Synopsis: Max's life in lockdown definitely isn't what anyone would think.
Keywords: ass play, buttplug, chastity, humiliation, mind control, shaving, voyeur
Reader feedback is quite welcome. | corey_grant@gmx.com
With fair Nordic features and a bushy "Viking" beard, the smirking face that had suddenly appeared on Max's computer screen belonged to Joey, his former college roommate and (at least until the lockdown began) an occasional gym buddy and frequent wingman.
"Whoa! He lives!"
The words Joey now spoke were a playful jab at Max's apparent vanishing off the face of the earth, as Max had only sent half a dozen vague texts and had declined every single FaceTime call Joey had made over the past two weeks.
Nothing actually prevented Max from talking to Joey during that time. There had never been a single instruction requiring him to cut off contact with his buddies, nor one to prevent him from telling someone what was going on.
Still, if it hadn't been clear to Max before this moment why he'd severed almost all contact with his social circle as soon as his predicament began, it was quite obvious now. Sitting there bare-ass naked, shaved smooth, with a locked up cock and a 9" dildo stretching his hole open as it stabbed deep into his guts, Max felt a whole new level of shame with his buddy Joey looking right at him in his current state.
Thankfully for Max, his laptop camera was still set up as it had been for his Zoom meeting and, having finally gotten himself all the way down on the dildo, he was positioned so that he was only captured on video from the chest up. Mercifully, the most humiliating aspects of Max's present situation were, at least for the moment, completely out of Joey's sight.
"Heh, yeah..." Max hesitantly began, "I guess, uh, I've been kinda hard to reach lately..."
"No shit!" Joey exclaimed good-naturedly before squinting to apparently study the image on his own screen. "You workin' out or something, bruh?"
Max didn't have to guess at how he must appear to Joey because he could also see it in the small box on his own screen: drenched in sweat from the struggle he'd just been enduring, red-faced from the rage he'd just been expressing, and still panting from the combination of both.
"What? Uh, yeah... yeah, I was just getting a quick workout in," Max replied. "Gotta keep it up, you know?"
Joey gave an exaggerated scoff in response. "Damn, look at you, bruh! Even in a motherfuckin' pandemic, thinking about how you'll keep scoring pussy when this is all over." Joey's eyes flicked up and down, clearly studying the image on his own screen. "Man, I think I've gained 10 pounds since this whole thing started and, shit, you're looking like a fucking Olympic athlete over there."
"Ah, yeah, you know, just like... health is more important than ever now, you know?" Max awkwardly managed to say in reply, all the while trying to think of how to end this conversation. It was bad enough having to look Joey in the face when he had a 9" rubber dong stuffed up his ass, but now also feeling his buddy scoping out his bare flesh only made him feel vulnerable and exposed.
"Hey, wait a minute..." Joey said, his brow knitting as he seemed to be studying something on his screen.
Max felt his stomach drop and he started to intensely inspect his own image on the screen, trying to determine what had caught Joey's attention.
Had he misjudged the angle?
Could Joey see more of him than he had previously thought?
Could he see that Max was naked -- or, worse yet, could he see the chunk of metal Max had locked around his ever-leaking cock?
Max's heartbeat quickened as a thousand worries raced through his mind about what Joey might have seen.
"When'd you shave your chest?"
The tightness in Max's stomach relaxed when he realized he'd not been found out, but in its place came a burning in his cheeks, embarrassed at the feeling of his buddy apparently studying his now-hairless chest.
"Uh... `bout a month ago," Max replied nervously, checking his mental records to try and figure out when the last time Joey would have seen him undressed in the locker room was.
"Oh, yeah?" Joey said, confusion on his face.
Given that Max had proudly boasted back in college about "being a beast" with respect to his hairy torso, it made sense that Joey seemed to need some further explanation for this stark change in his appearance.
"Veronica got me to do it," Max volunteered.
"Veronica?" Joey replied, the mask of confusion now stronger on his face. "Didn't she go back to her ex or something, like, two months ago?"
"Nah, man... She couldn't resist comin' back for more," Max lied, throwing in a forced grin in the hopes that his claim would come across convincingly.
Joey grinned and chuckled in response, apparently buying Max's line. "So, what, like, she said she'd ditch her husband for good if you ditched your chest hair?"
"Uh, yeah, something like that..."
"Hold on, wait..." Joey began, his eyes darting around the screen as though he were looking for something. "Is she there in quarantine with you?" Joey asked, clearly enthused by the idea that Max had locked down a sweet piece of ass for the lockdown.
"Umm, well..." Max hesitantly started.
"Shit, bruh! She IS there, isn't she? You been M-I-A for the past two weeks `cause you've been getting your dick wet every day, eh?" Joey excitedly asked, channelling "frat boy" vibes with a sophomoric chuckle.
Max winced at that. Having spent every day for the past two weeks forcing multiple different sex toys into his tight hole, licking up and drinking down the pre-cum and piss that came out of his pitiful caged cock, Max had been knocked much too far off his perch as a pussy-smashing fuck-boy even to pretend like what Joey said could be true.
"Heh, yeah... you caught me..." Max half-heartedly replied, his defeated mindset leaving him unable to muster up enough energy to say it with any conviction.
Not that it mattered, though -- Joey was clearly not even waiting for Max's response, muttering out another, "Shit, bruh!" of congratulations before Max had even finished his weak response.
Max was eager to end this. Not only was every moment he spent on video another possible instant when Joey might start to clue in to what he was keeping out of sight, but the mental image of Veronica sucking his dick had his shaft now swelling painfully in the rigid tube that prevented it from becoming erect.
"Listen, bruh, I, uh, I gotta get back to work. This, uh, was just my break. I'm working on a deadline."
"Shit, man, you're telling me even during a motherfucking pandemic your boss is still riding your ass?"
Max visibly flinched at Joey's choice of words as they forced his attention back to the 9" of dick-shaped rubber he was riding while trying to talk to his best friend.
Max cleared his throat. "Ahem, yeah, been working like crazy. Everything's real hectic at work, you know? Big changes and all that."
"Cool, cool," Joey said, "Well, how `bout we --"
"-- Really gotta go now, man," Max said suddenly, cutting Joey short.
"Aight, bruh. Don't work too hard, eh?" Joey said as he gave Max a casual salute.
"Right. Cool. See ya, man," Max hurriedly returned before ending the call.
That had been close.
Running his hands through his thick, dark, luscious hair, Max let out a long sigh of relief.
How long could he keep this up?
For that matter, how long would he have to keep this up?
Taking a deep breath, Max called to mind a mantra he had been repeating every day since this had started: "This too shall pass."
Lockdown couldn't last forever.
Surely, his tormentor would have to let him go when he was no longer trapped within these walls.
Surely, he would he be able to resume his normal life and treat this whole period in time like nothing more than a bad dream.
Surely, things would go back to the way they were before... Right?
Max closed his eyes and tried to centre himself.
Breathe in.
"This too shall pass."
Breathe out.
Breathe in.
"This too shall pass."
Breathe out.
His resolve restored, Max opened his eyes, quickly darting them to the time in upper right corner of his computer screen: 3:05PM.
Max never thought he'd be grateful to see he still had almost two hours left to his work day. However, with the exception of minor tasks like drinking a glass full of his own piss in front his officemates or licking up the puddles of pre-cum his caged cock inevitably produced, Max had found that his tormentor rarely gave him instructions that would interrupt his work.
He could blissfully lose himself in the mind-numbing boredom and normalcy of spreadsheets, emails, and memos, forgetting for at least a little while about everything else that was going on. He could, in those moments, even sometimes still believe that when 5:00PM hit, he'd be on his way to his regular after-work activities of hitting up the gym and grabbing drinks with his buddies.
Still, it was an open question as to how much longer Max could keep clinging to those memories. His new after-work activities for these past two weeks had been occurring with such regularity, it was only a matter of time before Max was conditioned into accepting "quitting time" no longer meant what it used to.
Today was yet another step towards his new routine being drilled into him. 5:00PM came with its own instructions and Max (however hard he tried to keep it from his mind) knew that, when the time came, he would act on his orders.
Thus, when his eyes glanced up to 4:59PM, Max found himself logging out of his various work accounts while trying to mentally brace himself for how his body would react in less than a minute's time.
As the clock rolled over to 5:00PM, the young man reluctantly obeyed his instruction for this time of day, gradually raising himself from his seat, whimpering as he felt his insides empty out once more as the ribbed and contoured dildo withdrew from the deep places in his guts it now so regularly resided in.
Max took only a moment to let out a sigh of relief after the thing had been completely withdrawn from his rear. Max's deepest innards would now get some reprieve -- however, his hole would certainly not. He could resist for only mere seconds before he acted on the compulsion to "choose" the next item he had to shove inside of himself.
As per his instructions, Max proceeded as he had every weekday for the past two weeks to direct his attention the full array of buttplugs he had sitting out on the shelf right above his desk.
Back when Max's ordeal first began, the buttplugs had arrived with half a dozen other packages of things he would be inserting inside of himself throughout the lockdown. The buttplugs, however, did not come separate from each other, but were a set of six all wrapped together in the same box.
They were identical in almost every way except one: colour.
It was only once Max had arranged them in their new home according to the specific order he been told to that he clued in to the significance of their appearance: red, orange, yellow, green, blue, and violet.
In a row together, they formed the pattern of the gay pride flag.
Max was, of course, thankful that his computer camera couldn't possibly catch the shelf on which they sat. After all, aside from their just being buttplugs, anyone catching sight of their "gay pride" colour pattern would have immediately assumed beyond a shadow of a doubt that Max was a raging homo.
More than that, however, Max was thankful that he could also avoid looking at them himself while he sat at his desk. As long he kept his eyes front and forward and didn't look up, he could also avoid the colourful reminder of just how exceptionally queer his new daily behaviour was.
Max's homophobia was not especially virulent -- he was not the type to go protest a gay pride parade with a "God Hates Fags" sign, for instance -- but it was definite homophobia, nonetheless.
In high school, Max was a dreaded bully for countless gay and gay-seeming kids, scrawling "FAG" across no shortage of lockers.
As an adult, his homophobia was tamer. It came out in subtler ways, such as preventing the women he bedded from doing "gay shit" like touching or playing with his ass.
Of course, he wished now that he had allowed every one of those women to experiment with his back passage, given that such training would make his current task much easier to accomplish. Where the dildo's difficulty resided in its length, the challenge of inserting any of the buttplugs came from their girth. Perhaps if he had let some of the more adventurous women he'd been with explore back there, he would have some semblance of how he was meant to take these things up his ass.
Regardless, the colours of the buttplugs were more than just a reminder of Max's new "gay lifestyle." Rather, they were also used to make his task all the more demeaning in yet another way.
It was bad enough that he had to do this. What made it worse was that he had to "choose" within the constraints he was given.
Letting out a defeated sigh, Max lifted one of the buttplugs from its place on the shelf, held it an inch away from his face, and angled his phone up at its usual position (the video clearly catching his full face, naked body, and chastity cage).
"Sir. The buttplug I chose for myself today is the blue one, Sir," Max grudgingly said into the camera, a part of him dying inside because it was true what he said, even if he was compelled to say it: he had actually CHOSEN the buttplug that he would now shove up his rear-end.
Wasting no time in sending the video off, Max got to work coating the sex toy in copious lube and setting it on the edge of his desk before turning around to lower himself onto it.
Rationally, Max knew that this (like the dildo) would be made easier if he also lubed up his ass and not just the thing that was going in it; yet, the young man could not bring himself to do that, lest he have to feel even more like the butt-boy he was becoming by pawing at his own hole with lubed-up fingers.
Struggling, whining, and panting, the task of getting this thing inside of him had yet to become any easier. It seemed to take him now almost as long as it did that first day. Even under the command of a hypnotic order he apparently could not resist, it still took 30 minutes of fighting to get the thick blue buttplug inside of him.
As always, the task came to a humiliating conclusion.
Despite himself, Max inadvertently released a deeply contented moan of both pleasure and relief while the engorged flesh inside his cage pathetically spat out a flood of runny pre-cum as the bulbous ass toy settled in place against his prostate.
Taking only a moment to catch his breath, Max assiduously wiped his hands clean of lube (his earlier mishap with the FaceTime call having instilled in him the importance of cleaning his hands thoroughly) before grabbing his phone to record his next mandatory video.
He lifted his phone, turned on the camera (ensuring, despite his profound wish to do otherwise, that the same angle for his maximum exposure was captured), and spoke through clenched teeth once more: "Sir. I have successfully inserted the buttplug I chose, Sir."
He lowered the phone and held it out behind him such that the image of the base of the plug sticking out between his firm and perky butt cheeks could be easily seen. He held it there for only a few seconds (loathing that he had to record this at all) before lifting the camera back up to its former angle and reluctantly repeating a now-familiar phrase: "Sir. I will now clean up the mess I made, Sir."
Just as he done earlier that afternoon, Max then recorded himself down on the floor licking up all the sticky liquid that had been steadily flowing out of his imprisoned manhood thanks to the pressure on his prostate from both the dildo and the buttplug over the past few hours.
Letting his mind wander while he performed his revolting task, Max half-wondered how his body could possibly keep making so much of this stuff he was constantly forced to lap up. Given that he had licked up a small puddle of it only around 2 hours prior, it was hard to believe so much more could be here now.
It made a certain kind of sense, of course. A virile young man with a high sex drive, Max was used to normally busting his nut once or twice a day, seven days a week.
Although he'd certainly never studied his own cum, it didn't take a genius to determine it was a thick and gooey substance. The stuff that leaked from him now, however, was just a thin, viscous slime -- almost like his loads had been watered down to their most minimal content so as to last as long as possible. What used to intensely shoot out of his hard cock in a quick succession of ropes at the moment of orgasm now gradually leaked and pitifully squirted out from his forced-limp dick throughout the day.
Having licked the floor in front his desk clean, Max promptly stopped the recording and sent it off, trying to put it immediately out of his mind -- not that the salty taste of his own pre-cum that lingered his mouth would let him do that for very long, however.
The next item on the agenda he had been instructed to follow for the day was the same as always and, as such, he proceeded to it more or less on autopilot. Leaving his workspace behind, Max made his way to his living room, its furniture all pushed to the sides to facilitate his after-work workouts.
Even with gyms having closed before the full pandemic panic sent near everyone into lockdown, Max had only half-toyed with the idea of starting to do at-home workouts to keep up with his fitness.
His "benefactor," however, had other plans, sending along with packages of kinky sexual paraphernalia (like the buttplug he had in his ass at this moment and the chastity cage he permanently had around his cock) all of the basics he would need for staying in shape.
A yoga mat and free weights now sat in their new home in Max's living room along with a pull-up bar in the doorframe and an arrangement of furniture that would allow him to partake in a wide range of calisthenic bodyweight exercises.
Turning on his Smart TV and connecting it to his phone, Max opened FitWit, the specific fitness app he had been instructed to install.
Selecting today's workout from the menu (always the one with the absolute highest difficulty rating, as he was ordered to do), the image of a buff, bearded man in gym shorts and a t-shirt reading "FitWit" appeared on Max's TV screen.
"Hey, guys," the bearded man began in deep baritone voice. "Rick from FitWit here."
Max looked the image up and down, envying the man he saw on the screen. Fully clothed, chest hair peeking out from the top of his shirt, a self-assured smile on the face of a confident man, "Rick" embodied everything Max had taken for granted only two weeks ago.
"We've been hearing from a lot of folks that even our `hard' workouts aren't hard enough, so I hope you're all ready for a real challenge today," Rick said with a cheeky grin.
Max let out a defeated groan as he reluctantly took position in the centre of his yoga mat.
He wanted to rest.
He wanted to sit around in his pyjamas, watching too much Netflix and jerking off non-stop like he knew everyone else was doing in lockdown.
He wanted to be his old self again.
Rubbing his hands together in anticipation, Rick announced the words Max wished he didn't have to obey: "Let's get started."
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