Loop
#9 of Hypnosis
A very short story that has proved quite popular.
Loop
Salem lost count.
He fidgeted and tried to remember how high he had gotten. 25? 87? 200? None of the numbers seemed familiar. Had he not even made it to 25?
Salem fought back the urge to panic. He couldn't hear, couldn't smell or taste anything besides the latex that held him tight, couldn't feel anything besides the latex either, and all he could see was a slowly rotating spiral that flickered on the inside of his blindfold like an old movie reel. He couldn't even remember quite what he'd been counting. It had been that way since... since however long he'd been in here.
The last thing he remembered of anything beyond the latex was this morning (He hoped it was this morning, but he really had no way of knowing). Master had cooked him a pair of pancakes, stripped him naked, forced him to his knees for a quick, pre-work blowjob, then slid the panther boy into the latex suit.
Salem ran his tongue along his lips. His Master had a delicious cock. He could almost still taste it. Could he still taste it? There was a saltiness in his mouth, and now that he thought about it, there was a lot of saltiness in his mouth. Maybe there was still a bit of his Master's seed in his mouth, but that would mean he had only been in the suit for an hour at most. How long had he been in the suit anyways?
The last thing he remembered of anything beyond the latex was this morning.
Wait.
He caught himself from falling into a loop of thought. That was worrisome. Without any outside stimulation, there was nothing to distinguish one thought from another except the thought that came before, and now Salem felt he was losing even the ability to do that. He dearly hoped his Master knew what he was doing.
Salem knew he was partially to blame for his own predicament. He'd been begging Master for something different to do during the day for weeks now. Normally Master let him do as he pleased except for a few specific chores. And every day, no matter what, Salem had to be dressed as Master wanted, and could only stroke himself when Master said it was allowed. Master knew how long it would take Salem to stroke himself up to orgasm from a dead start and always arranged the stroking periods to be just a minute shy of what Salem needed to cum. Inevitably Master would arrive home to enjoy his, by then, very randy (and muttering) slave.
Still, it was boring having so many hours of pining away for his Master's touch, so he begged and begged for something new. Then, this morning (He hoped it was this morning, but he really had no way of knowing), Master presented him with the suit. It was made of shiny black latex - Salem's love - that was extremely hard and unyielding and more like bondage gear than clothing - Master's love - and it took the pose of a begging slave, paws curled up by the chest like a puppy - again Master's love. One out of three wasn't exactly good, but it was something different from pawing himself three minutes once per hour.
But now he wasn't able to stroke at all. He was rock-hard and couldn't do anything about it. In all other respects, the suit was incredibly comfortable. It supported him under his hips, was cushioned in all the right places to keep him from getting stiff or sore. If it were not for his cock throbbing against his belly, he would have had no trouble falling asleep in the suit.
He couldn't remember the last time he had felt his cock so hard for so long. It had been a long time hadn't it? It felt like he'd been hard since he was put into the suit, and how long had he been in the suit anyways?
Salem tried to grind his shaft against the latex, but even before it began, he knew it was futile (was it because he had already tried before? he couldn't remember). Master liked his panther boy to be hot and horny for him when he got home, so even if Salem could get some grinding in, he knew it would be impossible for him to cum.
For Salem, that was a comforting thought. He knew that when Master got home, he'd want to taken his slave to bed for some fun and games. That meant he only had to wait until 5:30 and he'd be free of the teasing of the suit. But he had no idea how long it would be until then, just as he had no idea how long it had been since breakfast.
Nothing. He had nothing to do, nothing to think of, and couldn't stop himself from being horny and wanting and needy and half-mindless with his thoughts circling about the same spots. That was probably the point, to be horny and have nothing to distract him from being horny: when Master got home, Salem would probably tackle him onto the bed with none of his usual complaints about being ignored. He would be too horny to care
The only thing Salem had to keep his mind busy was that spiral, the cheesy, fake, old-timey spiral that spun before his eyes. It wasn't even very entrancing since there were no words to go with it. At best, he could use it to tell time, measure about how long it took the spiral to revolve once, then count revolutions. Salem wondered why he hadn't thought of it before, but worried it wouldn't be very accurate (was it because he had already tried before? he couldn't remember). It wouldn't be much for entertainment either, but at least it would pass the time.
Salem waited and counted off mississippis in his head.
Ten seconds. It took ten seconds for one revolution.
Salem settled down a bit into the suit and let his eyes track the edge of the spiral.
1.
2.
3...
...
Salem lost count.