Ever Increasing Bondage Part 4 (Patreon)

          Conor lay motionless, every muscle tensed, his breath caught in his throat as he strained to interpret the sounds around him. The wheels had stopped moving, and the room was eerily silent save for the faint creak of wood shifting underweight.

          His mind raced, his imagination conjuring endless possibilities about what Elizabeth had wheeled in. The soft rustle of fabric and her deliberate, unhurried movements only heightened his unease as his cock squirmed inside the chastity belt.

          Conor found himself bound layer upon layer, each restraint adding to his growing helplessness. Silk ties secured his ankles and wrists first, followed by black tape wrapped snugly around him. A meticulous shibari rope harness came next, intricately woven to keep him immobilized. Ankle and wrist cuffs were added for extra measure, and then he was encased in a full-body straightjacket, leaving no room for movement.

          A gag silenced him, and a hood plunged him into darkness before he was finally zipped into a sleep sack, completely confined. He knew she wasn’t finished playing their game.

          Then, her voice broke the stillness, honeyed and full of mischief. “You’re quiet now, Conor. Cat got your tongue?” A playful chuckle followed, her amusement at his predicament evident. “Don’t worry, sweetie. You’ll find out soon enough.”

         The sound of a latch clicking open made him flinch, the sharp metal noise breaking through the tension. It was followed by a slow, deliberate creak, as if a heavy lid was being lifted. Conor’s breathing quickened, his chest heaving inside the confines of the sleep sack. Whatever she had brought in, it was large, wooden, and foreboding. He could almost feel the weight of it pressing into the room’s atmosphere.

           Elizabeth’s heels clicked closer, and the edge of the bed dipped slightly as she leaned in near him. Her fingers trailed lightly over the hood covering his face, a teasing touch meant to remind him of just how blind and vulnerable he was. “I bet you’re just dying to see what it is,” she murmured, her tone a mix of affection and mockery. “But that’s the beauty of this, Conor—you can’t.”

        She let her hand glide downward, tracing the shape of his restrained body through the fabric of the sack. “You’re so tense,” she teased, her voice soft but wicked. “Let me help you... relax.” Her fingers danced across the remote, increasing the vibrations of the plug in his ass, and the band around his balls. Conor groaned into the gag as the plug vibrated against his prostate and the band brought him close to orgasm.

           Her hand slid to the area where his chastity device lay beneath the layers of fabric. “Ah, there it is,” she cooed, her tone dripping with mock sympathy. “Still locked up tight, I see. You must be so uncomfortable, poor thing.” She pressed lightly over the area, her touch infuriatingly soft. “I bet it’s driving you crazy, knowing you can’t do anything about it. But you don’t need to worry about that, do you? I’ve made sure all your... needs are taken care of.”

         A muffled groan escaped him through the gag, his body twisting slightly in reaction. Elizabeth laughed, a delighted, melodic sound. “Oh, I love it when you try to resist. It’s adorable, really.” She let her fingers wander further, pressing gently through the snug layers of the sack, teasingly close but never giving him any satisfaction. “You’re so frustrated, aren’t you? Locked up, tied down, completely helpless. And yet... you wouldn’t have it any other way.”

         Conor thrashed weakly, the restrictive sack and bindings ensuring his movements were futile. The sound of his muffled protests filled the room, but Elizabeth only leaned in closer, her lips brushing the leather hood near his ear. “Shh,” she whispered, her voice dripping with amusement. “Save your energy. You’re going to need it.”

          With a final teasing stroke along his side, she stood, her heels clicking against the floor as she moved back to the mysterious box. The faint creak of wood and the sound of something being adjusted reached his ears.

        “Don’t be scared, Conor,” she called over her shoulder, her tone sweet but tinged with a devilish edge. “This box is just for you. Sturdy wood, heavy locks... it’s the perfect fit. You’ll see.”

         Conor’s breathing grew more frantic, the muffled sound of his protests filling the room, but Elizabeth only hummed softly, as if his struggles were a tune she enjoyed. “There we go,” she said, almost to herself, as if adjusting something inside the box. “Everything’s ready now.”

         She returned to his side, crouching down to let her hand rest lightly on the sack. “Don’t worry, darling,” she murmured, her voice low and teasing. “You’ll fit perfectly. Trust me.” Her fingers traced slow, deliberate circles over the snug fabric, her touch igniting a fresh wave of frustration and anticipation in him.

        She paused again at the chastity device, her voice dipping to a whisper. “And just think—you’re going to stay locked for me, no matter how much you want to escape. Isn’t that exciting?”

         As her footsteps moved away, the anticipation twisted in his stomach like a vice. Whatever she had planned, he knew it would push him even further into the depths of helplessness. And as the silence settled again, broken only by the faint creak of the wooden box, Conor braced himself for what was to come.

         Elizabeth moved with deliberate precision, her steps echoing softly in the dim room as she returned to where Conor lay, bound and cocooned in the snug confines of the sleep sack. His muffled groans filtered through the gag, a mixture of protest and desperation, but she only smiled, her eyes gleaming with mischief.

        “Oh, Conor,” she cooed, crouching beside him and resting a hand on the taut fabric that imprisoned him. “You’re such a good sport. I know this isn’t exactly comfortable, but trust me, darling—it’s all worth it.” Her fingers traced slow, teasing patterns over the sack, lingering just enough to let him feel her touch but not enough to soothe his growing frustration.

        Her hand drifted downward, pausing to tap lightly against the chastity cage. “Still locked up so tight,” she whispered, leaning in close so her voice felt like it wrapped around him. “It must be tough being teased like this, so close and yet so far. But you’ll get used to it, sweetie. In fact, I think you already are.” She chuckled softly, her breath brushing against his ear as she stood.

          Gripping the handles at either end of the sack, Elizabeth gave an experimental tug. The snug fabric slid against the mattress with some effort, and Conor let out a muffled yelp as he felt himself being dragged. “Oh, don’t be so dramatic,” she teased. “You’re not that heavy. Besides, this is nothing compared to what’s waiting for you.”

        With surprising strength, she managed to slide him off the bed entirely and into the box positioned next to the bed. Conor squirmed reflexively, the restraints inside the sack keeping his movements to the barest wriggle.

         Elizabeth paused, one hand on her hip, watching him with an amused smirk. “You’re not going anywhere,” she said, tapping the top of the sack lightly with her hand. “So you might as well save your energy.”

The movement stopped abruptly, and Conor felt his back press against a hard surface.

        The snug wooden walls closed in around him, amplifying every sound—the creak of the box, the scrape of the sack against the interior, and Elizabeth’s quiet, pleased hum. She reached down and adjusted the sack’s position, making sure it was centered before leaning over him.

         Her fingers trailed down his body, stopping briefly at the chastity device. “One last reminder,” she murmured, giving the cage a playful tap. “This is staying on, no matter how much you squirm. But if you really, really impress me… well, maybe I’ll consider giving you a reward.” She let the promise hang in the air before standing and brushing her hands together.

        The lid of the box loomed above him, and with a soft grunt, Elizabeth began to close it. “Sweet dreams, Conor,” she teased as the light dimmed further. “I hope you’re ready for the challenge ahead because this box isn’t opening until you’ve proven you deserve it.”

         With a final, resonating thud, the lid shut, sealing him inside. The faint sound of locks clicking into place followed, each one like a nail in his coffin. Conor’s muffled cries filled the confined space as he squirmed against the bonds, the vibrations of the plug and band cruelly keeping him on edge. Elizabeth’s laughter echoed faintly through the box before her footsteps receded, leaving him alone in darkness, anticipation, and aching frustration.

        Elizabeth stood beside the wooden box, her fingertips grazing its surface as though savouring the craftsmanship—or perhaps the tension she could feel radiating from within. She tilted her head thoughtfully, her lips curving into a wicked smile. “You know, Conor,” she said softly, her voice carrying the tone of someone about to reveal a delicious secret, “I’ve been thinking... You’ve been such a good sport tonight. So helpless, so obedient, locked up and teased beyond your limits.”

           She crouched beside the box again, leaning close to where his hooded head rested within the confines of the box. Her tone dropped to a sultry whisper, her words dripping with mockery and allure. “What if I gave you an incentive, hmm? A little... motivation to try your absolute hardest?”

         Conor’s muffled whimper came through the gag, a mixture of apprehension and faint hope. He was desperate—desperate for any promise of escape, for any chance to be free of the torment of the chastity cage and the relentless teasing. Elizabeth’s hand traced slow, deliberate circles over the box, as though savouring his anticipation.

         Her laugh was soft and cruel. “Oh, I thought that might catch your attention,” she teased, her voice light and playful. “Let’s make a deal, darling. If you can somehow get out of all this... if you can escape the box, the sack, the jacket, the ropes, the cuffs, everything—I’ll give you exactly what you’ve been dreaming about. Your ultimate fantasy, anal sex.” She let the words hang in the air, a tantalizing promise designed to ignite his already frayed nerves.

           Conor’s body tensed within the restraints. He knew the odds were stacked against him, knew how expertly she had bound him—but her words stirred something in him, a faint flicker of determination amid the overwhelming frustration. He groaned into the gag, a muffled sound of protest or acknowledgment, though it was impossible to tell which.

          Elizabeth’s hand wandered to the remote in her pocket, her thumb hovering over one of the buttons. “Of course,” she added, her tone turning mischievous, “if you don’t make it out... well, I guess you’ll just have to stay exactly as you are. Locked up, teased, and completely under my control. For as long as I want.” She pressed the button, sending a low, steady vibration through the plug and the band around his balls.

        Conor’s reaction was immediate—a muffled groan of frustration and helpless arousal as the vibrations surged through him, teasing him with sensations that only heightened his awareness of the chastity device’s unyielding grip. His hips jerked instinctively, but the sleep sack and the restraints held him firmly in place, amplifying his sense of powerlessness.

         Elizabeth laughed again, clearly enjoying his plight. “Poor thing,” she murmured, her fingers trailing along the edge of the box. “I can feel how much you want it—how badly you want to be free. To be... released.” She let the word linger, knowing exactly what it meant to him. “But you can’t, can you? Not until I decide you’ve earned it.”

          Her hand wandered back to the remote, and she adjusted the intensity of the vibrations, alternating between the plug and the band. “Just imagine,” she continued, her voice soft and teasing. “If you somehow managed to escape, I’d give you everything. Every fantasy you’ve ever told me about. Every secret desire. I’d let you have it all. But if you don’t... well, I think you already know how this ends.”

          Conor thrashed weakly against the restraints, his muffled groans growing louder as she increased the vibrations for a few seconds before abruptly turning them off. The sudden silence left him aching, the absence of stimulation almost as maddening as the teasing itself. He was trapped in a cruel cycle of anticipation and denial, with no way to relieve the unbearable tension that had built up inside him.

          Elizabeth leaned down, her voice a conspiratorial whisper. “Do you want to know a secret, Conor? I don’t think you’re going to make it. I think you’ll stay locked in here, completely at my mercy, for as long as I want. And you know what? I think a part of you loves it.”

         Her hand lingered on the box, her fingers tapping a soft rhythm as she stood. “But I’ll give you the chance,” she said lightly, her tone almost generous. “One hour, Conor. That’s how long you have. If you can escape, you get everything. If you can’t...” She trailed off, letting the unspoken promise hang in the air.

          Elizabeth turned back to the remote, sending another sharp jolt through the band and plug. Conor’s muffled groan echoed from within the box, filled with equal parts frustration and desperate arousal. She chuckled softly, slipping the remote back into her pocket. “Good luck, darling,” she said, her voice dripping with mock sympathy. “You’re going to need it.”

          The quiet creak of the wooden box settling into place was quickly replaced by a series of sharp, metallic clicks. One after another, the sounds echoed in the confined space where Conor lay, each one a distinct reminder of the locks being secured on the outside of his prison. His pulse raced as he listened helplessly, his breaths coming in short, muffled bursts behind the gag and hood.

         Click. Click. Click. The locks were relentless, sealing him further into his confined state. The vibrations in the band and plug had ceased for the moment, leaving him suspended in an excruciating limbo of silence and sensation. His body was trapped, bound so thoroughly he couldn’t even twitch a finger, let alone make any meaningful effort to escape.

            “Ah, there we go,” Elizabeth’s voice came, light and cheerful as if she were simply completing an everyday task. “All nice and secure.” She leaned in closer to the box, her voice dropping to a teasing whisper that sent a shiver through him. “Don’t want my little captive rolling out of place, now do we?”

             Conor groaned softly into the gag, his mind swirling with frustration, arousal, and a gnawing curiosity about what was coming next. He strained his ears, trying to discern her movements, but the box muffled most sounds from the outside.

         Suddenly, he felt the faint vibration of the wheels beneath him. The box shifted, the sensation of movement unmistakable as it rolled forward. Where is she taking me? The question burned in his mind, but there was no way to ask, no way to plead for clarity. All he could do was lie there, utterly helpless, as the box began its slow journey.

         Elizabeth’s footsteps were soft but deliberate, her presence a constant companion to the creak of the wheels. “You’re probably wondering where we’re going,” she mused aloud, her voice lilting with amusement. “But that would ruin the surprise, wouldn’t it?” She paused for a moment, as if savouring the tension. “Let’s just say... you’re going somewhere very special.”

         The sound of the wheels grew louder as she pushed the box out of the room. Conor’s world shifted with each bump in the floor, his bound body moving slightly within the sack with every jolt. The journey felt endless, every moment stretching his anticipation to a breaking point. His mind raced, alternating between panic and the faint, foolish hope that this might somehow be his chance to escape.

         Then, the air changed. The faint, warm scent of the room he’d been in gave way to something cooler, heavier, with an almost damp undertone. He could hear faint echoes now, the acoustics of the space around him shifting as the wheels rolled over a harder surface. The realization hit him like a cold wave: she was taking him somewhere underground.

           Elizabeth chuckled softly, clearly relishing his muffled noises of protest and confusion. “That’s right, darling,” she said, her tone playful yet laced with a certain edge. “We’re going downstairs. You didn’t think I’d keep you somewhere so ordinary for the rest of the night, did you?”

        The wheels creaked louder as they descended, the sound of the box bumping slightly against each step sending vibrations through Conor’s restrained body. He groaned into the gag, equal parts discomfort and frustration. The plug shifted slightly with the movement, sending an unwelcome spark of sensation that reignited the maddening ache of the chastity cage. He bit down on the gag in a futile effort to push the sensation away, but there was no escape—not from the restraints, and certainly not from his body’s relentless responses.

        At last, the wheels rolled to a stop. The air was noticeably cooler now, and the faint echo of Elizabeth’s movements suggested a larger, emptier space. The cellar, Conor realized, though the thought gave him no comfort. He could feel Elizabeth’s hands on the box, adjusting its position slightly before she let out a satisfied hum.

          “There,” she said, her voice carrying an unsettling mix of affection and control. “Perfect. Now, let’s make sure you’re all set before I leave you to... think about things.” Her hand drummed lightly on the lid of the box, the sound reverberating through Conor’s confined space.

         As he lay there, bound and locked inside, he could hear the faint clink of more locks being added on the box itself. She was being thorough, ensuring there was no possible way for him to move or escape. His muffled groans grew more desperate, but Elizabeth only laughed softly, a sound filled with amusement at his plight.

          “Don’t go anywhere, darling,” she teased, her voice fading slightly as she stepped back to survey her work. “You’ve got plenty of time to think about how much fun we’re going to have down here. And who knows?” She paused, her tone dipping into something more wicked. “Maybe I’ll come back with a few... upgrades.”

         Her laughter echoed in the cellar as she walked away, leaving Conor trapped in the darkness of the box, his heart pounding as he braced himself for whatever she had planned next.

        The faint light of the crypt dimmed further as Elizabeth stood over the wooden box that she had lowered into the concrete sarcophagus, a smirk playing on her lips. She tapped the lid one last time, her nails clicking against the wood like a countdown Conor couldn’t control. Inside, he writhed in helpless frustration, his muffled groans filling the small space as the plug and band vibrated with maddening precision, teasing him to the edge without relief.

          “Let’s make it official, shall we?” Elizabeth purred, her voice dripping with mischief. She grabbed the heavy concrete lid of the crypt's stone sarcophagus and began to slide it into place over the opening. The grinding of stone against stone filled the air, each movement seeming to underscore Conor’s inescapable predicament.

         As the crypt darkened, Conor’s chest heaved. The vibrations from the plug and band weren’t just a tease—they were a relentless torment, keeping him achingly turned on while his chastity cage denied him even the faintest possibility of release. He moaned into the gag, his body tensing with every jolt of sensation, only to be met with the cold, unyielding confines of the sleeping sack and his bonds.

         Elizabeth crouched next to the crypt once the lid was almost fully in place, her fingers brushing the smooth edge as she leaned in close. “I hope you’re enjoying yourself in there,” she murmured, her tone low and sultry. “I know I am. You should see how beautifully you’re squirming.” She reached into her pocket and clicked the remote, increasing the intensity of the vibrations.

        Conor’s muffled cries grew louder as the plug buzzed and the band tightened its rhythm, sending waves of pleasure through him that his body couldn’t fully process. His frustration mixed with desperate arousal, his mind a whirlwind of need and helplessness. He pulled at his restraints with all his might, but it was futile—the straightjacket, cuffs, ropes, and silk left him completely immobilized.

         Elizabeth’s laughter echoed in the crypt, playful and cruel. “You poor thing,” she teased. “So desperate. So eager. But I told you, Conor—if you want out of there, you’re going to have to earn it.” She stood, placing her hands on the lid and pushing it the final inch into place with a heavy thud.

        The sound of metal followed—locks clicking into position as Elizabeth secured the crypt shut. One, two, three locks, their echoes ringing out like a countdown. Conor’s muffled protests grew frantic as the reality of his confinement sank in. He was sealed inside, with only the maddening vibrations and the impossible task of escaping to occupy him.

          Elizabeth’s voice came from beyond the heavy stone. “There we go. All locked up.” She chuckled, the sound carrying through the crypt’s stillness. “Now, remember, darling—you’ve got one hour to escape. If you manage it, I’ll give you everything you’ve ever fantasized about. But if you don’t…” Her voice trailed off, then returned, dripping with mock sympathy. “…well, you already know what’s waiting for you.”

        She clicked the remote again, pushing the vibrations to a tantalizing, relentless pace. Conor groaned, his muffled cries vibrating through the gag as his body tensed against the overwhelming sensations. The chastity cage dug into him cruelly, a constant, humiliating reminder of his inability to do anything about the relentless arousal coursing through him.

        The sound of Elizabeth’s heels echoed one last time as she stepped away, her voice lingering in the air. “Good luck, Conor,” she called, her tone both playful and final. “I’ll be back in an hour. Or maybe... I’ll give you a little longer to think about things.”

         The distant sound of a door closing marked her departure, leaving Conor alone in the dark, the crypt's stone walls pressing in around him. The vibrations buzzed on, teasing him mercilessly as he squirmed and thrashed in his bonds, his frustration and arousal growing with each maddening moment. Time stretched endlessly, and all he could do was endure, every second a reminder of the impossible task before him.