He did his work at night, and lived in the shadows. The darkest spaces of the city were his territory; the alleys and back streets were his hunting ground. He knew these places intimately and he used the passageways, the rusty fire escape ladders, the garbage bins piled high, to hide him. Often someone would walk past within two feet of him without knowing he was there; he was a master of concealment.
He tensed at the sound of footsteps, and scanned the alleyway up and down: it was deserted apart from the approaching figure. His pupils dilated behind the mask as the boy entered the dim pool of dirty yellow light cast by the single working streetlamp. He was perfect: Doc Martens, bleacher jeans, ripped leather jacket, and – although he was not a big lad, he had the cocky, arrogant confidence of an aggresively heterosexual thug.
With the ease of long practise, he took a polythene tube from his belt, opened the sealed top, pulled out the moist cotton pad and pressed it onto the velcro inside the back of the rubber hood in his hand. Not for a second had his eyes left the approaching boy.
Still scanning the alley, he waited until the boy was just past him. Then, with a swift, smooth motion made silent and efficient by experience, he dropped the open hood over the boy's head with one hand while the other, already gripping the end of the cable tie, pulled it closed. The plastic ratchet made a ‘brr-click’ sound as it sealed the black rubber tightly around his victim's neck. A second later he had faded back completely into the shadows from which he had barely emerged. Out of sight, out of reach, all he had to do was wait, and watch.
As always, by the time the victim reacted it was - as had been intended - too late: his fate was sealed. Immediately he lashed out with his fists but his punches made contact with nothing. "What the FUCK?" His voice was muffled under the rubber that was enclosing his head. Inside the hood, which was ballooning in and out as he breathed, the anaesthetic was gradually filling the space. Wherever he moved, whatever he did, he couldn't get away from it. His hands came up and tore at the hood.
This was a part he enjoyed best of all: the moment when the victim realised he was being chloroformed, tried to hold his breath, and did everything he could to get the hood off. Some of them would fight it for quite a while, others succumbed more quickly. He was pleased to see that this one was going to be a fighter. He smiled, one hand squeezing his hard cock gently. He had designed the hood cunningly - the chloform pad was at the back rather than at the front. This meant that, with the very carefully-placed, small airholes, his victims would struggle for longer and have more time to feel themselves helplessly going under. Unless they had a knife handy, could think quickly enough and knew exactly how it fastened on, they couldn't remove it before the chloroform got them. And they never did.
The boy had been holding his breath, his hands desperately tearing and pulling at the hood, his fingers feeling around the bottom of the thick rubber, trying to figure out how the thing was secured, searching for some kind of fastener he could break or undo. But he couldn't see anything, and couldn't get it off. He found the end of the cable tie at the back, traced it to the fastener and pulled it in all directions. He was bending back and forth in furious frustration, raging at his inability to get the fucking thing off his head. Now - unable to hold his breath any longer, he had to gulp in air, causing the black rubber to cling to his face like clingfilm. The small holes admitted air, which carried the anaesthetic deep into his lungs.
He stood, still out of range of his victim's fists, but ready to catch him. The boy went down onto one knee, and then fell, in rubber-hooded blackness, into waiting arms, finally unconscious.
With a single fluid motion he used the small pair of clippers he carried for exactly this purpose to cut the cable tie, pulled the hood off the boy, and lifted him into the back of the rusty, beat-up van. He cuffed his victim's hands behind his back, secured his legs and knees tightly together with duct tape, and used more to gag the boy. After sticking a final strip over the boy’s eyes he quickly climbed into the driver's seat. Within a few moments the only sound that could be heard in the deserted alley was the distant whisper of the departing van.
* * *
The restraints and the blindfold in the van proved to be unnecessary - when the boy regained consciousness he found himself stripped to the waist and strapped to a padded bench in a very worrying room: the walls, ceiling and floor were all covered in black rubber. Shelves ran along the walls, and on them were things which, although he couldn’t identify them, looked dangerous. He was also very securely gagged. His bleachers had been removed and he looked down to see that they’d been replaced with a pair of shiny black running shorts. His soft cock made a distinct shape through the thin rubber as it lay against his skin. He still wore his DM boots and socks. The upper half of his body was totally immobilised by thick rubber straps, his arms secured by his sides – he couldn’t move an inch - but chains attaching his ankles to the bottom corners of the bench allowed his legs some movement.
The door opened, and his head jerked up. A figure entered, locking the door behind him and pocketing the key. He stood there for a few moments, allowing the boy to look at him.
The figure looked like an athletic, perverted monk of some kind. He wore rubber jackboots, black rubber jeans, a tight rubber muscle shirt, and over all of this was a long, shiny black rubber hooded trenchcoat. On his hands were black rubber gloves, and his head was covered by a rubber mask - and over that, the hood of the rubber coat. The eyeholes in the mask had been shaped and slanted to give an expression of pure sadism, and the mouth hole was a perfect circle, covered with a fine grille. Wordlessly, the apparition moved - almost glided - to the chair. The evil eyes looked down at the boy.
“Mmmpph...” The boy strained to yell through the gag but only muffled, unintelligible sounds emerged.
“Ah,” said the figure quietly, “I see you’re with us again. Welcome to what is going to be your new home for a while.”
More silenced profanities came from the gagged boy.
“You’re wondering why you’re here, and who I am. Well, you may call me ‘the Master’. I’m going to conduct a little experiment in conditioning on you.” He pulled up a stool and sat down, the rubber coat rustling around him. “You know what a ‘fetish’ is, yes?
“Gmmmfffkk!”
“Well, I have a fetish for rubber, and I’m going to share it with you. By the time you leave here, the feel, the smell, the sound and the sight of black rubber will turn you on like nothing else. You will spend the rest of your life wanting to cum in rubber.
The boy looked fit to burst. He fought against the restraints, kicked his legs, and swore under the gag.
“You’re going to learn how good it feels to be helpless, to have your cock and your horniness controlled, and to know that there is nothing you can do about it. You’re going to stuggle and fight against it, but it will get you in the end – I’ll make very sure of that - and even the struggling and the fighting will become a turn-on for you.” He had positioned the stool level with the boy’s waist, well out of kicking range. “So, shall we begin?” He moved a hand forward and stroked a fingertip down the length of the bulge that was the soft cock. Ignoring the muffled curses, he gripped the cock gently and started to work on it. For a while nothing happened, but the Master was patient. Eventually he felt it beginning to harden slightly as he continued to squeeze, stroke and caress it through the loose, shiny black shorts. He was an expert with cocks – he knew exactly how they worked, how to make them respond even though their owners may not want them to. The cock gradually stiffened under the skillful fingers.
The boy was kicking wildly. He was opening and closing his knees, bending his legs as far as the chains would allow, then straightening them – but none of this made the slightest difference. The fingers continued to stroke and tease in ways that, as intended, bypassed the boy’s self-control completely. And the harder his cock became, the more it tented the shorts out, making it increasingly easy for the pervert to grip it and work on it with frustrating effectiveness. Before long it was fully hard. The Master now brought his other hand up and gripped the boy’s balls gently up the leg of the shorts, teasing and tickling them with tight black rubber-gloved fingers.
His voice was gloating. “I’m going to make you cum in those rubber shorts, boy – and there is absolutely nothing you can do to stop me...” His hand was gripping the cock now, the rubber sliding over the head and the shaft with each stroke. He sighed in satisfaction as the boy tensed, then yelled into the gag as he came. His cock jerked repeatedly under the Master’s milking fingers as it squirted its spunk helplessly into the shorts.
The Master sat back, looked at the boy, then stood up. “Rest now,” he said.
Some time later the Master returned, held a pad over the boy’s nose and mouth, and watched as the struggling youth went under again.
* * *
When he came to this time, the boy was lying on the floor hogtied, his knees strapped tightly together. He was also blindfolded.
The Master was standing over him, his black rubber gear glinting darkly, although the boy coulnd’t see it. Silently he took a plastic squeeze bottle with a long tube attached to it and, quickly – before the boy had time to react - insterted the tube up the leg of the rubber shorts, squeezing lube into them. Unable to see, the boy hadn’t been able to struggle against this and by the time he started, it was done. The Master put the bottle on a table, then removed the boy’s blindfold. “Time to make you cum again.” He knelt down behind the boy, who immediately began to fight the restraints and swear into the gag.
Because of the hogtie position, with his legs bent at the hips, the shorts were even looser on his crotch, enabling the Master to move it about easily under the rubber, causing it to slide in the lube. This felt unfamiliar and intensely horny to the boy, and his cock started to get hard straight away. The Master moved it from side to side, forced it downwards then back up, all the time teasing the head with light strokes. The boy’s muscles were tensed as he struggled to get away from the hand, and his head bounced off the floor in his efforts to get free – but the hogtie held him helpless to stop those devilish fingers from making him need to cum again.
“Gonna make you cum into that rubber again, boy...” He thrust a gloved hand between the tops of the boy’s thighs from behind, pulled the hard cock down, gripped the head, and with infuriatingly slow strokes amid the boy’s manic struggling, milked it, using the black rubber shorts’ sliding over the head on the thick film of slippery lube to make the boy lose control and shoot his spunk into them for the second time.
* * *
“Do you need to use the bathroom?”
The boy nodded quickly.
“Ok.” The Master pulled a loose rubber hood over the boy’s head, cuffed his wrists behind his back, and led him out of the room.
He removed the shorts, sat the boy on the toilet, and while he was there wiped the shorts down.
“Something to eat, and then bed.”
Back in the rubber room, he strapped the boy into a chair that was bolted to the floor. Then he went into the kitchen and took a tray with a prepared meal on it, zapped a couple of things in the microwave, and returned with the tray. He put it on the boy’s now naked lap, took the rubber hood off and freed his arms.
“Feel free to shout as much as you want – I had this place soundproofed years ago.” He unstrapped the boy’s gag and then, not waiting to hear what he had to say, left the room.
Later, when he returned, the meal had been eaten and the tray thrown with some force against the wall. He ignored the curses, threats and obscenities and got the wrist cuffs strapped back on. He tightened a thick rubber restraint belt around the boy’s waist and clipped the cuffs to it. These would keep his hands immobile at his sides; he would not be able to reach his cock. Then the gag and the loose rubber hood went on again while The Master got the boy unstrapped from the chair and into the cell. He had to watch out for the booted feet, which had a habit of kicking.
In the cell, which was, like the rest of the room, completely covered in rubber, he had prepared a sleepsack. It was open, and in position. He pushed the hooded boy down onto it, quickly pulled it closed over his legs and zipped it up as far as the neck. The sleepsack was made of thick, industrial-strength rubber and the Master had no worries that it would restrain a struggling boy with ease. It had always done so before. He pulled the straps tight, then removed the boy’s hood and gag. These he replaced with another hood – one which had a hole to leave the mouth uncovered. It did, however, blindfold the victim completely, and it was one that, when strapped on tightly, felt particularly rubbery. With a satisfied nod, the Master locked the cell door, put the lights out and went to bed himself.
* * *
After breakfast and another hooded trip to the bathroom, The Master put the boy onto a narrow wooden plank which was suspended from ceiling chains. After first strapping him in place, he secured him there with very tightly-wound long, stretchy rubber strips. They completely covered his body from neck to ankles, leaving only his cock, balls and the tops of his thighs exposed. When he was finished, the boy was incapable of the slightest movement in any direction. He rolled a machine over the rubber floor and stood it at the head end of the table. It looked like a small version of a hospital ventilating machine – there were bottles with liquids in them, small gas cyliders, connections for tubes, and a control panel.
The Master took something large from a shelf and walked over to stand by the boy’s head. He held it up. The eyeless face of the long, complicated black rubber hood had a respirator mask at the front, from which two corrugated tubes emerged, and there were straps everywhere. On the shiny inside there were rubber pads in various places: where the victim’s eyes would be, at the sides of his nose, over the ears and cheeks, and under the chin – and from each of these pads a small tube went through the hood to the outside, with a small air valve on it.
The boy wasn’t aware of these details however – to him it was simply something that was not going to go over his head.
However, he didn’t have much choice. The Master gripped the boy’s head, quickly lifted it, and slid the hood on. He pulled it down fully, and fastened the strap at the neck, then the others, one by one.
It felt cool and slippery and smelled of rubber. When all the straps had been adjusted and tightened, the boy heard puffs of air and felt pressure increase over his eyes, along his nose, and other places. When it was all done his head was tightly clamped in a rubber grip. He could see absolutely nothing, and for a few moments he experienced a feeling of claustrophobia. But he could breathe with no problem, and soon the fear began to diminish. The other hoods the pervert had put on him before had felt nothing like this – it was as if this thing had been designed purposely to make him feel intensely helpless and to immerse him in a world of smooth black rubber.
The Master checked the control panel on the ventilating machine, then connected the hood’s breathing tubes to it and positioned it where he could reach the controls. After pulling up the stool, he sat down and arranged the items on the small table by his side. He picked up what appeared to be a black feather – it was one of a pair he’d had made specially for him a while ago – made of rubber, it was thick and stiff along the centre, but got progressively thinner, softer and more flexible towards its outer fringes. The point and the edges were gossamer-thin and fluttered slightly with the movement of his hand. The boy was uncut, and his foreskin was bunched up beyond the tip of the head. The Master used the soft point of the rubber feather to tease and tickle the end of the foreskin, stroking it carefully and precisely over the edge of the puckered skin. A low moan came from the boy and the cock gave a begrudging jerk. Picking up a second black feather, he used it to tickle the underside of the boy’s balls at the same time. Another moan escaped his victim, and the cock grew a little more. After five minutes of tickling the very tip of the foreskin and the bottom of the balls, the boy’s cock was fully hard, the head of the cock having opened the foreskin and pushed its way through.
The Master transferred his attention now to the shaft and the head. He used one rubber feather to tease and tickle the cock, getting at it from every direction, and worked the other one into the dark recesses between the side of the scrotum and the boy’s inner thigh, or used it to tickle the perineum, and the tops of the inner thighs themselves – but always he returned to the now-naked cock head.
The boy was beginning to move in his restraints. His muscles flexed and he squirmed slowly and luxuriously at the intensely erotic feelings that the rubber pervert was causing in him – before he realised what he was doing, and stopped himself.
On the small table by The Master’s side was a cool box. He opened it and took out an industrial rubber glove – thick, black and shiny. Carefully he wrapped it around the hard cock and balls.
The boy gasped. He thrust his hips as much as he could, and the end of his cock emerged through the folds of the glove. The Master moved the glove slightly so that the cock head was covered with it again. A few second later the same thing happened, but this time he left the shiny bare glans exposed, and tickled it with the rubber feather. The Master placed his gloved hand flat on the boy’s abdomen and moved it downwards, pushing the hard cock until it was standing perfectly vertical. Holding it like this, he resumed tickling the sensitive, horny cock head.
The sounds the boy was making, along with the movements of his hips, told the Master that he needed to cum. He picked up the rubber glove, turned it around and wrapped it back around the cock so that the boy would feel the new, cool shiny surface. A more urgent moan escaped from inside the rubber hood.
The Master reached over to the ventilating machine and closed a valve, cutting off the air completely. After a few moments the youth started to struggle and panic, the rubber mask sucked tight against his face as he desperately tried to get air. The Master waited for another five seconds, turned a second control – this one labelled “Poppers” - and opened the air valve again, watching as the boy gasped in a huge lungful of amyl nitrite. He let the boy have another good dose and then set the control back to air only, and went back to teasing and tickling the cock head.
The boy let out a long, deep moan, and his hip movements got more violent. He was thrusting his pelvis as much as the tight rubber strips holding him down would allow, trying desperately to get enough friction on his cock to make him cum. But that was the very last thing the Master was going to permit. Instead, he removed the rubber glove from around the cock, put another strap over the table to hold the cock pointing vertically, and then took a thin sheet of rubber from the cool box. He lubed it well, held it above the tip of the cock, then lowered it carefully onto the head and moved it around, sliding it back and forth and from side to side over the tip. After a while he let it drop over the cock, and took a small vibrator from the table. It buzzed when he switched it on. With infinite care he touched it to the sweet spot on the underside of the glans through the thin rubber sheet, kept it there for exactly one second, and removed it.
The boy screamed into the rubber hood. He had never felt anything like that before in his life – it was unbelievably, intensely horny. Another second and he would have had the most shattering orgasm ever. Whatever the pervert had given him in the air was making his head swim. It was also making everything as horny as fuck. Even the restraints felt good – and the rubber hood, holding him helpless in its vicelike grip, was turning him on. For the first time in his life he knew what it felt like to be totally helpless – and at that moment, he was loving it.
And then the effect of the poppers began to wear off. Reality came rushing back and he started to swear at the rubber pervert again.
Another touch of the vibrator to the head of his cock stopped that instantly. Once again he was on the edge of cumming. But the vibrator was removed too soon, again.
This sequence - poppers, vibrator, on the edge, unable to cum – was repeated for what seemed like hours. Every time, the boy was determind that this time he would cum. He would beat the fucking bastard and shoot his load. But every time the pervert stopped just too soon. He was going to go mad. Each time the need to cum was getting more and more compelling – and every time the bastard stopped he felt intense panic – heneeded to cum!
Later, much later, The Master put the vibrator down. He took a new rubber glove from the cold box, wrapped it around the boy’s cock and balls, and went back to tickling the head with the rubber feathers.
Later again, he removed the glove completely and took the cock in his own rubber-gloved fingers. He held it just under the head, between his finger and thumb, and moved his thumb in tiny motions up and down. It was rubbing over that spot that is, on most boys, the centre of sexual pleasure. The movements were tiny. He would do it for three seconds, freeze his hand for three seconds, and repeat.
The boy was held so close to cumming that he could taste it – but he couldn’t quite fucking cum! There was nothing – nothing at all – that he could do to achieve the orgasm that he needed more than anything else in the world. The hood pressed across his face, blindfolding him, making him feel so fucking helpless, its smooth black rubber inside sliding slightly on the film of sweat, reminding him constantly that he was being controlled and that he was powerless to do anything about it. The rubber felt so fucking sexy – especially when the bastard gave him that strange-smelling stuff in his air. It made him want togo with it somehow – to embrace it, to revel in it, to get more rubber against his bare skin, to fucking cum in it. It felt so cool and so smooth, so unbelievably horny.
The Master gave the desperate cock one final rub, and then took his fingers away. He turned the poppers up to full on the ventilating machine, waited until the boy had had several good lungfuls of it, then he picked up the rubber sleepsack from the floor where he’d put it earlier, gazed at the boy for a moment, squirted some lube onto the rubber, and dropped the sleepsack onto him. He gripped the cock through its slippery folds and milked the helpless boy hard and fast.
Instantly the boy’s body went rigid. He felt the weight of the heavy sleepsack land on him – he could feel its coolness through the thin rubber strips restraining him, and he could hear the rubbery rustle it made as it fell onto him. And he could feel its sexy black smoothness on his bare thighs and all over his cock and balls. He knew he was covered in black rubber. And he could feel its lubricated folds sliding up and down his cock, gripped by the pervert’s hand. He could almost see his hard, horny cock being milked by it – fucking the rubber - sliding through the smooth, shiny black creases. He held his breath, and then, with a scream of ecstasy, he came. His spunk barreled out of his cock in manic, uncontrollable gushes, and his body bounced on the table like a mad thing. It went on for a long time, the Master’s hand working on the cock irresistibly, extracting every last drop out of it, milking it into the sexy, shiny black rubber.
* * *
The next day started off differently: the boy was on the large padded table again, but much more loosely restrained than previously. Naked, and no hood – just a gag. He was still cursing occasionally when he wasn’t gagged, but the steam seemed to have out of him to a large extent. Another thing that was different was that the Master wasn’t in his usual pervy rubber gear – he was wearing a white tracksuit and a balaclava – and his hands were bare.
He looked down at the spread eagled youth and smiled behind the mask. He was an ugly little sod, but his body oozed sex from every pore. Just from being on the table, the boy was beginning to get hard already. He’d spent a restless night in the sleepsack, re-running that amazing orgasm he’d had yesterday over and over in his mind and desperately wanting to wank. But he couldn’t get at his cock and at night now the bastard fastened the sleepsack up with it poking out so he couldn’t get off by rubbing it against the inside of the rubber. He’d actually bolted his breakfast and got onto the table voluntarily today. But then he hadn’t known what was in store for him.
The Master sat down and started to work gently on the boy’s cock with his bare fingers. It responded quickly at first, but then took longer to get to full erection. He knew that already the youth was aware there was something missing: no tight restraint; no hood; and no rubber. Even so, under the skillful manipulation of his fingers, the cock was soon fully hard. The Master worked on it steadily – no teasing this time, but bringing the boy close to orgasm. The closer he got, the slower the Master worked. Eventually he’d got the boy right to the edge (he was getting very adept at reading this youth). He held him there for a moment, then took him just past the point of no return – and let go completely.
The boy arched his back for the orgasm, but the bastard had stopped! His contractions started, then faltered, and then stopped altogether - and there was no pleasure at all. His cock fucked empty air as a small amount of spunk dribbled out.
He lay back and smashed his fists into the padded table in frustration. His orgasm had been absolutely ruined.
The Master waited for a minute, then repeated the exercise. This time no spunk at all came out. The Master smiled – he was getting more accurate. The cock jerked in the air a couple of times and then stopped.
The boy was still horny. The ruined orgasms were hideous – they were not only completely unsatisfying, doing nothing to quench his need, but they were insanely frustrating. He suffered another twelve of these before the pervert stopped. The man left the room – and returned half an hour later in his full rubber gear.
He tightened the boy’s restraints until he couldn’t move an inch, then pulled a heavy, thick rubber hood over his head. He carefully inserted the boy’s hard cock into the rubber mouth of a milking machine, then covered every inch of the horny youth’s bare skin with a pile of rubber jeans and jackets, pushing them between his bare legs and up between his thighs so they were against his balls. He switched the milking machine on, and the thing began to suck and move up and down the cock. Then he clamped his hand hard over the boy’s hooded mouth.
Five seconds later the boy arched his back and howled as the machine extracted his spunk in a volcanic ejaculation. Hooded, tightly restrained and covered in rubber at last, he experienced the intensely satisfying orgasm he’d been desperate for since he’d woken up.
The next few days followed a similar formula – ruined orgasms with no rubber and minimal bondage, followed by a mind-shattering one in tight restraints, hooded, his body covered in rubber, and his cock either in the grip of the milking machine, or fucking folds of even more shiny black rubber made slippery with lube.
Even though the Master was bigger, far stronger, and easily able to deal with the boy if necessary, he found that he was having to expend less and less energy trying to control the lad. He did what he was told without complaint now, and willingly subjected himself to the conditioning regime the Master was carrying out. He still spent every night in the sleepsack in the cell, as horny as fuck but unable to do anything about it. The Master controlled his cock and his orgasms totally – the boy had no say at all in when, or if, he came. And the more black, shiny rubber was involved, the more intense his orgasms were. The Master made sure of that.
That was a strange thing, the boy thought to himself, at what point had he started thinking of the guy as ‘the Master’ and not ‘that bastard’ or ‘that fucking pervert’?
* * *
On the last day the boy spent in the company of the Master, he had already cum three times – the Master had started on him early. With each, he had been in a different kind of restraint – but always bound and unable to move. With each he had been hooded, and with each had been able to feel shiny rubber against his bare skin.
Now, for the first time, he was not restrained at all - the Master, in his full gear, had unlocked his cuffs. He stood in front of the naked boy, his rubber trench coat, jeans, muscle shirt and boots glinting in the soft overhead illumination. He had the boy’s bleachers and leather jacket in his hand. “Almost time to get dressed and go,” he said.
The boy blinked. He’d been thinking about sex almost non-stop lately – so much so, in fact, that he hadn’t had time to consider leaving here. He’d already cum three times today already, but just looking at the Master standing there in that shiny black rubber was getting him hard again. He’d never been allowed to touch the Master, and more than anything he wanted to press himself against the man, feel that gear against his skin, rub his cock over that horny bulge in the rubber jeans.
The Master put the boy’s clothes down, and beckoned for the lad to follow him. He led him out of the room, down the passageway for a few yards, then he stopped at an area of the wall with short shelves on it, and pulled one. The hidden door opened with a soft ‘click’, and beyond it the boy could see only blackness. He held the door open and gestured with a hand for the boy to enter.
The light in the passage was further down, by the stairs, and there was no light at all in the new room, so even as he passed the doorway into it, the boy could make out nothing. When they were inside, the Master closed the door, plunging them into total blackness.
Suddenly the boy was grabbed and forced to the floor. He let out a grunt of surprise and, reflexively, he started to struggle - but unseen rubber hands clamped around his arms and legs. Another felt for his head and clamped itself over his mouth, gagging him. He was held fast, spread eagled, on the floor.
Then he gasped in pleasure as felt the weight and the unmistakable rubber gear as the Master lowered himself slowly onto him. He could feel that wonderful bulge pressing into his own hard cock, the Master’s rubber jeans all down his legs, his boots against his feet, and the rubber trenchcoat falling around them.
The bulge ground into his crotch and almost made him cum – but then the Master changed his position so he was facing the opposite way. The boy heard a short sucking noise and, a few seconds later, the Master’s mouth enclosed his hard cock with soft rubber; he had attached a sheath to the mouth of the mask. The Master’s bulge came down over his face, displacing the hand that had been there. At a short, sharp grunt from the man, the arms holding the boy tightened their grip, and the Master’s mouth milked the boy’s cock through the rubber sheath.
The boy exploded. He was licking and biting the rubber bulge over his face manically – he couldn’t get enough of it; he was being held helpless and sucked off by the Master’s rubber mouth. Covered in rubber, and with a scream of extasy, he came. The Master milked the throbbing cock, not changing his speed at all, as the boy’s muscles fought against the restraining arms holding him down, his body convusling in the throes of orgasm. Hot spunk flooded out of the Master’s mouth and fell onto the boy’s bare thighs, then ran down onto black rubber floor. It was, without doubt, the most intense orgasm the boy had ever had.
When it was over, the arms did not release him. He heard a clink, then there was a smell he’d become used to. He fought to escape, but the unseen arms held him helpless amd hands kept his head still. The pad came down over his nose and mouth. After a few seconds his struggling began to diminish and then, moaning incoherently and moving drunkenly, he went under.
* * *
The Master dropped the boy off in the same alley from which he had abducted him. He’d placed him comfortably in a doorway, and now watched from a concealed spot until he was sure the lad had come round and was Ok.
The boy stirred. He opened his eyes, looked around, searched the alleyway, and got groggily to his feet. Then he noticed a small bag by him on the floor. Inside was the pair of rubber running shorts he’d found himself wearing when he’d first regained consciousness in the rubber room. He held them to his face, licking the rubber for a moment, then carefully put them back into the bag. A smile appeared on his face. He scanned the alley again – for a moment his eyes looked directly at the Master, though he didn’t see him - and then he sighed deeply, and walked off.
The Master was satisfied. He had recruited another boy to the growing army that were the disciples of his own Master: black rubber. He knew that once rubber got hold of a boy, it would never let him go. Some, like this last one, had to be introduced to the ranks forcibly – and that was fine - it was his life’s work, after all, and he was supremely well-equipped to do it.
He put the van into gear and set off in search of his next victim. His work would never be completed.
Life was good.