Ryan’s landlady, Mrs. Cindy Laighnan, was a firm believer in “better safe than sorry.” Her home was always well secured each night, the comely older woman gliding from room to room to lock, shutter, and bolt everything closed. Her pantry, deep freeze and basement were always well stocked in case of a power outage, or natural disaster, or heck probably the apocalypse. Mrs. Laighnan never seemed out of sorts, or off balance about anything. Always taking a cautious no-nonsense approach to the goings-on in the world, Ryan had never wanted for anything while he stayed at her place. As the only actual resident, he managed to strike up an agreeable quasi-friendship with the woman.

Which helped his self-esteem quite a bit. Cindy Laighnan was what some rude individuals might term a MILF, though Ryan would never dream of saying that term out loud. It seemed too…crude, when applied to his landlady. She was attractive, alluring in a sense that he could never quite nail down. Her crimson hair seemingly darkening without going grey as she aged, and she kept in fine shape through her everyday runs. But there was something about her that hinted at a more seductive, sensual woman underneath the crisp, professional exterior that she hardly ever let drop. That was part of the reason why Ryan hadn’t protested too much about her measures at the start of the pandemic.

When the initial lockdowns began, Ryan had been away on a weekend university trip. When he had returned, his mind filled with news of viruses, and lockdowns, and sanitation requirements, he wasn’t that afraid. Concerned, sure, but not afraid. He was confident that the isolated home of Cindy Laighnan, coupled with some basic health measures, would see him through.

Cindy Laighnan evidently disagreed.

When Ryan reached the house, he found her dressed in an oddly slick looking quarantine suit, wearing a weirdly sexy gas mask, and armed with a plan. She informed him that due to the unknown nature of the pandemic, and that he was clearly unable to leave, she needed to quarantine him. Especially since he had just been around hundreds of strangers, she had no desire to become infected due to a lack of caution. That was Ryan’s landlady to a T, always careful, leaving nothing to chance. It was such a normal reaction on her part that he thought it was just one more of those little oddities of the older woman who had been so kind to him in his two years with her so far.

So he had meekly followed her directions. Striping out of his clothes, and handing them over for her to clean them. And then putting on what she called his ‘pandemic suit.’ Made of the same slick material as her own outfit (latex she informed him, much easier to disinfect and clean), Ryan shivered and shuddered as he pulled the shorts up and onto his spare frame. Then the more involved catsuit, which Mrs. Laighnan told him was necessary to cut down on the amount of skin showing. Possible infection vectors. She sounded like she had really read up on it, and Ryan hadn’t, so he dressed himself in the catsuit, with some help from Cindy in doing it up. Next came the gloves, which Ryan was surprised to find didn’t have any fingers. They just forced his hands into balls, with little movement beyond flexing his fingers. Mrs. Laighnan assured him this was to keep his fingers safe throughout the quarantine period, allowing him flexibility without possibility of damaging himself. Ryan shrugged and nodded his agreement.

With his body now largely enclosed in the latex quarantine suit, and his hands safely stowed, Mrs. Laighnan led him over to the room she had set up for him to ride out his quarantine in. Thoughtfully she had given over a different space for this, and reassured him that his own room had been untouched. The new place was dominated by a large bed-like structure, with the mattress seemingly replaced or covered over with more of the latex material. Ryan assumed this was also for cleaning purposes, and obediently followed his landlady into the room, and lay down on the bed when she indicated he should. Mrs. Laighnan explained that she needed to secure him to the bed, for his own safety and to ensure he didn’t breach quarantine procedures and force her to start all over again. Ryan was a little unsure about this part, but his landlady’s confidence won him over again. After all, she had always been looking out for him. There was little harm that he could see in allowing her to restrain him. Quarantine was hardly going to be a forever thing.

So Ryan lay back when she told him to, stretching out his arms and legs into a spreadeagle position. Mrs. Laighnan brought out thick looking leather cuffs, and locked them onto each of his limbs, after which she connected them to chains with another lock. The chains were just shy of being taut, allowing Ryan some wiggle room. As he tested out his bonds, Mrs. Laighnan settled on the bed next to him, running a maternal hand over his head and chest. Reassuring him with her presence, her murmured words, and her soft touches. It was surprisingly enjoyable, and within just a few minutes Ryan found himself drifting. He was warm. He felt safe. Cared for. At peace.

A hand touched his chin gently, bringing him back. Mrs. Laighnan had a few last things. Since the virus could be airborne, she needed to leave him in a mask, apart from his feedings. Did Ryan want her to put in earbuds so he could listen to audio books or music? Ryan did, so she placed some fancy looking earbuds in, which seemed pretty top of the line since they effectively blocked out most other sound. Mrs. Laighnan tapped a command into her phone and then spoke into it, her voice coming through smoothly directly into Ryan’s ears. She told him that this would make things much easier in terms of communicating with him, rather than having to continuously disinfect herself and him with each interaction. After a final reassuring chat, it was time for his mask. The large involved thing came in two pieces. One was another bit of latex, a tight hood to fit over his head and leaving only a mouth and eye openings. Next was the mask itself, which was tightly strapped over his face and head, with a hose that ran off to a machine on the side of the bed. Presumably some sort of filtration system. Ryan breathed normally and found the air was surprisingly good, it even seemed to have an extra…something, to it. Something that made little tingles race up and down his skin.

Mrs. Laighnan’s voice came through again, assuring him that he was doing the right thing. That she would check in on him every couple of hours, as well as coming by with meals several times a day, and twice a day for ‘waste removal.’ Ryan burbled his thanks through the mask, rather grateful that she had gone to all this trouble to provide the quarantine procedures in her own home, rather than him having to go off to some government run facility. Who knows how long that might have taken? Instead, here he was safely secured by his landlady, in the comfort of her own home. Warm, safe, and at peace. He slowly felt himself relax, sinking in to the comforting embrace of the latex quarantine suit, as soft music began to play into his ears. Lulling him into a sleepy half-wakefulness. Nothing to do now but just…be…

Cindy Laighnan was good to her word. Every few hours Ryan felt her hands massaging his head, his chest, his limbs, generally making sure that everything was still comfortable. His meals were delivered in an odd fashion. Rather than anything solid, Mrs. Laighnan pushed a rubber plug into his mouth which he then had to suck to imbibe a paste of some sort. It was never bad, some days it proved quite tasty, but it was certainly different. She was always careful to compliment him on not making a fuss over this, and often spent extra time after meals massaging his bound and quarantined form. She was quite kind that way.

Ryan often found himself drifting off, traipsing through half imagined fantasies. Sometimes based on the books that were read to him, relatively normal imaginings of the scenes playing out with him in them. Other times the fractured remembrances of dreams. Yet others…other fantasies began to creep in. Fantasies that involved his body, bound and restrained. Of latex clad women binding him, controlling him. Hell, Mrs. Laighnan began to appear in his dreams. Clad in her latex quarantine outfit, his dream version of Mrs. Laighnan…did things to him. Things that had his cock twitch and his hips thrust against the latex. Things that he often remembered as he awoke, to feel her hands rubbing him down, and ached for her. Things that eventually resulted in a rather embarrassing morning situation.

When Mrs. Laighnan came in to feed him breakfast, he was rock hard against his latex, and blindly thrusting up into the air. Desperate for some sexual relief as he came out of the throes of a particularly sensual dream about the two of them. She had been cradling him, both of them in their latex suits, and crooning all manner of sexy words and phrases. It had been wonderful. Though now, as he dimly saw the real Mrs. Laighnan through the gas mask, he blushed furiously red.

“Ah,” she had said, looking down at his latex covered erection, “Of course. This will need careful handling.”

Because, as she went on to explain, the virus could very well be transferred through all sorts of fluids. Mrs. Laighnan reassured him that she understood his need for sexual gratification, and that she had ways of ensuring it took place in a controlled, safe manner. Ryan nodded along, averting his eyes beneath his mask and generally blushing as bright as an apple. To her offer of sexual release he nodded shyly. To her requirement that such things be controlled, he agreed. That seemed obvious. Which meant that releases would occur on a schedule and at other times his cock would need to be secured to prevent any accidental releases contaminating his suit. That also seemed logical from Ryan’s perspective. Well in line with his cautious landlady’s approach to the world.

So when her hands wrapped around his aching cock, when she told him what a good by he was being, Ryan felt like he had entered Heaven. He moaned deeply into the mask and thrust upwards in time with the strokes of Cindy Laighnan’s cool hands on his member. It didn’t take him long to achieve that lusted after release. His spunk was carefully collected and removed and, as he sucked in deep breathes of the wonderfully flavourful air, Ryan felt her hands return to his shrinking member. Felt them press hard plastic against him, and felt his member slid into a constrained prison of its own. Mrs. Laighnan again remarked on what an obedient boy he was being for her, and then left him. Satisfied, but somehow even more restrained than when he had woken up. An odd feeling that would only intensify in the days that followed.

Mrs. Laighnan added thigh and upper arm cuffs the next day, noting that he was quite a strong young man, and that his daily milking sessions (as she called them) often had him straining in his bonds to the point she was afraid he would hurt himself. The additional cuffs, and a thick waist belt, all reassured her that she could keep him safe. Ryan had no objection, the extra cuffs and belt made him feel wonderful as he lay there, sucking in the wonderful air through the gas mask and listening to tunes. Every now and then, after a drifting period, he could’ve sworn that he had heard Mrs. Laighnan’s voice crooning to him. Telling him things. Things he couldn’t quite remember when he swam back up to consciousness.

Ryan tried asking her about it one day, and Mrs. Laighnan laughed. She told him she was rather flattered he was thinking of her in his daydreams. As she removed his gasmask, rather than picking up the normal plug to feed him with, she had a different one. One with straps. She told him that she was rather tired of holding the plug for him to suck, and would prefer to massage him while he ate. Ryan eagerly accepted that, he had grown to love her touches and massages. So she pressed his new plug gag deeply into his mouth and buckled it tightly in place. Then she hooked up the feeding tube, and began to massage him. The experience was so blissfully amazing that Ryan actually fell asleep after he finished eating. When he woke up, he felt great, but Mrs. Laighnan must have forgotten that her new feeding plug was buckled on, because he was still gagged with it. His mask had been put back on though, so perhaps she just wanted to keep it there? Rather odd, but Ryan trusted Mrs. Laighnan. She knew what was best for him…always looking out for him. She was keeping him sae. Both of them safe, by quarantining him. Keeping him warm…safe…secure…

Ryan’s days blended together. At some point Mrs Laighnan had decided to ensure his muscle mass didn’t deteriorate while he was quarantining, so she added stimulating electrical currents to his day. Just enough, and for long enough, to ensure he maintained his proper form, she dryly noted to him when he nervously mumbled into his gag about it. Another day she told him about articles she had read online about the virus existing in waste material. That was the day she introduced him to his first butt plug, carefully inserting the rubber device into his rear, and then performing the daily milking as Ryan moaned and squirmed. It felt so utterly amazing, that he didn’t even remember to ask to have his gag removed during the non-feeding times. It just didn’t seem that urgent. Or really that important. It gave his mouth something to do, prevented him from biting his tongue. Really it was probably for the best that he stay gagged.

Certainly much safer.

After all, it was meant to be just for a few weeks. He could endure all sorts of things for that length of time. Just a few weeks. Long enough for both of them to be confident he wasn’t infectious.

Cindy Laighnan was careful. Always had been, ever since she was a little girl.

She sat on the couch, carefully shining up her catsuit, while she watched the news. It never really seemed to change, even with the passing seasons. The pandemic still raged away, with some new awful variant now plunging the country back into another lockdown. The outside world remained a menace. But that was alright. She was safe, because she was careful. Ryan, her dear, dear lodger, he was safe too.

Finishing with the catsuit shine, she stood up and gave a sensual stretch, wondering what Ryan’s reaction might be to seeing her perform for him. Demonstrate her flexability. In all likelihood, the boy would probably do what he did most times she showed up when he was conscious. Thrust madly against his bonds and plead in his special way for an orgasm. He was adorably predictable, she mused to herself as she padded over to the reinforced door. A small keypad, recently installed, secured her prize from the world, and granted only her access to the treasure within.

As she swung the door wide, the warm light from her living room illuminated the bed on which Ryan lay. Still swathed in latex and rubber, still held securely down by cuffs and belts and chains. Still hooded, though now a much more involved hood that integrated the aphrodisiac gas more elegantly into its apparatus. Keeping her boy compliant and horny for her. Which was unfortunate for him, she smiled to herself, as her eyes trailed down to the chastity cage that contained (barely) his pulsing member. Perhaps she had left the butt plug up a trifle higher than normal when  she had left him a few hours ago, but then he had been such a sweetheart. And she did so enjoy teasing him.

Cindy settled onto the bed, drawing a moan from Ryan. Her lodger. Well, former lodger. That had ended in her mind about four days after he had entered this room. Four days into his captivity, and Cindy had suddenly…pondered. What would happen, really, if she just kept him? Made him her toy? That was when she had gone back, meaning to ask him if he would mind staying in quarantine a little longer, not entirely sure how she was going to talk to him…and she saw him. Thrusting against his bonds, his cock rock hard, moaning his way through a fevered kinky dream. That was the moment Cindy knew he belonged there.

But Cindy Laighnan was careful, always had been. She knew that such a lifestyle change, especially for someone as shy and naïve as Ryan would be a shock. He had to be eased into it, slowly molded to the idea of being her pet. Her bondage toy. Really, what needed to happen, was that his ability to resist her had to be temporarily removed. Just until she could show him how much he meant to her. And how much it meant to him to be her bound, rubberized, pet. Thus the chastity cage and the daily milkings. Thus the butt plug vibrations. The kicked up aphrodisiacs. The more intensive bondage, the cock gag for feeding, everything had to reduce his consciousness down to that of a toy.

Cindy smiled as her boy thrust himself upwards as her hand settled onto his caged cock, “Are you my good pet?”

His head, locked in hood and posture collar, twitched in a nod. A keening moan came through the thick gag as he continued to thrust his locked cock into her hand.

Cindy’s grin widened as she began to unlock her toy’s cock.

Being careful was often its own reward…