GRADUATION DAY
The first breath changed everything.
The rubber room pulsed with heat. I was already strapped down—latex from neck to toe, cock encased in a metal cage coated in thick mint gel, ball harness cinched tight. My breathing hissed through the latex mask, amplified in the silence. Mistress’s heels clicked across the rubber floor.
“Tonight,” she purred, “you graduate.”
I trembled. She smiled.
She positioned herself over my face, suspended in the rubber sling, her scent pressing through the thin latex veil of my mask before her body even touched me. I groaned. It was thick, ripe, personal. My cock ached with sensitivity.
“No more pretending you’re not desperate for this,” she whispered. “Breathe it in.”
She spread herself with two gloved hands. The heat radiating from her skin was unbearable.
“This is who you belong to now. Open that nose and take your first lesson.”
She let out a slow, controlled exhale from her body—a low, bubbling tease of air. It filled my nose. I choked on instinct, then moaned as my cock jerked painfully against the spiked cage.
“Oh, look at you squirm. You love it already.”
She circled her hips. Her cheeks pressed directly onto my nose. She let go again—longer, wetter. I coughed, then whined. Her laughter filled the chamber.
“That’s it. That’s all you get for air now.”
The scent was punishing, earthy, deep. The latex amplified it. I cried out, begged, sobbed. She rocked over my face, bathing me in heat and humiliation.
“Ready to taste?” she asked.
“Yes, Mistress. Please.”
She climbed off. I saw the bag—enema prepped and steeping. She slid the nozzle inside herself slowly, then clicked open the clamp.
“Watch. Watch it go in. This is what you’re made to drink.”
She mounted the stool and positioned the gag. My mouth opened automatically.
She released.
It came hot. Bitter. Sloppy. The first splash made my whole body jolt.
She moaned as it poured from her, dripping down the gag and slapping my tongue.
“Swallow. All of it. Don’t you waste a drop.”
I gagged. I obeyed. Again. And again.
She didn’t let up. Over the next hour, she cycled three more bags. Every refill came with fresh heat, a firmer bounce of her hips, more grinding of her ass over my mask.
“How’s your stomach, pet? You like being full of me?”
I nodded, jaw tight, belly stretched. She dragged a gloved finger across my throat.
“Good. Because we’re nowhere near finished.”
She applied more mint paste to my cock, this time mixing it with ice water. I screamed. She clamped my balls tighter, kneaded, and purred:
“Still worried? Still ashamed?”
I shook my head. She smirked.
“That’s what I thought.”
She walked slowly around the table, dragging her nails across my thighs, tapping the straps holding me down.
“You’ve taken so much. And you’ll take more.”
She poured a full liter of her piss down my throat, warm and foamy. I gagged once, then swallowed obediently.
“Good boy.”
Then came the sounding.
A cold steel rod, slid deep into my cock, over and over. My whole body trembled.
She circled the table, whispering to me as she moved.
“You’re beautiful like this. Bloated. Used. Addicted to me.”
My cock released from the cage.
She reapplied toothpaste, thicker this time, and rubbed it in with gloved fingers. Then she added crushed ice.
“This is what devotion looks like. Suffering and service.”
She began stroking—slow at first, then faster, her grip cruel. The sound slid deeper. My cock twitched wildly in her hand.
“Cum for me. Don’t you dare hold back.”
She mounted my face again, draining another bag of enema into my mouth as she milked my cock mercilessly.
I came. Screaming. Violent. My body shook beneath her.
“That’s it. All for me. Everything.”
“And tomorrow,” she whispered, “we start again.”
And we would.