Date: Sun, 22 Jan 2012 21:49:21 +1100
From: Damien gates <damiengates69@gmail.com>
Subject: Coming home part 2

SECTION 11 Brandon Gets Nasty

So it's real strange when I find that I can see. Everything. - I don't
remember them taking the blindfold off... ?And it's stranger still, when I
think I am slowly gulping down my piss, and open my eyes and see that there
is a Rubberman - the beautiful Rubber Motor-cycle Cop - his muscular thighs
straddling my head, and I am swallowing his big fat Rubber Dick, while his
striped uniform rubber beeches rub softly against the sides of my face as
he deep-fucks my throat, and his rubber-gloved hands work my huge, swollen
nipples.And how did I get to be back in the sling? With Brandon at my ass,
and his arm half-way up my butt?

"He's coming round."

Brandon grins at me, real wide.
"Welcome back, whore-boy."

I feel so fucking beautiful. I don't want this ever to end. In fact, I want
the two of them to push even deeper inside me.

Instinctively I pull my hands up to eh Motor-cycle Cop's nipples. I don't
even react to the fact I am no longer tied up. I reach his fat, juicy tits
and take them between my fingers.
"Yeeeeeeaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh!" he growls, so fucking quiet, and yet so
fucking strong.
"Good whore" says Brandon.My hooded eyes just make contact with him, and I
push my butt further onto his biceps.
"Fuuuuuccccccccckkkkkkkkk yeeeeeeaaaaaaaaaaahhhhhhhhhhh!" growls the Cop.

Another big hit of poppers is administered to me. I hold my breath... and
release it as the huge rush hits so fucking hard... I swallow the rest of
Brandon's arm, in one long, smooth thrust, right up to his shoulder.
"Fuck! You are one fuck of a whore..." breathes Brandon.The cop eases his
balls into my hungry mouth, as his dick slides down my willing throat. So
far, that his rubber cod-piece presses down on my face. I try to suck more
of Brandon's arm inside me."I got no more to give you, whore-boy!" he
drawls.
"Yeaaahhhhhhhhhhhhhh! growls the Cop.
And fuck! It feels so fine to be their whore. Nothing else matters, or ever
could matter."Good whore" whispers Brandon.

I grind my ass, riding Brandon's arm as far as he can push it inside me.
And I open my gullet to all the rubber-dick I can swallow. And they tell me
after, I am laying on the bed, tweaked out of my fucking brains, grinding
and swallowing the whole night long, all covered in piss and cum, for hour
upon hour after they have shot their loads, pulled out of me, and left me
alone in the room.

Still totally convinced they are there, fucking and fisting me, I hear
Chett's voice.

"Time for some rest, whore-boy. Three nights is enough for one day."
I look towards him, my eyes, so hooded I can scarcely make out his rubber
form; and I half-smile, halfDead, dreamy and desperate, all at once...

"Make me a whore, Sir. Make me a fucking whore."

A sweet smelling gas fills my head, and I pass out.
The dream I had was so fucking scary, because I was sure I was awake, and
that everything was for real.
They had left me untied, lying on the bed, just where they found me
squirming around like I was still being fisted or fucked, and moaning
incoherent words of ecstasy. If the gas was to make me sleep, it didn't
work -- at least, not for long. I was soon wide awake again, and there was
no way I was ever falling asleep. Not for a day or two... There was too much
stuff flying in and out of my fried-up brain to make sleep a possibility.

And it was so fucking cold! I had no clothes on. There was no bedding or
anything -- just the rubber sheet. I tried to pull it from the bed, and
crawl under it -- but I couldn't make it come loose. So I just lay there,
thrashing from side to side, losing my mind, losing the fight -- with what?
Crystal-meth Demons!
I prayed in vain that I would sleep, that I could forget what had happened
that night... those nights? Fuck! How long had I been there?

Then there were the voices. The whispering that I tried so hard to ignore...
at first. And that I quickly tried just as hard to hear, to make it all out
- until gradually, I found I could understand the odd word, then the odd
phrase, and finally whole sentences. Sentences they kept on repeating, over
and over again. Mean things; horrible, nasty stuff -- and all about me.
About how disgusting I was. About how they loathed me, and despised me, and
how no-one had ever turned into such a dirty whore as quickly as I had. On
and on, again and again, the same things over and over. I held my hands
over my ears, but still I heard them. Fuck! How they hated me!

SECTION 12 The Sewer Creatures

A quiet grinding sound. Metal on metal. In the corner of the room.

I just stayed stock-still on the bed, scared out of my wits, and looked
sideways with my eyes towards the noise, without moving my head. Helpless,
alone, a living thing that they had turned into rubber -- and now this
grinding sound from the floor, in the darkest corner of the room, where
someone, or something, was trying to come up -- from where???

I strained to try to see what the fuck was happening - at the same time as
shrinking back from it -- petrified.
It was a circle, there in the corner, like a man-hole cover, that was
turning, ever so slowly, round and round, and being eased up and open from
underneath. I was a rabbit in the headlights. I stared in absolute terror,
but couldn't move a muscle as the cover jumped free of its metal
screw-thread, and was slid sideways, and the man-hole opened up... an
impenetrable blackness, a dark gateway into hell.

Out from the shadows rose a head, with some industrial kind of mask over
it. The rest of the body followed, in real heavy black-rubber gear, a thick
belt, black industrial work- gloves, and thick, black hip-boots, wet with
the slime of the sewer. The monster climbed up out of the man-hole and
stomped into the room. Immediately behind him came another, exactly the
same. And then, a third, wearing a gas-mask and chest-high waders, wet and
dirty and smelling of piss.

The fourth guy -- thing! -- was too weird for me to be able to describe.
All-rubber. A kind of alien. His nipples sort of turned into long rubber
tubes; and his long, fat, black-rubber dick turned into a hose, that was so
long, it trailed along the floor. He had thick, industrial black rubber
gauntlets; and he wore a full-face rubber mask, with wide round holes for
his eyes and mouth, and rubber spikes sticking out all over the rest of it.
There was something stuck up his butt: it started like it was a fat dildo
or plug -- but it too trailed off into a long rubber hose. He was fucking
scary!

All four of them moved slowly towards me, almost in slow-motion. I tried to
scream for help -- but nothing came from my mouth. I couldn't speak or shout
or make any sound at all. I wasn't too sure I could even breath.

It was clear that they had come for me. I had been left there for them,
like bait -- like the goat in Jurassic Park was left for the dinosaur.

They didn't speak to each other -- at least, not in any language I knew --
they just grunted, and snorted, and belched guttural noises at each other,
like savage animals.They slowly dragged their heavy boots nearer and nearer
the bed...

I was paralysed. Trembling all over, but unable to put up any resistance, I
did nothing while one of them forced me down at the shoulders and pinned me
to the bed, another two spread my legs wide apart, sat on them, and held
down my groin, while the Rubber Alien clenched his gauntlet into a thick
rubber knot, raised it high above his head, and aimed a brutal punch down
against my butt-hole...

NOW I SCREAMED!

SECTION 13 Bad Dream

It was the tech who came running in. He came to the bed, where I was
thrashing around and yelling, all alone - no sewer-pigs, just me and my
nightmare - and he held me by the shoulders until I had stopped thrashing
and was just laying there. Then he stroked my head, and said --

"It's alright! It's alright! Just a bad dream. I'm here. It's alright."

I calmed down... some! -- but couldn't stop staring to the corner of the room,
in case they came back. There was no-one there - nothing. The tech smiled
at me, real gentle and kind -

"Just a bad dream."

Except, there was a round metal type of man-hole cover, there in the
corner, just like I had seen opening up...They must have cleaned me when I
was asleep, because I noticed, while the tech was soothing me, that I was
all shiny and dry and clean as a whistle -- just fucking cold!I shivered,
non-stop. I was frightened, and confused, and felt totally disoriented and
wasted from all those drugs...I hate to admit it, but I think I started to
cry. Leastways, the tech gently brushed my cheeks under each eye, very
tenderly, and said --
"Hey..."
Now I was feeling such a dumb-ass, I nearly bust out crying big-time. I
looked up at this guy -- the guy whose flogging had made me cum! - and now
he was a kind of a guardian angel -- I felt so ashamed at how I had reacted
when they flogged him -- and for what? For being too nice to me! And fuck!
Did I need him to be nice to me right now!

He asked if I was better. I said thanks
"I... don't even know your name" I stammered.
"Billy" he smiled.
"Billy, huh?" I tried to smile back at him, but I don't think I was too
successful.Billy. Such an ordinary, boy-next-door, wholesome name. And
there I was, a mutant rubber thing they had drugged and ... fuck, I didn't
want to think about it! I wanted him to go. I was ashamed to be even seen
by this good-looking, decent guy, Billy. I felt so fucking lost...

It was stupid, and weak, but I plucked up the courage to ask for what I
needed, so much, right then -

"Billy...would you... I really need someone to hug me... I'm sorry... forget I said
that..."

He smiled again. Such a beautiful, comforting smile.

"Come here..."
And I sat up and leaned into his arms, and he held me tight and patted my
back, and even gave me a peck on the cheek, and rocked me from side to
side, and I never was made to feel my `time was up', and I just sank into
him and wanted him to hold me like that for ever.
It was I who broke the spell...

"It's so fucking cold in here!"

Billy pointed to some rubber clothing that was neatly stacked on the chair.

"No" I shuddered. "I don't want to wear that stuff."

"It's the only clothes they allowed you to wear in here" said Billy. "Come
on. It's not that big of a deal! You want to freeze to death?"

He helped me into a pair of rubber pants, that fitted perfectly. (Of course
they did: they had been made for me!) And a rubber t-shirt and jacket. Some
waders were lying by the chair, folded down at the knee, and then back up
again at the calf.

"Try them for size" said Billy.

I pulled them on. My size.

"You look great" he said. And he came and hugged me again. I could see the
two of us in the mirror -- and I have to admit, it was a hot sight, the two
of us in rubber and boots, in each other's arms.
Then I was curious about something...

"Why did they send you?"

"Because I asked them to" said Billy.

I held it back for as long as I could, then I did start crying, big time,
on his shoulder, and held onto him as tight as I could. He let me `get it
all out', soothing me, kissing the top of my head, rubbing my back and
shoulders, telling me it was alright to cry, and not to be ashamed, it was
natural, and stuff like that. Then he walked me back to the bed.

"You need a whole lot more rest" he said.

Suddenly I panicked..."You're not going to leave me?" I pleaded. He smiled
again.

"Why do you think I'm here, stupid? I'm going to look after you. Keep you
safe, while you're asleep. And be right by you when you wake up."

He lay me on the bed. And, somehow, from somewhere, he pulled a rubber
sheet over me. He sat on the edge of the bed, and told me to try to go to
sleep, and that it was alright, he wouldn't leave me. He stroked my head,
ever so softly...

I closed my eyes, with Billy holding my hand, and slowly drifted into sleep.

I had the nightmare again. The same slow turning of the man-hole cover. The
same rubber-clad monsters, wet and slippery from the sewer, wearing
industrial-type welders' masks or gas-masks. And that hooded Alien!

But this time, Billy was also in the dream. He had hold of the punk -- the
guy in piss-wet jeans and rubber tank-top who had jacked off over me. Billy
had him cuffed behind his back, and shackled at his boots. The guy was
heavily drugged -- barely conscious -- drooling and moaning incoherently, his
eyes sometimes rolling to the top of his head.

Just as before, I was so shit-scared, I could not move... only watch, unable
to stop anything, or cry out for help.
The sewer pigs strapped me down on the bed, facing up, with my ass at the
edge of the bed, and my legs tied against the frame, wide apart, and an
extra-thick rubber strap was pulled round my hips, holding me tight and
solid against the bed. Then my waders were pulled all the way up my legs --
they did this one leg at a time, with a strong sense of ritual... The waders
were so big the tops of them brushed against my crotch...

Then the rubber-punk was put into some kind of harness, which they attached
to a series of chains that they pulled down from the ceiling. There was the
whine of a motor, the chains SNAPPED taught, and the punk was slowly lifted
up into the air. He hung there, legs dangling directly over me, limp and
near-senseless, drugged out of his fucking mind.

Next thing, the hydraulic motors raised me up some, but only at the bottom
end of the bed, so that my head fell back, unsupported. Billy quickly
strapped my forehead firmly against a head-rest that was at right angles to
my back, so my mouth fell naturally open, in a straight line through to my
throat, parallel to the bed.

The sewer-pigs moved about silently and methodically - like everyone seemed
to do in Vulcan Pharmaceuticals! - as though they had been through the
routine a hundred times before. One of them took a long hypo, and jabbed it
through the punk's jeans, deep into his thigh. The punk was so fucked-up,
he hardly reacted to the injection -- that is, not until the drugs kicked
in... A dark, damp patch appeared on the crotch of his jeans, and slowly
spread downwards and outwards... Then small trickles of piss broke out from
where his jeans were ripped, and fell splattering down on me.

One of the sewer pigs pulled a length of hose from the ceiling, while
another of them attached a kind of gag to the punk's mouth. The hose was
lubed-up - with anaesthetic, I guess - because they threaded it through the
gag, and right down the punk's throat into his belly. I saw the hose give a
sort of jump, as they turned a tap, and liquid (fuck knows what it was!)
pumped into it, and into the skinhead, so he would continue to piss.
Endlessly.

Soon, the damp patch had spread all the way down one of his faded-blue
denim legs, and his boot began to fill with piss, and overflow so it
cascaded down over me.

They pulled a switch, and the drugged punk's shackled legs were raised,
slightly above his head. Now the dark piss-patch spread down over his
denim-ass and more and more piss poured over me. They pulled his legs
higher, and the piss flowed down the inside of his rubber tank-top, over
his face, through his hair, and again splashed all over me, and onto the
Sewer Pigs -- who's grunts and snorts were getting louder and louder.

The Alien took a hypo and pushed it into the side of my dick. FUCK! I
screamed out in agony! My mutated rubber-dick, which was already twice its
usual size, swelled up even more, to the size of a fucking horse-dick, and
went hard as a rock, pointing straight up in the air, like a fat
tree-stump. One of the two Sewer-Pigs in a welder's mask then took a fat
syringe, and emptied the contents down my wide piss-slit. My balls swelled
up to the size of grape-fruits, and my dick started to ooze a steady flow
of pre-cum.

The Rubberman in chest-high waders took a large knife from his belt and
slit open the punk's tight, piss-wet denim at the ass, and ripped his jeans
wide open. Then there was the whine of the motor again -- and the trussed-up
punk was slowly lowered down...

Billy carefully positioned him over my dick, and they lowered him right
onto me, skewering his ass onto my fucking huge, rock-hard, black rubber
dick.

His dry, un-lubed hole took it at first -- but as the shaft thickened up,
and he was stretched open wider and wider, it wasn't long before he
couldn't take any more, and began to groan with pain...

That's when they suddenly dropped the chains 6", and the punk SCREAMED in
agony as he was impaled all the way down on my fat rubberdick and onto my
huge balls. Then they raised him slowly again, and DROPPED him suddenly,
all the way back down the shaft of my horse-dick, with him SCREAMING all
the time, and me squirming and moaning with pleasure at how they were
forcing his ass to fuck my dick, and how my drug-induced flow of pre-cum
was lubing the skinhead's ass.

Billy came up behind me, with a huge fucking grin on his face, and pushed
his rubber meat into my open mouth and straight on into my throat. It was
an easy fuck, and he pumped his hips back and forth, slapping my face
harder and harder against his rubber crotch with every new stroke, and no
chance in hell of any resistance from me, with my head nicely strapped back
against the bed-frame.

Meanwhile, the Alien clenched his rubber-gauntlet hand into a fist, like in
the previous dream, and pressed it against my butt-hole. The pushing turned
to punching. The punching turned to brutal punching. With no attempt, and
no intention, of easing me open, he kept aiming his big knot of a rubber
fist harder and harder against my butt-hole, until suddenly it just gave
way, and with a loud SCREAM I signalled that he had finally punch-fucked
his way right inside me.

The chains raised the punk up again -- and dropped him all the way down onto
my dick! The punch-fucker pulled out and PUNCHED all the way in again. And
with my screams and the punk's screams filling the room... I woke up.
Billy was there for me just like he was before; and soothed me, and told me
it was another nightmare, and stroked my head, and was my total hero, all
over again.

And he held my hand while I drifted back into sleep.

But trying to piece it all together afterwards, I was almost sure -- could
it be true? -- that as I lay there on the bed, with Billy soothing me and
telling me it was all a nightmare... I saw that my waders were pulled all the
way up my legs, right up to my crotch...

SECTION 14 Good Dream

When I woke up again, Billy was laying next to me on the bed, fast asleep,
with one arm draped over me. I pressed myself tighter into him, and rested
my head against his shoulder. He pulled me closer to him, and dreamily gave
me a kiss on the cheek, without waking up properly, and I fell into a deep,
contented slumber.

My next nightmare was much shorter. The Sewer Pigs were dragging the
drugged skinhead towards the manhole cover. One of them then started to
drag me along too. But Billy was there, and wrested me from the grip of the
Rubber monster. He mouthed words that I didn't hear -- no sound at all! --
but it looked like "Not now. Later." Billy took me in his arms and carried
me to the bed. The last thing I remember from the nightmare was the punk
being pulled into the manhole, and the cover closing up after him.
?

SECTION 15 Finale

I had no more nightmares.When I woke up, I felt much, much better. A whole
new man!And there was Billy, sitting on the chair, staring at me intently.
He smiled when I looked over to him. "You had a long sleep, kiddo!" he
said. "You any idea how long you been out?" Boy, was I pleased to see him
there. "No idea", I said. - "Probably better that way" smiled Billy.I
suddenly wished... I wished...

"I wish you could take me outa here, take me home with you" I said -- And
where the hell did that come from

Billy smiled at me, and said nothing.

"I wish you could look after me always. Do masters look after their slaves?"

"Sure they do" said Billy.

"Take me home with you, and keep me as your slave, and in rubber 24/7."

"Is that what you want?"

"But no drugs!" I added. "I want to feel like this. Like I do now."

"Come here" he said. I walked over to him. He took me by the shoulders.
"You really would like to be my rubber-slave?"

"You bet I would!" I said.
"It isn't impossible" he replied. And my heart missed a beat! But then he
hit me with -

"I prepared these. One for you, and another for me." He showed me two booty
bumps -- crystal meth, I guessed. (In fact, it was a cocktail -- way more
powerful... )My face fell."You've been having a rough time of it. Coming down
hard. I thought it might help things go more smoothly. And I gotta say - "
here he gave me a wicked grin... "It would be cool, getting a little high,
and playing around with each other -- with you looking so hot in your new
rubber."He paused, just enough for me have a problem with how to say `no'.
Then he continued -- "But, hey! Listen! It's not a deal-breaker! If you say
`no drugs', then that's cool with me!"Oh man!! I wanted him so fucking
much! And if he thought it was a good idea to get a little high and play
around... Fuck! I wasn't going to put up a fight! In fact, the way he just
said it, I was aching for it! I struggled for a couple seconds and then
said:?
Fuck Billy! I'd love for us to do them. What are you talking about?"

He smiled at me, and told me to lay on the bed, face down. He unzipped the
back of my rubber pants, and pressed the tip of the syringe against my butt
hole.

"You sure about this, now?"

"You want me to beg?""That would work" he said. And there was something,
all of a sudden, more serious about the way he said that.

"I'm begging you, Billy" I said. For real.

"Who did you say?"

"I'm begging you, Sir."

"That's better."

The mood changed. Billy changed. The whole way he moved changed. He held me
firm against the bed. Without another word, he slid the syringe into me,
held it for a second or two, then pressed the plunger... and I felt the cold
liquid flow into my hole.

"Leave it a couple seconds to absorb" he ordered. Then he started slowly
fucking my ass with the tiny syringe, working the powerful narcotics into
my membranes. It was so fucking beautiful!

"Feels good, huh?" But this was still a different Billy. Not my guardian
angel -- more like a vet talking to an animal.

I moaned, just slightly. Billy withdrew the syringe, and replaced it with a
finger. Man! He knew how to finger-fuck. So much from so little...

I was rapidly losing it... Billy had me right where he wanted me... Then he hit
me with it...

"How'd you like my booty bump as well?" he purred in my ear.

I wasn't going to say no...

"Sure you would" said Billy, without waiting for any reply from me.

He flipped me over onto my back. "I think you need to be tied up." This
time he grinned at me -- but it was like Billy -- it was Brandon's grin --
more nasty and dirty and perverted than the Billy of a few minutes ago. He
quickly strapped my arms and legs down. "OK pig-boy, now you're really
gonna fly!" He placed the second syringe against my ass-hole. Then he
leaned right over me, so his face was against mine. He looked into my eyes
-- into my soul, more like! -- smiled a truly evil smile, and said "You are
something else!"

Then he leaned inwards, and kissed me full in the mouth, while he slowly
slipped the syringe into me and emptied it into my butt, fucking me a short
while with the syringe, like before. And all the time that he massaged the
chems into my membrane, he kept his mouth locked against mine, and his
tongue darting down my throat. Fuck! I was in heaven.

Then he stopped. He pulled the syringe out my butt, and stood up. He was a
totally different guy, all of a sudden. Matter of fact -- bored, even!

I was confused -- did I do something wrong? The door opened. Chett walked in.

"Excellent job!"

"Thank you Sir" said Billy.

"You can go take your reward now."

Billy smiled at him enthusiastically. "Sir! Thank you, Sir! Billy left the
room, without even looking at me.
Chett came up to the bed. What he saw was what he had intended to see: a
rubber-booted, rubber-clad, rubberized kidnap victim, whose head was
spinning with how fucking beautiful the narcotics were making him feel, and
at the same time, with not understanding a fucking thing that was going on
-- except that I felt totally betrayed by Billy -- who by this time, I had
built up to some kind of a God! -- and now he was delivering me over to
Chett, all drugged and tied up.

"You witnessed his punishment, when he failed. I think you should see his
reward, when he has succeeded" said Chett. "... And you have to admit,
succeeded so well" he added, with a derisory look at my fucked-up state.

The cell wall morphed into glass, and I saw Billy tied to the St. Andrew's
Cross, just like he had been before; and the two Rubber Storm-Troopers
either side of him, each wielding a rubber flogger.

"Begin" said Chett. And the Storm-Troopers began to flog Billy, exactly as
before, counting a rhythmic "One" -- "Two" -- "Three" like the mindless
machines they were.

Billy, knowing I could see everything, smiled in ecstasy, straight at the
plate glass that divided us.

"I don't understand..." was all I could say, as the strong narcotics Billy
had pumped into me kicked in harder and harder.

"What Billy receives physically is identical in both cases. But when I say
it is a punishment, he feels it as a punishment. When I say it is a reward,
he feels it as a reward. And as you can see" -- Billy's face was in a total
fucking rapture of pleasure -- "Billy is certainly enjoying his reward."

The glass morphed back to a plain wall.

I don't know if it was the deliberate cruelty, the deception, the knowledge
that I was their toy, to play with as they pleased, or the contrast of all
of that with the picture I had built up -- and had been encouraged to build
up -- of having a friend in Billy, someone who genuinely cared, who was my
guardian angel! - and to hit me with it all, when I was sinking further and
further under the influence of fuck knows what narcotics, that they had
tricked me into agreeing to take -- I don't know which of all these things
was the final kick in the ribs, or whether it was all of them, but I sank
back on the bed and stared blankly ahead, at nothing. And I should have
cried my heart out -- it was as though I was crying my heart out: but no
tears flowed: nothing -- I just lay there, defeated, useless and unwanted,
not even capable of crying - shattered!

My whole world shattered. My dreams of any friendship or affection or
kindness, or anything decent and good from any other human being --
shattered!
"Good" said Chett with a grim smile. He sighed. "Now we have to put you
back together again. The way we want."

He came up to the bed, and towered over me.

"As always" he said, very pointedly, "As always, the choice is yours.
Brandon is looking forward very much to his next session with you. He
thinks you are very promising, and that you have a great career ahead of
you, as a whore!"
He untied my right hand, and laid a gas-mask by my head.

"If you decide you would like to place yourself under Brandon's expert
tuition, you only have to put this gas mask over your head. He will see, or
be told, and he will come in to continue with your training. You decide."

With that, Chett walked to the door, his big rubber boots clomping heavily
on the floor. He turned round to face me.

"A couple more things. First off, I understand you had some bad dreams
while you were coming down. Tree-people and stuff. Well listen good. They
weren't nightmares. Billy dosed you up with a really big hit of Rohypnol.
And the punk too. I don't know, I can't know, exactly how much you
remember..." Here, Chett glanced towards the man-hole cover: "The punk will
be long past any hope of remembering anything by now... ever again..." Chett
turned back to face me. "But it was for real. All of it."

Fuck! How much more were they going to screw with my head? How much else
could possibly be left?

"And finally - and this really is for the last time..." - Chett stared deep
into my eyes - "Good boy!"

He smiled -- a real cruel smile -- and left.

Now it all rushed back. I remembered why I was there: to be mutated into a
living rubber slave -- for them to sell! They'd make a great deal of money
from me, someone had said...who was it said that?

And as I lay there, numb from the triple-blow they had just dealt me,
feeling tricked, betrayed, my head all messed up with drugs, needing
someone so bad -- anyone! -- needing Billy so bad! - and yet more alone and
unwanted than I could believe possible, with a huge couple loads of
narcotics kicking in fast, and all the feelings and cravings they brought
with them - it occurred to my fucked-up brain that if someone was going to
spend big bucks buying me, then maybe I did have something that someone
might want -- maybe I could mean something to someone, after all. And the
thought crossed my mind for the first time, that it might not be so bad -
and would certainly be better than what I was then! - it might even be my
destiny, I found myself thinking - to be sold as a slave!

And I started to wonder what kind of guy would actually buy a rubber slave
-- what would he look like? -- he would have to be a Rubberman! - and what
kind of things would this Rubberman want to do to me...

At that precise moment, as though they were mind-readers, there on the
screen above the bed, they showed video-clips of my last session with
Brandon... him deep-fisting me, and the Rubber-Cop fucking my throat, and me
groaning, with my head between his striped rubber chaps, and my ass pushing
down further onto Brandon's arm - and me squirming and begging for more,
deeper, harder -- begging them to fuck me up more -- begging them to drug me
out of my fucking mind and make me a rubber-whore...

And without even thinking twice about it, my hand reached for the gas-mask...
and I pulled it over my head.
The moment I had the gas mask pulled on, they started to come into the
room. One after another.

Brandon lead the way. All gas-masked up, the same heavy industrial rubber
he always wore, his tall, thick waders brushing against his bulging rubber
cod-piece while he stomped into the room.

Then came the rubber motor-cycle cop. The big guy with striped rubber
breeches, skin tight, and tucked into Dehner style rubber dress patrol
boots. He held a huge fucking dildo in his hand.

Then the frogman. And the alien. And a steady stream of rubbermen, in
different kinds of gear. Some skin-tight, and head-to toe, a lot of them in
waders, or knee high rubber boots, turned down at the top. Others in
uniform-rubber; or chaps; or some just in jeans and rubber boots, with a
rubber tank-top, like the punk, and maybe a half-hood.

But all of them had just one purpose in mind -- to fuck me or fist me, or
piss on me, and in me, or make me piss on myself, or fuck me up more and
more one way or another, until I was incapable of thinking of anything, or
wanting anything, or remembering anything -- except that I needed to be a
24/7 rubber slave.
Last of all came Chett. Fully rubbered-up in chaps with a thick yellow
stripe, and knee-high rubber biker boots, a studded cod-piece, a rubber
harness and full-face gas-mask hood. He towered over the rest of them, legs
wide apart, and surveyed the scene, the total rubber dungeon-master of my
dreams.

"You want this, don't you?" he said. More of a statement of fact than a
question.

"Yes SIR" I replied, hungrily.

"All the way."

All the way SIR!"

"No turning back."

"Never SIR!"

"What is the most important thing in your life?"

"Rubber SIR!"

"You need to wear Rubber day and night, don't you boy."

"Yes SIR!"

"You want to be made of Rubber."
"I want to be made of Rubber SIR!"

"You want to be turned into Rubber."

"I need to be turned into Rubber SIR!"

"Good answer, rubber-whore!"

Chett gave a nod to Brandon. The hydraulic motors started up again, and I
felt myself lifted up in the sling that rose slowly up from the bed-frame.
Brandon closed in on his target -- my rubberised hole that was now nicely
level with his chest. The Rubber Cop and a couple of frogmen strapped my
wrists and ankles tight into the sling-hoops.

One of the punks screwed a canister to the breathing tube from my gas-mask,
and my lungs filled with a pungent gas. In a matter of seconds, I was
greedily pushing my hungry ass down as far as I could on Brandon's lubed-up
fist, forearm, and bicep.

The gas mask Chett had given me was wired with small speakers in the ears,
so he could continue to brainwash me, never letting me off the hook, while
the gas they were feeding me drained me of the last dregs of resistance,
and Brandon opened me up again -- as only Brandon could.

"You are turning into Rubber" whispered Chett's voice.

I was so turned on hearing this, I bucked and plunged my ass right up to
Brandon's shoulder. Whoops of appreciation from the rubber perverts, who
now had complete control of my mind and body, filled the black prison-cell.

"Do you want me to sell you to a total fucking rubber stranger?"

I shouted out from under my gas-mask. "Yes SIR! Sell me to a fucking rubber
pervert SIR!"

The rubber alien joined Brandon, and began to push his webbed rubber hand
up into my willing hole, alongside Brandon's arm. The intensity of gas in
the mask got stronger. The Rubber Cop took a hold of my nipples and worked
them until I was in a frenzy. Then the gas changed all of a sudden, and
immediately I opened up, and swallowed as much as I could take of the
alien's fist.

Another ROAR from the hoard of Rubbermen waiting their turn to work me over.

Something was attached over my dick, and I felt a strong suction, making my
mutated black-rubber dick swell up and out, until it filled the tube. The
suction continued, until it felt like my cum was going to be sucked out of
me.

Now some of the guys had their fat dicks out, and were pissing all over me.
I writhed and wallowed in the hot beautiful feel of rubber-piss.

"You like piss, boy?" murmered Chett's voice, seductively.

"Yes SIR! Make me a piss-whore SIR!"

"You want me to give you to the Sewer Pigs, boy?"

My heart missed a beat. The image of the punk flashed into my brain, who
they had drugged so much out of his head, he had to be dragged over to the
man-hole. FUCK! I wanted that! I knew I wanted that!

"Yes SIR! Give me to the Sewer Pigs SIR!"

"They'll turn you into one. You want that?"

"Yes SIR!"

"They have no mercy, boy. No feelings, except a need to make more of their
own kind. You want that?"

"Yes SIR! FUCK SIR! I want to be turned into a fucking Sewer Pig SIR!"

"Good whore!" was all Chett said.

The fact was, they had now fucked me up so good, I wanted anything that
they put into my head. And for a reason of his own, Chett had decided to
turn me over to the Sewer Pigs. And anything Chett decided, it was a piece
of piss now to make me think I wanted. Needed.

All this time, the Alien was working his arm up alongside Brandon's,
sometimes pulling it out a little, and fucking me open more and more.

"You got two rubbermen's arms in you now, whore." said Chett approvingly,
while the two rubber perverts fucked me in and out in sync with each other.
"What is it you want?"

"More SIR! More rubber up me SIR!"

"Good whore."

Brandon and the Alien slowly pulled out of me, to let the others have their
turn. And one by one, they fucked and fisted me all night long. Sometimes
the gas-mask was pulled off me head, and a rubber dick, or two, plunged
into my throat and fucked my face. Sometimes I was dildo-fucked with dildos
I couldn't believe would ever get inside of me. But they did. Always. And
all the time, Chett's voice purred more and more perversion into my
defenceless brain.

Chett never touched me once. He only stood there, watching and supervising
-- and whispering his sick agenda for me into my headset.

It seemed like they couldn't get enough of me. They lined up, stroking
their rubber-meat, perverted lust glinting in the eyes behind their
gas-masks, or through the eye-holes in their rubber hoods. When someone was
done with me, he went straight away and joined the back of the line again.
No-one was allowed to play with each other. Only with me. I don't know how
many times the line started over again -- I just knew I was trapped in a
rubber time-warp, endlessly to be corrupted, fucked and fisted by an army
of determined, muscular, twisted rubbermen. I slipped into a kind of
trance, where it seemed like this was how it was going to be for ever, for
the rest of my life -- I think Chett may even have got me to mumble the
words out loud, that was what I wanted... all I wanted... all I was fit for...

Then, when I was being double-fisted by two of the punks, and squirming
under a deluge of piss from a half-dozen guys in waders, the gas changed
again, my lungs filled with a new sensation, and I passed out.

When I came-to the room was empty. I was still tied up in the sling. I had
not been cleaned, and my ass was dripping with lube, with a fat dildo still
hanging out of it, and my rubber body was glistening with piss. A long
length of tubing stretched from the end of my black-rubber dick, over the
side of the sling, and trailed across the floor -- like in one of those
Bastille drawings... like in the images that were projected onto every wall
in my cell...

Chett's voice whispered quietly in my headset... "It's what you begged for,
piss-whore!"
In the overhead mirror, I could see that the man-hole over in the corner of
the room was off, and lying by the side of a gaping hole in the floor -
from which, deep down in the sewer, I could hear the sounds of boots
climbing up the ladder.

The End