I'd been saving myself up for this. A session with a guy that was going to be all about rubber – and lots of it. Shiny black rubber has always been my biggest fetish, but it's difficult to find guys who are into it as deeply as I am. However, from the messages we'd exchanged, this guy Brandon seemed to be, if anything, even more turned on by it than I am.
Brandon must have had a well-paying job: his flat was on the first floor of a nice block just south of the Thames. I already had a hard-on when I arrived – and when the door opened I almost came in my fucking jeans. He was stood there in a full black rubber body suit and gasmask, along with shiny waders and elbow-length black rubber gloves. The suit wasn't latex, and nor was it tight - it looked like industrial rubber, thick and heavy, and there were creases everywhere. The way they caught the light sent sharp spikes of need through me.
I only got a short glance at his living room as we passed through, but it looked expensive. When we went into his playroom I was surprised to see a second guy standing there. He was also in a gasmask and rubber suit, though his suit was thinner rubber and a lot tighter. The outline of a hard cock was clearly visible along the top of his thigh.
"Tony, this is Mark. He's gonna be helping me take care of you."
I nodded to him. I hadn't been expecting two of them, but Mark was sexy – and hey, it was even more rubber.
"Ok, strip, put this on, and lie on the table, face up."
The rubber suit he'd handed me had been covered with lube on the inside, and it slipped up my legs and over my body very easily. Soon he'd got me strapped down spread-eagled to the restraint table and pulled a gasmask over my head. From the messages we'd exchanged, I'd assumed that the session was going to be about fucking and sucking in rubber, which was exactly what I'd been after, but lying here face-up didn't seem like an ideal position for that. Perhaps the guy had other plans first.
Mark was gently playing with his cock bulge as Brandon checked the restraints and then decided to add another wide leather strap over my hips. He stood back and nodded. "Yep, that's good."
He knelt on the table between my spread legs and began to play with my cock, which was already starting to get hard again. His rubber gloves squeaked as his fingers moved over the rubber bulge. "Mark, hand me the lube."
After covering his gloved hands with it, he resumed playing with my cock through the suit. There was no more squeaking.
The lube inside the suit made it feel wonderful as Brandon's fingers moved my cock about, causing the slippery rubber to slide over it, and in less than a minute it was fully hard and pushing a stretchy bulge out into his hands. I'd intentionally not cum for the best part of a week, so that I'd be as horny as fuck for this session, and already I needed to shoot.
Brandon nodded to Mark, and the boy, who so far had just been standing there watching, came closer. He reached down and began to stroke his own rubber-gloved hands over my body, concentrating on my nipples. My tits are directly wired to my cock, and I'd told Brandon this when we'd been messaging. My need to cum increased exponentially as Mark gripped them and squeezed.
Brandon's fingers found the three-way zip on the suit and very carefully pulled it up until my hard cock sprang out into the air. He cupped my balls gently and pulled them out as well, then closed the zip enough to keep everything in place.
More lube was poured onto the thick rubber gloves, and Brandon enclosed my now naked cock with his hand. He began to wank it very slowly, his grip light. Three strokes later he stopped, paused, and then did it again.
I needed more than this – much more. I'd been as horny as fuck before I'd even got here, but now the need to cum was getting serious. I writhed slightly on the table as the guy worked on me, watching the light reflecting on that incredible heavy black rubber suit and those waders, and listening to it all creaking with every movement. I needed to lick that rubber, I needed to fuck it, and I needed to cum!
"OK! Enough of this. I wanna fuck you both senseless in that gear. Or get fucked by you. Get me off this." I'd been edged before, years ago, and I hated it. Oh, being kept hard and close to cumming felt horny – course it did – but I couldn't take not being able to cum. It wasn't my thing. The main effects it had was to make me restless, and very angry.
Brandon shook his head slowly at me. "I don't think so." He got off the table. "Mark, time to take over."
Mark got himself comfortable between my legs. He replaced his heavy rubber gloves with much tighter and thinner ones, and then he began to tease my naked cock.
I very quickly found out that this guy had the touch of an angel. Or, more accurately, a devil: his fingertips stroked and teased over the shaft, the head, and my balls, and they seemed, by some dark magic, always to be using the most effective and irresistible technique wherever they went. I'd never felt a touch like that in my life. When Mark enclosed my whole cock with his hand – hardly contacting it at all – I couldn't stop myself from violently fucking his hand as hard as I could. Except that the wide strap Brandon had put over my hips prevented almost all movement in that direction. And Mark was intentionally not gripping hard enough – there was nothing like enough friction there to let me cum. My thrusting, causing the rubber fingers to brush so lightly over my cock, just made it fucking worse. I fought the restraints like a madman to get my hand close enough to bring myself off, but I couldn't fucking reach. I'd never felt as helpless or as frustrated. I was also getting furious – the teasing felt fucking horny, but I hated being edged. It was not what I wanted; not what I'd come here for.
A lot of time passed, and I'd long ago reached the point where I would have sold my fucking soul for orgasm. My moaning and swearing had become so loud that Brandon had to lift my gasmask and gag me.
But it didn’t stop. Mark continued to keep me close to orgasm without letting me get near enough to cum. He was obviously loving what he was doing: I could see his blue eyes shining through the lenses of the gasmask with every desperate movement and muffled sound I made.
I have no idea how many hours this went on – the two guys swapped positions again more than once, and although Brandon's touch was nothing like as irresistible as Mark's, he still managed to keep me far, far too close. And when Mark took over, it was pure torture.
He got off the table. "We'll be back in a bit." With that, They went out of the room – leaving me, my blue balls and my steaming, unfulfilled cock, alone.
It was a while before they came back. I had long since gone off the boil but I was still ragingly horny. I thought that perhaps now they'd release me and we could get down to some serious rubber fucking. But no. They did release me from the table, but then they made me put my clothes back on – and then the fuckers chucked me out! I swore, but there were two of them and there wasn't much I could do. I stood outside the flat on the balcony fuming, my hard cock straining inside my jeans. The fuckers hadn't even let me fucking cum!
It had been easy to lure Brandon and Mark to the playroom. I'd learned a great deal about Brandon's turn-ons when we'd been messaging, and together with my mate Alan, using his computer and profile, and with pictures designed to target exactly his ideals, we'd sent Brandon an invitation he would not want to refuse: a sexy, permanently horny boy with an overpowering – though so far largely unexplored – fetish for rubber, who dreamed of a fuck session with an experienced rubber guy who had some gear.
It worked. I wondered if Brandon would come by himself, but no, both of them turned up. When they arrived at Alan's house they had no idea that as well as Alan himself, me and two more of our mates were waiting for them.
Alan's playroom was impressive; I often joked that he had more money than was good for him, and the guy had more rubber gear than you could shake a stick at. He also owned just about every sex toy that had ever been invented. These included a black rubber vacuum suit with all the attachments – and it was this that Brandon had been forced into before being strapped down very securely to the articulated bondage table, the head end of which was raised to about forty-five degrees so that he could see down the length of his body. The suit had had much lube poured into it and the inside was glistening very wetly, and very invitingly indeed. Over his head had been pulled a gasmask with a long rubber apron which reached past his nipples. I'd noticed that the devious Alan had even lubed the inside of the gasmask as well. From the front of it two corrugated rubber tubes extended to the side, connecting to a small ventilating machine into which, knowing Alan, poppers, the odour of ripe socks, or almost anything else could probably be introduced. For our present purposes it was supplying just normal air. At one side of it a black rubber cylinder rose and fell like a concertina as Brandon breathed.
A milking cylinder was sealed to the suit, the soft cock inside it clearly visible through the transparent plexiglass wall. The cylinder was connected by narrower air tubes to the milking machine, which was mounted at the side of the ventilator.
A final couple of tubes ran to a heavier-duty vacuum pump for evacuating the rubber suit.
The suit itself was not a tight fit – there were folds here and there – but when Alan switched the vacuum pump on, these gradually shrank to small, sharp creases as the shiny black rubber was sucked into intimate contact with every inch of Brandon's skin. As the pump continued, whirring loudly, the flexible rubber worked its way into every crevice, every nook and cranny of the guy's body until, when a buzzer sounded for a moment, announcing that the pump had done as much as it could, Brandon was vacuum-packed into the suit. Even though the milking machine hadn't yet been switched on, the guy's cock had hardened gradually as the rubber had compressed around him until now it was fully erect inside the transparent cylinder.
I had been watching this in fascination. I'd never seen a suit like this used before, and I wondered what it would be like to experience it myself. But that was for another time – right now this was all about Brandon and Mark.
Mark had also been watching. He'd had no choice – he was restrained, wearing his own rubber suit, in a standing position facing the foot end of the restraint table, to a pair of strong, tight vertical chains which ran from the ceiling beams to the floor each side of him. Covering his head was a rubber hood with just a pair of air holes beneath the nose, and perforated eyes. From his position he could see the rubber cuffs holding Brandon's booted feet apart and fixed to the bottom corners of the table; the three pairs of rubber straps restraining his legs and thighs; the heavy straps over his hips, stomach, chest and pecs; the chains keeping his rubber-covered hands suspended at his sides, along with the pair of side chains that prevented his reaching his cock or the cylinder (although they'd been carefully adjusted to allow them to come frustratingly close); more straps at his biceps; and the wide one over his forehead so that he couldn't move his head. For Mark, whom I was quite certain had a major fetish for bondage and rubber, the sight of Brandon in front of him, restrained to the hi-tech table and totally helpless in that clinging, shiny black rubber suit, must have been compelling. Mark's cock was as hard as Brandon's, but there was no milking machine attached to it, and it was stretching the rubber out into an obscene bulge between his thighs. Precum was doubtless already oozing out of the tip, and lubricating the inside.
Bob and Andy, the two mates of ours who'd helped to get Brandon and Mark into their current positions, were sat down in their own rubber gear and gasmasks at the end of the room relaxing and watching the proceedings; they wouldn't be needed again until I wanted the two victims to be moved.
"I think we're ready," Alan said.
Without speaking, I nodded back.
He checked the setting of the milking machine, and switched it on. There began a rhythmical sucking and clicking sound as the cylinder enclosing Brandon's cock began its work. It didn't move very far, but I could see it going up and down very slowly. There was a quiet click at the top and at the bottom of each cycle, and they were happening about once every second and a half. Three seconds for each up-and-down cycle. I nodded my approval.
A moment after the thing had started, Brandon closed his eyes and moaned with pleasure. His cock visibly hardened more – and continued to do so until it looked like it was straining to reach the top of the cylinder.
A quiet sound also came from Mark. The sight of the machine working on the helpless Brandon's cock in all that shiny black rubber was turning him on like fuck.
Even though Brandon's restraints were tightly holding him down, he was still capable of moving a little, and every time he did so squelching sounds came from the suit and all the lube inside it. Any movement must have felt incredible – the rubber was gripping his body, but the lube still allowed it to slip and slide a little; just enough to feel indescribably rubbery and irresistibly horny. I knew that he was acutely aware of the slippery black rubber all over his body – it had been sucked up into his armpits, down into his arse crack, and deeply into the creases at the sides of his balls, encasing them, and making them stand out in a separate round bulge.
Alan checked the settings of everything again, then nodded to the rest of us. Bob and Andy stood up and we all left the playroom and headed into the kitchen. Once there we all took our gasmasks off and Alan set about making coffee. We took it through to the living room and sat down.
"How long are you going to leave them?" Bob asked.
We'd all known it was going to be a long session, and we'd planned to have nothing else to do for the rest of the day. Alan smiled. "We'll check on them in an hour or so. By then the milking machine should be having a good effect."
Bob grinned and nodded, then took the book he'd brought with him, sat back, and begin to read. Andy got to work on his phone, Alan on his computer, and I booted my laptop up and continued work on a story I was writing. Later there were always films or vids to watch on the plasma screen – boredom was not going to be a problem.
After an hour and a bit Alan and I covered our faces with the gasmasks again and went back in. I'd asked Tony to set the milking machine to a very slow speed because I wanted it to keep Brandon needing to cum very badly indeed, but to be nothing like enough to allow him to shoot. It appeared to be doing exactly that: Brandon was squirming on the table, desperately trying to reach the cylinder with his chained hands, and moaning fit to bust. We stood and watched him. He was oblivious to our presence, so deeply occupied was he with everything he could feel, hear, and see. His moaning came in waves – quiet groans and gentle squirming for a time, then a gradual crescendo, his movements getting stronger, until his hips were thrusting, his knees trying to open and close, he was fighting the restraints violently, loud squelching coming from the lube-slippery rubber, and the sounds he was making had turned into urgent, desperate wailing. After a few seconds this would all subside slowly, until he lay there again just moaning in despair. Until his need to cum began to get to him again.
The moment he realised that we were back he begged us to let him cum. The constant, unstoppable cylinder moving up and down his achingly horny cock, sucking and stroking it so slowly, along with the pure fetish of the black rubber moulded to his body, squeaking wetly with every tiny movement, was clearly working on him very effectively – it was obvious that prolonged, uncontrollable edging was something that this edger could not take himself.
Mark was also thrashing about and moaning. He was trying to fuck his rubber suit to bring himself off, but of course without any success at all.
Alan switched the milking machine off and we rejoined the other two in the living room to allow Brandon and Mark time to cool down.
When we all returned to the playroom it took us a further ten minutes to swap Brandon and Mark's positions. The two guys were about the same size so there was no difficulty getting Brandon into Mark's suit, or Mark into the vacuum one. Alan had emptied more lube into both of the suits. Brandon was now stood between the chains, and it wasn't easy to get the zip done up over his rock-hard cock – every time I touched it I was afraid he was going to cum – but I managed it. I pointed it downwards along his thigh to make it feel as unbearably horny as possible.
Alan turned the milking machine on, checked everything, and we left them to it again – Brandon now forced to watch Mark's cock being very slowly sucked and milked by the relentless cylinder, exactly as he had been himself for the preceding hour. As we went out of the door I smiled at the pitiful moans of need coming from both of them, and at the wet, slurping, rubbery sounds coming from the vacuum suit as Mark strained against the straps and the chains, doing everything he could to make himself cum.
Another hour passed, and we swapped their positions again. This time we had to be very careful to keep them both as helpless as possible while we moved them, as they were so out of their minds with the need for orgasm that they tried to fight us. But it got done, and we left them for another hour and a half before swapping them for a final time.
Brandon and Mark had been tortured like this for well over four hours. I thought that was probably enough, and it was getting late anyway. We left them for a further twenty minutes without the milking machine turned on, to allow them to regain some semblance of sanity, then we released them and pushed them out of the door. Watching from the window we laughed as they both staggered back to their car and drove off. I hadn't spoken at all while I'd been in their presence, and we'd all had the gasmasks on when we'd been in the playroom with them, so neither of them had any idea who we were, or that it had been me – the guy they'd edged insane and then chucked out when I'd visited them last time.
Several weeks later, I contacted Brandon again and asked for a rubber fucking session with them both. He replied, and I turned up as arranged. I got the feeling that they were self-conscious about the last time I'd been there, but that session wasn't mentioned. This time they didn't put me on the table – the session was exactly as advertised: fucking and sucking in rubber. It was wonderful, and they both went to great lengths to please me. After having been fucked by Mark while I was licking Brandon's industrial rubber suit all over, I finally came explosively with my cock buried between his thighs, fucking the shiny, slippery black rubber.
On the way out I smiled to myself: I got the feeling they'd learned their lesson.