His Rubber Toy: Part 3

All characters in this story are consenting fictional adults (21+) with consent throughout the story. This is fictional content intended for adults only.

Part 1 & Part 2

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Matthew's fingers lingered on the cool titanium surface, his breath shallow as he lifted the chastity cage from its velvet-lined nest in the box. The device felt heavier than he expected, solid and unyielding in his palm, the front designed to hug his shaft without mercy.

His cock stood rigid, veins pulsing along its length, the head swollen and leaking a steady stream of pre-cum that smeared against his thigh as he shifted on the bed. He stripped off his pink shirt and salmon trousers, kicking them aside, leaving his smooth, hairless body exposed to the cool air of his bedroom. His small nipples hardened instantly, and his balls tightened, drawing up close to his body in anticipation.

He sat on the edge of the mattress, legs spread wide, and gripped the base ring first—the thick circle of metal that would encircle the root of his cock and balls.

It was small, cold against his heated skin as he rolled his sac through it, one testicle at a time. The ring pinched slightly at the skin, forcing his balls to bulge forward, trapped and prominent.

He tugged his semi-hard shaft—still throbbing from the pub encounter—through the opening next, feeling the metal bite into the tender flesh at the base. His heart raced, a mix of fear and thrill surging through him as he adjusted the ring, sliding it snug against his pubic bone. It fit perfectly, almost too perfectly, compressing just enough to remind him of its presence with every breath.

Next came the cage itself, the main tube that would swallow his erection whole. Matthew's hand shook as he aligned the pins at the end of the ring with the holes in the cage's base. His dick twitched eagerly, slapping against his belly, desperate for the confinement it both craved and dreaded.

He pressed the head of his cock against the opening, the bars cool and unforgiving as they parted to accept him. Inch by inch, he pushed forward, the metal scraping lightly along his sensitive skin, forcing his shaft to bend slightly downward into the curved prison. Pre-cum slicked the way, easing the slide, but the tightness built quickly—the bars gripped him like a vice, squeezing his girth until he gasped, his hips bucking involuntarily.

Sweat beaded on his forehead as he worked the last bit in, his cockhead pressing against the solid end cap, trapped and bulging against the tiny slits that allowed only the barest drainage. The sensors inside hummed faintly to life, a subtle vibration that sent jolts straight to his core, making his hole clench and his toes curl.

He fumbled with the locking mechanism, the small key slot clicking into place as he turned the integrated screw. It tightened with a series of precise whirs, the high-tech lock engaging automatically, pulling the components together with mechanical precision. The ring clamped down harder around his base, the cage fusing seamlessly to it, compressing his cock and balls into an iron hold that allowed no give, no escape.

A final, resounding click echoed in the quiet room as the lock sealed shut, the titanium now one unbreakable unit around his manhood.

Matthew's breath hitched, his body trembling as the reality sank in—the extreme tightness bordering on pain, every pulse of his denied erection sending sharp throbs through the confined flesh. He could feel the bars digging into his skin, the ring squeezing his balls so they swelled outward, vulnerable and owned.

His fingers traced the seams, testing the bonds, but nothing budged; it was locked extremely tightly, molding to him like a second skin, the sensors now active and pulsing with his heartbeat.

He collapsed back onto the bed, panting, his free hand roaming over his caged cock, feeling the heat trapped inside, the futile attempts to harden fully met with unyielding resistance.

Pre-cum oozed from the tip, dripping onto his sheets, but relief was impossible now. Somewhere, Brian would know—the app notifying him of the lock's engagement, the submission complete.

Matthew's ass lifted off the mattress, grinding against the air, his mind flooding with images of what came next: Brian's commands, the rubber suits, the bonds that would claim every inch of him. The cage's grip tightened with his arousal, a constant reminder of his choice, his body no longer his own.

Brian lounged in his leather armchair, the dim light of his living room casting long shadows across the walls lined with abstract art that hid the secrets of his desires.

His phone buzzed on the side table, a sharp ping cutting through the quiet hum of the evening. He snatched it up, eyes narrowing as the notification flashed across the screen: 'Device Engaged. Lock Confirmed. Subject: Matthew.'

A slow, smile curled his lips, his thick fingers tightening around the device. The high-tech chastity cage had done its job—Matthew's submission was sealed, his cock and balls now prisoners in titanium, tracked and controlled from this very app.

Brian leaned back, his muscular chest rising with a deep breath, the white shirt from the pub still clinging to his broad frame. He could picture the boy in his mind's eye: petite, smooth-skinned, trembling as the lock clicked shut, his erection straining uselessly against the bars, pre-cum dripping in futile frustration.

'Good boy,' Brian murmured to the empty room, his voice a low rumble. Matthew had chosen this—chosen him. The power exchange was real now, no longer words in a pub or texts on a screen. The kid's body belonged to him, locked away until Brian decided otherwise.

Heat stirred in Brian's groin, his own cock thickening against the confines of his black leather trousers, the material creaking softly as he shifted.

Years of solitude, of polishing gear in the dark without a willing sub to fill it, had built this hunger into something fierce. But now, with that ping, the drought ended. He rose from the chair, his 6'4" frame unfolding like a snake uncoiling, boots thudding against the hardwood floor as he crossed to the basement door.

The air grew cooler, thicker with the scent of latex and leather as he descended the stairs, each step echoing his growing anticipation. The dungeon awaited below—a sanctuary of control, walls padded in black soundproofing, racks of chains and cuffs gleaming under recessed lights, a sling suspended from reinforced beams, and shelves lined with toys that promised both pain and ecstasy.

Brian's gaze swept the space, landing on the centerpiece: a full-body black rubber gimp suit, laid out meticulously on a padded bench. The material shone like liquid obsidian, thick and seamless, designed to encase every inch of a submissive's form in unrelenting second skin.

He approached it slowly, his large hand reaching out to trace the zipper that ran from crotch to neck, feeling the give of the latex under his fingertips. It was custom-fitted for someone of Matthew's slender build—5'5" of lithe muscle and minimal hair, perfect for molding into obedience.

Brian lifted the suit partially, the hood dangling like a mask of anonymity, eye slits and mouth opening positioned to allow just enough vision and access for service. His mind raced with visions: Matthew's pale skin vanishing beneath the rubber, the suit vacuum-sealed tight, compressing his caged cock into a bulging pouch at the front, his ass exposed through a rear zipper for easy use.

He held the suit up to the light, inhaling the faint, chemical tang of fresh latex that always ignited his dominance. 'Finally,' Brian thought, his cock now fully hard, pressing insistently against his zipper, the head leaking into his underwear. '

A rubber gimp to train. I'll start slow—lube him up, force his arms into the sleeves, watch him squirm as the legs slide over his thighs, sealing his feet into the built-in suit.' The images flooded him: Matthew on his knees in the dungeon, the suit creaking with every movement, his voice muffled through the hood as he begged for release that wouldn't come.

Brian would mold him, break down his inexperience layer by layer—first with simple commands, collaring him in rubber, then binding his wrists behind his back while the chastity app teased vibrations through the cage, edging him without mercy.

Brian's free hand dropped to his crotch, palming his erection through the leather, a groan escaping his throat. 'He'll learn to worship this,' he continued in his mind, unzipping just enough to free his thick shaft, the veined length slapping against his palm.

Pre-cum beaded at the slit as he stroked slowly, imagining Matthew's rubbered face pressed close, the hood's mouth hole stretched around his cock, sucking greedily while chained to the floor.

'I'll train that virgin hole too—plug him, stretch him with fingers and toys until he's gaping, then fuck him raw, pounding until he screams 'Master' through the latex.' The suit in his hands felt alive now, a vessel for his fantasies, ready to transform the nervous boy from the pub into a devoted slave.

Brian's strokes quickened, his balls drawing tight, but he held back, savoring the build. Tomorrow, he'd summon Matthew here, make him strip and step into this prison of pleasure. The ping had been the key; now, the real locking began.

Brian set the rubber gimp suit back on the bench with deliberate care, his cock still throbbing half-hard in his hand as he tucked it away, zipping up the leather trousers with a satisfied grunt. The dungeon's air felt charged now, humming with possibility, but he wasn't done savoring the moment.

He pulled his phone from his pocket again, thumbing open the app that linked him to Matthew's new titanium prison. The interface glowed under the low lights, a dashboard of dominance at his fingertips—real-time data streaming from the embedded sensors in the cage.

There it was: Matthew's cock size displayed in crisp metrics, flaccid at 2.3 inches, nestled soft against the curved bars, the internal tracker noting every twitch. Brian watched as the numbers flickered—2.4, 2.5— the boy attempting to swell, arousal building from the fresh lock's psychological grip, but the unyielding titanium clamped down, forcing it back to a futile 2.2 inches after thirty seconds of strain.

A graph plotted the erection attempts: peaks at 3.1 inches max, aborted by the cage's constriction, each one logging the duration of frustration—ten seconds here, a full minute there. Brian chuckled low, imagining Matthew squirming on his bed, hand hovering but unable to touch, his balls already tightening in denial.

The lock timer ticked relentlessly: 00:02:17 elapsed since engagement, counting up in seconds, minutes, projected to hours, days, weeks if Brian willed it. Months, even years, stretched out as options in the settings—endless denial tailored to his mood.

But the real power lay in the controls: a slider for shocks, from mild buzz to sharp jolt straight to the balls, or the spike mechanism—internal pins that could protrude just enough to prick sensitive skin, a reminder of ownership without permanent harm. Brian's finger hovered over the shock button, tempted to test it now, to make Matthew yelp across town, his body jerking as electricity zapped his sack, cock straining uselessly in response.

Instead, he selected a low vibration pulse, just enough to tease, and hit send. The app confirmed delivery: 'Pulse initiated. Subject response: Heart rate elevated. Attempted erection: 45 seconds.' Brian's own dick hardened fully again, pressing against the leather as he pictured it—Matthew gasping, thighs clenching, the cage humming against his trapped shaft, building need without release.

'That's right, boy,' Brian muttered, pocketing the phone and turning back to the gimp suit. He traced the rear zipper once more, envisioning opening it to expose Matthew's smooth ass, untouched and virgin, ready for plugs or his fingers to probe deep.

The night stretched ahead, but Brian's mind was already planning the first session. He'd text Matthew soon—summon him here, make him strip bare, then slide into the rubber, sealing him in while the app monitored every futile throb.

Shocks for hesitation, spikes for disobedience, until the boy begged to suck his Master's cock, locked and leaking. Brian's hand returned to his crotch, squeezing firmly as he ascended the stairs, the dungeon door clicking shut behind him. Tomorrow, the training began in earnest.

Brian leaned back against the cool wall of the staircase, the dungeon's echo fading as he pulled out his phone once more. The app's glow had whetted his appetite, but now it was time to reel in his new catch. His thumb danced over the screen, crafting the message with precise intent—words to bind Matthew tighter than the cage already did. He hit send, a smile curling his lips as the notification zipped off into the ether.

Good boy. You've made the right choice locking that pretty little cock away for me. It marks you as mine now—my submissive, ready to obey. We'll start your training at my place next weekend. Until then, stay locked and think of how I'll use you. No touching, no release. Master.

The deliberate vagueness of 'next weekend' stretched the denial to ten full days, a calculated decision to soften Matthew's resolve, make him ache for the structure only Brian could provide. Brian pocketed the device, his cock twitching at the thought of the boy's isolation, every denied throb feeding his growing control.

Across town, Matthew sat on the edge of his bed, the titanium cage a constant, unyielding weight between his legs. He'd been staring at his reflection in the mirror, smooth skin flushed from the lock's final click, when his phone buzzed sharply on the nightstand.

Heart pounding, he snatched it up, the screen lighting his face with Brian's words. A rush of heat flooded him—pride at the praise, shame at his eagerness, and a deep, insistent pull in his groin as the cage bit down on his swelling shaft.

'Good boy.' The phrase echoed in his mind, sending shivers down his spine. He shifted, feeling the bars press against his sensitive skin, his balls drawing up tight from the fresh arousal. Ten days? The realization hit like a slap—endless hours of frustration, his body betraying him with every stray thought of Brian's deep voice, those strong hands.

Matthew's fingers trembled as he typed a reply, but he hesitated, remembering the rules. Instead, he simply responded: Yes, Master. Thank you.

He lay back, thighs parting instinctively, one hand ghosting over his flat stomach but stopping short of the cage. The metal warmed against his skin, trapping his futile attempts to harden—3 inches at most, crushed back to a pathetic nub after twenty seconds of straining.

A soft whimper escaped his lips, imagining the weekend: arriving at Brian's door, stripping bare, the air thick with leather and rubber scents. Would Master inspect the cage first, tug on it to make him gasp? Or plunge him straight into restraints, binding wrists and ankles while the device hummed with denied need?

Matthew's breath quickened, his free hand clenching the sheets as phantom shocks teased his mind—though none came yet.

The app's silent watchfulness loomed in his thoughts, Brian seeing every pulse, every desperate twitch. He rolled onto his side, ass clenching around nothing, yearning for the plugs and probes he'd only read about.

Ten days to stew in submission, to edge himself mentally without relief, building to that moment when he'd kneel, mouth open, ready to worship Master's thick cock as reward for his patience.

Back in his living room, Brian poured a whiskey, the amber liquid burning down his throat as he checked the app again. Matthew's metrics spiked: erection attempt at 1:12 duration, size peaking at 3.2 before collapse, heart rate racing.

No shocks yet—let the boy simmer. Brian's own hand drifted to his zipper, freeing his heavy dick to stroke slowly, pre-cum beading at the tip as he envisioned the training: Matthew on his knees in the dungeon, rubber hood sealing his senses, body arched in bondage while Brian's fingers explored that tight, virgin hole. The weekend couldn't come soon enough, but the wait would forge the perfect slave.