognize it as a device designed to go around the penis to mimic real sex with automatic stroking and suction. “I assume you have never used one of these, they can both please and tease. You told me when you greeted us that you wanted me to abuse you. Well, I’m going to let the machine milk you straight through multiple orgasms driving you into the realms of insanity,” he wickedly tells me. “My sub when tied down goes berserk straining against his bondage within minutes of his orgasm when I keep it running past ejaculation. I shut it off because I love and care about him.

You are not so lucky as I plan to let it run until you are having dry ejaculations, maybe longer than that and tied as you are there’s nothing you can do to stop me. I can’t wait to see what happens when it goes on relentlessly as you fight against your restraints. Sorry Bitch, but I am here to have fun, and you signed up to be the entertainment.”

The toy comes with two cylinders, a long one meant as full shaft pleaser and the second one that is a short cylinder built to tease delicate spots like the tip of the penis. I’ll be getting the full shaft. He commands his nearby sub to make me hard. I expect a blow job, but instead I am hand masturbated and vibrated till I’m rock hard. The kid was good at his assignment. I’m sure the robo-cock that is still going into and out of my butt hole helped. Once hard, my shaft is further lubed, and the cylinder is placed over it. The device is held tight against my groin by cords secured around my waist. Even if I go placid, my cock will not fall out of its grasp. It is turned on and my trapped cock feels the pleasant pulling and sucking it was designed to provide.

And the slow dripping in my mouth continues.

“OK, he’s seen enough, put a blindfold on him so he can concentrate on his ride,” orders Master and I am blindfolded into darkness. The cock in my butt comes to a halt and I feel them add a new coating of lube on it and around my hole. “It looks like he could use a drink before we get started,” says Master and I am caught off guard as a rush of piss floods my mouth. Unhappily and without choice, I gulp it down, nearly choking on it as I feel movement again in my butt hole and the flow in my mouth returns to dripping. The speed of the thrusts has been increased. And then the vibration is turned on.

There must be two working the controls because simultaneously the action on my cock accelerates. Other than the piss, this feels good. My dick is getting excited, hard, real hard from the sucking action and movement with the vibrations and thrusting in my ass stimulating my prostate and the like. Wow, nice.

I was allowed to enjoy the ecstasy of the moment for probably five minutes. I was on a path to climax when the boys began to adjust the controls, first turning up the speed of butt penetration, then increasing the vibrations. The masturbater was then put at a more intense sucking and pulling level. I am not going to handle the new stroking speed for long. As hard as I try not to, I last maybe just another three or four minutes when I go rigid and my dick begins to spasm, shooting my load into the cylinder. The device doesn’t mind and keeps stroking and sucking my weakened but still slightly pulsating semi-rigid cock while I continue to be pounded from behind.

My dickhead, now super sensitive, tries to pull away from the machine, but it is trapped. The stimulation is now unpleasant, and I struggle with my bonds. I hear laughter and the comment “Look at him go; no matter how hard he strains he can’t get away from it, this is great!” Being milked post ejaculation is a severe pain/pleasure kind of stimulation. The body involuntarily tries to escape from it, in this case to no avail. If it was being done manually, the abuser would likely ease off, but this machine is unyielding, relentless, ruthless. I am rewarded for my ejaculation with a large gulp of my beverage. A shock as it was certainly unexpected.

As the cock machine continues using my own cum as lube, the butt assault is stopped so the shaft can be again re-lubed to protect my hole from the ongoing friction. They will do this about every five to seven minutes during my time on the chair and it did save me. They often used the same time to give me a mouthful of urine, then returning the flow to drips. It appears to amuse them. This co-timing was helpful as I began to expect it and therefore was ready for the burst of pee when it came, unlike the first. Towards the end of this ordeal, I began to feel bloated and sick to my stomach from the overhydration by the foul liquid. And ironically now I needed to pee.

It took a while for my body to accept the continued cock stimulation after fruitless attempts to otherwise get away from it. When they noticed my tolerance change, they adjusted the speed back down a bit. They turned down the butt vibration too but increased the thrust speed. A few minutes later, someone began fondling my balls as someone else messaged my nipples. These actions helped to reinvigorate my cock and it began its recovery presenting a new erection. It took longer, as common, to get to the point of orgasm the second time, but before long with this added attention we were again approaching a climax. The vibration was increased, the stroking/sucking action was likewise accelerated, and soon I was squirting in the cylinder once again, just not as much.

The continuation of the milking the second time was worse. I was surprised with the energy I was exerting against my restraints, but they held fast, and so did the cylinder around my dick and the plug moving in my butt. I was weakening from my overexertion. The waist twisting I was doing to try to free my cock was causing my butt hole to ache as the thrust rod and dildo were rigid and unyielding, so it was my butt hole that had to absorb the stress.

More lube, more piss, more stroking, more agony.

I find myself trying to hold my breath to keep the shaft and head stimulations from pushing me over the edge. My mind is going spastic, just as the master had predicted and wanted. They play with my nipples, balls and with the controls and eventually I get somewhat erect again and after a lot of up and down of the cylinder controls and the ass vibrations at full speed and butt thrust high, I ejaculate a third time, not sure how much came out, if anything. I do know my dick was spasming and that the cylinder kept going, I squirmed, struggled, cried, and they laughed.

More lube, more piss, more stroking, constant agony.

Then a stop in the action. The cylinder was changed out for the smaller one which was placed over my oh so sensitive dickhead. The butt plunger was re-lubed, piss gulp delivered, and we were back to action. This dick stroking was more intense as it was localized and working on my most susceptible spot. The nerve endings were on fire and unhappy. Yet the mind and body responded with an erect penis. The orgasm came quicker, I’m sure nothing was discharged, all it did was spasm, jumping around as the top-heavy cylinder at the head of my cock caused it to swing. Its cords keep it from falling off, much to my dismay. The stimulation kept coming and I was truly suffering to my captor’s delight.

Apparently watching the mental anguish of cock overstimulation is more amusing to these Dom’s of BDSM then other forms of punishments and abuses they deliver. Milking a man to insanity, who would have thought?

More lube, more piss, more stroking, complete agony.

By now my mind and body were like Jello and I became numb to the abuse. I’m not sure if I had dry ejaculated again or not. It was likely. The last half hour of this torment is mostly a blur. I know that they continued to readjust the speeds and vibration level every few minutes. It may have been to allow the others in the room to take turns abusing me and seeing if they could get reactions. I was shattered and had no reactions left. I had consumed way too much piss, suffered too many thrusts, too much stroking. My cock and ass felt broken, and my stomach nauseated when they finally shut the butt and dick machines down.

I was left bound to the chair for a good half hour, maybe longer to recover as best I could, however, they continued to let the pee drip into my mouth and the now motionless cock remained fully extended into my butt during my rest time. I did fall off to sleep once and woke suddenly as I nearly choked from the urine that had accumulated in my mouth.

When I was finally released from the chair, I was reminded that the original intent was for me to drink just my own pea and if I had given them a reasonable discharge to use when asked I would have drunk a lot less and I would surely had been done with this torture sooner. It’s a little late to tell me that. Back on my feet, I was a little unsteady, but did feel better, some strength had returned. My hands this time are cuffed in front of me so that I can eat a granola energy bar that has been given to me. My lunch. It helps clear the nasty taste in my mouth, but a little burp brings it right back. I am also offered two Pepto-Bismol tablets, telling me it will help settle my stomach.

I take them. The food bar and tablets seemed to settle my stomach, along with taking a substantial pee into the empty urinal bottle. I guess I am ready for the next ordeal, but then, ready or not, it is going to happen.

Chapter 14: Horsing Around in Vegas

{Saturday 12:00 noon – 2:00 pm} I am taken to the wet room where all my cuffs are removed. Having no idea of what time of day it is, I am assuming I am here for my second daily cleansing, although it just doesn’t seem that long ago that I was here. I’m tired and my wandering mind makes me a little confused. My very sore butt is not looking forward to being touched at the moment. I am also unhappy to see I have an entourage of four with me. Are they going to watch this? How perverted and disgusting. But it’s not what I think, as one of the masters in the group picks up a hanger with a full-length black rubber suit and hood from a hook on the wall and shows it to me.

“Isn’t this nice, it’s for you, I brought it with me, it’s just your size.” This is going to be another new experience for me. I really need to rethink all the things that are listed in the Contract, although I don’t have any particular fear of this kink. I really know nothing about it. When I’ve seen it online, the women always looked hot in latex and when they were bound, it was great. I feel a surge of energy as the anticipation of something new that I would like to try. My mind is back into the game, I’m living my fantasies, I hope my body can hold up. Not exactly sure how this will play out though. I’m sure it will still be tied to the BDSM world.

My entire body is meticulously rubbed down with bath towels and then air dried with a hair blower. Cornstarch is then sprinkled all over me. I am leaned up against the Tee for balance as the one-piece garment is readied. It is rolled open and folded down with a significant amount of the cornstarch shaken into one of the legs. My left leg is lifted and slid into the powdered leg sleeve. I am told to point my toes and ankle down and they carefully and very slowly pull my foot through the foot opening. I put my foot down on the floor as the suit’s leg is then pulled up, again very slowly as it is a tight fit; the process moving an inch or two at a time. I now better understand what my wife goes through putting on pantyhose and tights.

They continue to smooth out the rubber and center the back seam as they go. As it rolls up the tightness and constriction make the suit feel like a second skin. Every few minutes additional corn starch is sprinkled on my skin. You can tell that one of the masters leading the work is an expert at this by the way he exhibits patience with the process and how he uses his ‘rolling hand’ as a barrier between the rubber and my skin. It grinds on. They get to my knee and stop. The method is then repeated with the other leg. This technique continues as they come up my thighs, over my hips and butt. I’m surprised and amused that this is crotchless; there will be open access to my privates.

The torso of the suit is zippered from the back and the front including the arms is all one piece extending up from the legs, so after the time-consuming process of the suit’s arms, chest, and even my lower neck being fitted to me first, the garment is zipped up from behind, ever so slowly, pulling my sides together, then the back closed. The constriction reminds me of all that I love about stretch-wrap bondage. The rubber has formed a vacuum with my skin and while currently I still have freedom to move all my limbs, there is that tight confining cocoon feel that I like so much. I’m sure they used a box of cornstarch in the donning.

The team seems pleased with the outcome of their tedious work.

The body suit has matching gloves, which are put on and fastened to snaps onto the sleeves, followed by rubber feet, better described as socks or booties, encapsulating my feet and snapped to the body of the suit. My ensemble is not complete as they are now fitting me with a red and black rubber corset. This goes on much easier and faster, having hook and loop buttons in the front and eyelets and loose laces in the back. It is unclipped, wrapped around me and refastened. The laces are then pulled tight one row at a time until my waist is constricted, not easy for a man, and my breathing minimized a tad, maybe more. The corset has matching wrist bondage cuffs that are put on and then locked to rings on the corset. Similar cuffs are put on my ankles, but for the moment at least not attached to each other or anything else.

Finally, it is time for the hood, and using the same methods of donning, I now have a new rubber skin, tight around my head and face. The mouth and eyes are open but have snaps on each side of the openings to attach a matching blindfold and gag if desired. My nose is covered; however, there are two small gromet air holes to allow breathing when the gag is used. The hood overlays the neck of the suit. There is a neck belt on the hood that buckles and has four D-rings, front and back, and sides. These are in addition to one located at the top of the hood. I am ready to serve my captors as entertainment in a new fashion. I see my reflection in the wet room windows. In my opinion I don’t look erotic like the women I’ve seen outfitted in latex, but I think I have a sexier appearance than my naked body has been.

My dressers advised that the play party is moving outside, and I’m invited and that they have already RSVP for me. I am led to the playroom’s exit doors and taken outside. The first thing I notice is it is hot out and I can feel the warmth of the desert sun’s rays through the black rubber. I am walked to the chaise lounge area where I see more gear. Initially, I’m not sure, but it looks like pony-play equipment.

I’m surprised and pleased that they start by applying suntan lotion to my two areas of exposure, my face and my privates. There is a fine line between putting lotion on my privates and rubbing my privates with lotion. Let’s just say, I am not likely to burn there today. I am then told to raise my feet, one at a time of course, where hoof boots are placed over my rubberized feet. They have an odd feel, unlike shoes or sneakers. This had to be planned way in advance, as the rubber suit was sized for me, and so are these boots. When Sir and I were discussing the trip to Vegas, he quizzed me on my clothing and shoe sizes, now I understand why.

A harness is fastened around my waist and lower chest, overtop of my corset. I am told to bend forward, and my exposed sore butthole is fitted with a well lubed steel butt plug sporting a long black horse hair tail. Next comes a bit and bridle snuggly attached over my rubber hood and into my open mouth. They take their time making sure it is well adjusted so they can control my head movement as well as my speech. They add blinders to limit my peripheral vision. A red plume is then inserted in the top. My arms are then crossed behind my back and bound so that they are useless to me. I wish there was a mirror as I would like to see what I look like now with the horse gear. Am I a stud? Erotic? Sexy? A spectacle? I like the half-naked girl ponies prancing on the internet. Will this crowd think I look sexy?

Hey, brain, what are you thinking? Why do you care? Who is here that you want to look sexy for? Ego? What are they doing to my mind? I’m here to be a submissive, not for whatever was just going through my mind. OK, concentrate on what they are telling you to do.

I am told to walk forward about fifteen feet, turn around and come back, I do. I am then told to do it again, this time trot, like a horse. I can do it, but my butt reminds me it is sore from its earlier overuse as the plug wiggles as I run. When I come back, reins are attached to my bridle. I’m told if the right rein is pulled, I’m to go right, left pulled, then left. Both jiggled, go forward; pulled back, stop. Hit with the crop, go faster. In my mind, ‘A crop? Crap.’

They have me trot back and forth a few times. I’m told to prance more, to raise my knees up high as part of each step. It is then that the master that has led my rubber latex and now horse transformation says, “Lets connect him to the sulky, I’m ready for a ride.” I look around and don’t see any cart. But I do see one of the subs opening a gate in the pool area’s privacy wall. I am trotted to and out the gate. Just to the outside of the gate is a chrome sulky to which my harness is quickly attached. We are now outback of the home’s property; it is wide open. My concern is not that I am dressed as a horse, it is that my junk is fully exposed. I am visible to the world.

A rider gets in, by the voice I can tell it’s the same master. I get a shake of the reins and crack of the whip, and I start to pull the cart forward. We are on a flat, smooth winding path that transverses the rear of the property. I have no idea of what is around me, as my view is limited, and I am concentrating on my trotting in the awkward hoof boots. The path ultimately terminates at the home’s driveway by the garage. I am concerned as I am directed onto the driveway to continue my pulling. I’ve been slowed to a fast walk. My route is still down the driveway.

At the point where the driveway meets the turnoff to the front of the house I try to turn that way, but my left rein is pulled hard, and the whip hits me hard. “I decide where we are going, not the dumb animal!” And we continue down the driveway towards the public road, my cock and balls swaying back and forth as we move forward. We reach the road where we stopped and he has me wait facing the street until you can hear a car approaching, he waits until it nearly reaches us when he mercifully turns me around and we start heading back up, my exposed privates no longer visible, street side.

I am now noticing I am getting hot. This black suit absorbs the sun’s rays. The driver pulls me to a stop at the wye to the house where the Host has a bottle of water for me, which they help pour into my mouth, as I have no hands and there is a bit in my mouth. I pull my rider all the way back to the starting point. There waiting for me is an attendant with a hose who squirts me down with cold water which is much welcomed. I am ‘fed’ more water, this time via a horse bucket held to my face which I must lap up to overcome the bit in my mouth. My temperature is also taken with an electronic thermometer, I am warm, but deemed still within their set health and safety limits.

“Who’s next?” My rest is over, and another rider gets in. This ride is much shorter and limited to the outback and the pace is a simple walk. Upon return, another hosing, watering, temperature taking and a change of riders. The third rider takes his turn, this time with more whipping as he wants me to go faster around the backward loop. I respond with a faster trot as best as I can, not so much to please my rider as to stop his strikes of the riding crop. Another exchange and this time it’s Sir Michael taking the reins. He’s less aggressive with the whip than the others. I am exhausted, hot and dragging.

We have traveled about a third of the outback path when he calls out, “Are you out of steam, do we need to stop?” I shake my head up and down, like a horse does. And he says, “OK let’s go back.” We turned around and returned to the gate. My best friend wants me to live my fantasy but not harm me in the process.

After a quick hose down for cooling, I am taken to the gazebo for shade as they remove my horse paraphernalia, leaving me in my original rubber gear. My arms are released from my back, and I am allowed to drink my own bottle of water before they attach my wrists to the side rings of my corset. I am led from the protected gazebo to the nearby patio area where I am helped to the ground and laid out on a rubber pad (I’m told to protect the garment, not for my comfort). My arms are released from my corset and pulled up and wide, being resecured to chains secured to rings hidden within the pavers. My legs are similarly held down.

The purpose for this attachment isn’t so much to put me in strict bondage as to keep me held while they slowly roast me without the ability to seek my own relief. Black rubber clothes, hot sun rays, I will heat fast. Thankfully my exposed skin was recoated with suntan lotion to replace that lost in the washdowns.

I do heat up fast. For my safety, they check my temperature with an electronic thermometer every five minutes or so. I am not sure what they established as the cut off, but at least four times I was sprayed down with cool water which provided needed relief. I’m sure I was barbequed for at least thirty to forty-five minutes. As I laid there, I could hear lots of outside activities. Some were using the pool; others were on the lounge chairs near me chatting. Some were being serviced. I was just left alone other than for safety checks and cooling. Other than the heat, I loved the feel of the rubber and the time to rest, I did drift off occasionally, only to be awakened by the hose. The last time I was awoken by one of my monitors who said, “Sir Michael, if you want him medium-rare, he’s done.”

Chapter 15: Under the Desert Sun and Unstill Waters

{Saturday 2:00 pm – 7:00 pm} It was time to play with me again, this time in the pool. “I read you like the water. You have fantasies of being tied helpless on the beach, waiting to be overtaken by the waves,” stated one of the masters. That wasn’t true. In San Diego when we were at the beach, Sir Michael had asked if I had any desire to be tied down and then have the ocean waves consume me. I had clearly indicated I didn’t, but during the conversation I did explain a method I thought would work to keep someone tied down in the sand. I had foolishly written this exchange down in my journal, now being misinterpreted.

I was released from my land-based chains, hands reattached to the corset, lifted up and walked to the walk-in entry of the pool. This was one of the attractive features I had noticed when we toured. The pool edge is flush with the pool deck and then the pool floor descends downward like a ramp into the depths of the pool

Vegas Twelve to One · Part 8 (8/14)
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