Rubber Bandits parts 1 & 2

Author: rubbermorph
Title: Rubber Bandits (parts 1 & 2 of 5)
Date: 31 December 2005

1.

Ben roared with frustration as the chat window switched itself off and his PC informed him that there was no longer a wireless signal. He'd been dreading this. Ever since he'd moved back home he'd struggled with the unreliable service provider his father used, and once the signal faltered after an hour or so of internet use it stayed off for the rest of the evening. It was bad enough that it usually took about five false starts before the internet worked in the first place. What bothered Ben most of all was the fact that he'd never needed the sanctuary of the chatrooms and internet sites more than he did at the moment. He tried one last-ditch attempt to disconnect and reconnect the wireless receiver, and watched as several rubbermen on the computer screen vanished and were replaced by 'THERE IS CURRENTLY NO CONNECTION TO THE INTERNET' messages. He threw himself onto the bed, threw a punch at the pillow and gave a half-sigh, half-sob of despair.

There were a lot of things Ben didn't like about being home again, and the lousy internet connection was just one of them. He'd graduated in the summer, earning a decent degree from a decent university in London. He'd moved back home on a temporary basis to give him a chance to save some money and develop some kind of plan for the next few years. But now, seven months later, he'd saved nothing at all and all the work he'd had so far was a couple of weeks temping on either side of Christmas. His humanities degree, seemingly the key to so many varied and exciting jobs when he'd first applied for it, now seemed vague and unhelpful. He'd spent the first few months that he'd been home sending out applications and letters to dozens of local companies. He'd started off focusing on jobs he wanted to do. Then on jobs he wouldn't mind doing. Now he was just looking for anything at all, and even these relaxed standards didn't seem to promise much. He'd left the bright lights and job opportunities of London behind and now he was stuck at home in a high unemployment zone, signing on every two weeks and listening to his parents suggest less and less promising-sounding careers for him.

The job situation wouldn't have got to him so much if he'd still been in London. There would have been something for him to do, maybe something menial, but somewhere interesting, somewhere with a bit of life. Even if his days were long and empty he would have been happy just to be there, in those places, with those people. Ben had been thrilled to get away from home when he first started uni. He'd kept his sexuality quiet up until then, and his rubber fetish even quieter, and it had taken a few months before he was really happy to go out and start meeting other lads and visiting gay clubs. Once he'd started he was surprised by how popular he seemed to be there. He had an idea that the basic ingredients were alright - he was fair-haired, 6' 4" tall, fairly slim - but he realised over time that even if he wasn't quite sure that all the elements fitted together so well, other people seemed very happy with him. After a year or so he headed out more and more for the rubber bars and clubs. He'd bought himself some rubber kit for the first time - snug shorts and a sleeveless T, as well as some black DMs - and he'd been getting his hair cropped shorter and shorter until he'd settled on a #2 crewcut, letting it grow out for four weeks before he got it sheared again. He'd been working out pretty successfully too. It wasn't easy for him, but he'd been getting nicely toned and developing a bit of definition when he tried, with the help of protein shakes and good advice from friendlier musclemen at his gym. He'd never been as immaculately-groomed as a lot of the boys he saw out, but he was pretty happy with how he looked by the time he'd finished uni, and he knew that this was just the start for him.

But it wasn't, because he'd underestimated the importance of being somewhere he really loved, and he'd taken a step backwards and wound-up face down on the same bed he'd slept in when he was eleven. He was twenty-three now, and everything had ground to a halt.

Ben lifted his face from the pillow and glanced across at the LED display on the alarm clock. It was 1:33am. His parents had been in bed since half ten. This was another thing they complained about - ever since he'd come home, he'd been online later and later at night, and sleeping later and later into the day. Ben had tried to point out that he was trying to get an internet signal from a crappy internet receiver, which was half-true, but he'd also realised that if he wanted to find some nasty, horny rubbermen to chat with, he'd have more success after hours. Perhaps the hardest thing of all about being home was that there was no gay scene to speak of here. He'd made a couple of trips down to London during the first month he'd been home, but the cash had dried up now and he had no contact with other gay lads at all, outside the internet. His regular gym trips had also long since ground to a halt, and his high metabolism had seen off any muscle he'd been aware of on his arms, shoulders and chest, the weight having redistributed itself to his modest, but nonetheless soft, stomach. His cropped hair grew longer and fuzzier now that he seemed to have less reason to keep it looking trim and clippered and sharp. Ben knew he was in something of a depression, and the fact that he could hide behind the internet wasn't going to snap him out of it, but he seemed locked into the routine now and he'd been surprised by how much more extreme, more intense his chats had got since he came home. It felt as though he was so full of pent-up frustration and desire that everything was amplified and his limits seemed to fall away. He wondered if this was just a natural reaction to the sudden lack of interesting sexual prospects, or whether part of it was fuelled by the anger he felt with himself and his whole situation. Either way, 1:33am wasn't the best time for someone in his position to lie back and feel self-pity. The automatic screensaver on the computer screen had long since switched itself off and left the room in near-total darkness. Lying on his bed in just his vest (he'd shed the boxers during the chat he'd been having earlier), Ben shivered and climbed under the duvet. He closed his eyes against the darkness and tried to get to sleep.



2.

Ben was walking. He was walking, but he was in a hurry. He needed to walk faster. He broke into a trot. It still didn’t seem fast enough. He wanted to run. He picked up pace and sped up. Suddenly he was very aware of the kerb at the edge of the pavement. It didn’t seem to run in a straight line like it should. He dodged away from it to keep his footing, but it was too late, he stumbled and suddenly he was falling, the pavement looming larger and larger in his vision…

…and then he opened his eyes and realised he was staring across at the clock again. The red LED display burned through the darkness: 2:29. Ben closed his eyes and rolled over, turning away from the rest of the room to face the wall. He wanted sleep.

For the next ten or fifteen minutes Ben kept his eyes closed and tried to drop off again, but he was concentrating too hard for it to work. The house was pretty much silent now, the heating not due to come on for another three hours, and all the other occupants far deeper sleepers than Ben. All Ben could hear was his own breathing. He felt completely isolated and alone. He reached under the duvet and gave his cock a squeeze, to try to provoke some kind of interest from it, but he obviously wasn’t in the mood. Everything around him felt too familiar, too normal. He rolled onto his back, his eyes still closed, and took a deep breath to try to relax himself.

And that was when he first noticed something different.

Ben could smell something. Something he’d not smelt for a while. Something good.

It wasn’t something everyone would have noticed, and most of those who did would probably have had some trouble identifying what it was, but the scent of rubber was one of the biggest turn-ons Ben could imagine. He lay still, drinking it in, his eyes still closed, evoking images of fetish clubs and rubber shops, imagining the shiny, smooth, black texture and the incomparable feeling of skintight latex pulled tight across his body. It was like an echo of the places and the people he’d most enjoyed getting to know when he’d been at uni. His cock was standing up of its own accord now, tenting the duvet in front of him. As he breathed in the scent, he felt a broad grin spread across his face. He felt really good for the first time in weeks.

It was another few minutes before it occurred to Ben to see where the smell was coming from. The only latex gear he had were his old shorts and sleeveless top locked in his suitcase under the bed, but they’d been there since he’d come home and he’d not had them out since, both items having split a while before. He wondered if opening his eyes would have any effect on his other senses. It seemed like a pretty stupid thought, but he didn’t want to risk losing that horny, heady aroma. He took a few more deep breaths and pushed his nose forward slightly, only for it to make contact with something that hadn’t been there before. Something smooth and solid. For a second he was aware of the rubber smell being stronger than ever, and then he felt the latex-gloved hand close itself over his face and push him back against the mattress.

Ben’s eyes jerked open just in time for him to make out the vague outline of a figure in black crouching over him on the bed, but before he could make a noise the figure pointed something at his throat, which suddenly felt very warm, and then there was a weird sensation in his voicebox, like it had suddenly disappeared. The shock at being completely unable to make any sound knocked the fight out of him for a few seconds, and gave the figure time to point the weapon at his mouth. This time Ben was almost able to make out a kind of ripple, almost like a sound wave, or some kind of visual distortion that streaked through the air from the end of the weapon into his mouth. His tongue felt much warmer for a second, and as he ran it across the roof of his mouth he was aware of the surface feeling smoother than before; there was less friction. A second later it seemed to inflate – there was no other way to describe it – suddenly filling the whole of his mouth, pushing his jaws apart like a huge ball gag, apparently spherical but with a little give in various places so it could fill the mouth snugly. Ben was breathing very fast now, but only through his nose, and he could feel the weird sensation of the air that came through his nostrils brushing lightly over the top of his super-inflated tongue somewhere in the back of his mouth, near the throat. He was aware of the taste of latex, or something similar – in fact, it was almost as though the scent of latex was in his mouth and stronger than ever, creating the illusion of taste. Ben stared across at the figure in front of him, still having difficulty seeing much in the darkness, and struggling to get used to this new way of breathing. He was still mobile, but right now he felt safer staying put than trying to run off.

The figure moved off the bed and walked across the room towards the door. Ben was in shock, but he was alert enough to notice that, somehow, the bed didn’t move at all when the figure climbed off it, and neither did the floor seem to creak. Maybe it’s still a dream, thought Ben, and he wondered why he’d not thought this before. But then, as if to hold his attention and shock him back into reality, the figure reached over to the wall beside the door and turned on the light. And Ben felt even less inclined to run away.

The man (there was no mistaking that this was a man) stood by Ben’s bedroom door; six feet, five inches of ripped, athletic muscle. His broad shoulders, muscular back and powerful chest were everything Ben had ever aimed for with his work in the gym, and never really expected to achieve. His rippling stomach was flat and hard, his biceps and triceps well-developed and strong, as were his legs. Ben could see all this quite clearly because, from the neck down, this man seemed to be coated with a smooth, shiny, skintight layer of black latex, and it showed off pretty much everything. He wasn’t actually looking towards Ben at the moment, though Ben was sure that he knew he was being watched. He was looking around the room, fiddling with something in his hands, which gave Ben the chance to see him from all angles as he moved around. His arse was every bit as impressive as the rest of him; solid, rounded and all the better for being covered with a tight layer of rubber. His crotch was harder to make out, being one of the few parts of his body where the rubber wasn’t pulled quite so tight, but instead appeared to be a removable codpiece that bulged out and nonetheless gave the impression that there was something pretty sizeable behind it. His hands were gloved, as Ben had expected, in similar latex to the rest of him, and on his feet there were a couple of calf-length black boots with some kind of simple fastening down the front, and fairly chunky soles. Looped across his big chest and back was a harness, but not made of leather like the guys Ben had seen out in his gear before. The straps seemed to be padded and shiny, almost quilted, like they were made of many small pockets of air, crossing over his chest and back in an ‘X’ shape, supporting a snug hoop around his waist, like a belt, several inches above the codpiece at the front and that fantastic butt at the back. There was some kind of fastening - it looked like a dial of some sort - in the centre of the belt, directly above the codpiece, and the harness seemed to have small pockets for one or two pieces of equipment. Ben absorbed all this in a matter of seconds, and it was only then that he turned his attention to the man’s face, and then he got another shock.

The top half of the intruder’s head was covered with a skintight black rubber skullcap, like a swimming cap, but instead of being pulled high over the forehead and low at the nape of the neck, it was as if it was being worn further forwards, so the eyes and the bridge of the nose were covered, but the lower half of the back of the head was not. The edge of the skullcap was an almost perfect vertical line, running the whole circumference of the skull. His vision wasn't blocked, however; decent-sized eye-holes were bored into the skullcap, and a small nick was cut into the edge to fit the bridge of the nose. The unusual positioning of the skullcap meant that the man’s ears, which would usually have been covered by a swimming cap, stuck out as freely as if he’d been wearing nothing on his head at all. Ben couldn’t seen much hair, either on the man’s face or down the back of his head – his strong-jaw was clean-shaven at the front, but with just the faintest trace of stubble, and the bottom half of his skull that was visible above the neck at the back was shaved. No sideburns by his ears, no moustache, nothing. He looked like a man in his mid-thirties, maybe slightly older, and ruggedly handsome, from what Ben could see. He thought for a second of the rubber skinheads he used to watch in the Backstreet and his cock sprung to attention again. He breathed deeply, forgot his air passages had been diverted, and coughed. This time the intruder turned and looked directly at him and then, again, walked silently across the room and stopped at the foot of Ben’s bed. He reached forward and tugged off the duvet, throwing it to the floor and exposing Ben’s naked lower body, his hairy legs and his hard cock.

“Hello,” said the intruder.

Ben, unable to say anything, said nothing.

“You can’t say anything,” said the intruder, “which you’ll already have realised, but you don’t know why.” His voice was deep and confident, but almost indifferent, like he was really doing Ben a favour in talking to him. “Obviously you know that you’re gagged, but you’re probably wondering what’s happened to your throat.”

Ben instinctively reached up and felt for his Adam’s apple. He wouldn’t have been surprised if there as nothing there at all – horrified, perhaps, but not surprised – but to his astonishment he felt something round, soft and solid bulging out of his throat, almost twice the size of what had been there before. But it feels like nothing, he thought, baffled. He let his head droop forwards and could feel it supporting his chin. He pushed and prodded at it with both hands, but it hardly registered in his throat.

The intruder was smiling as he watched Ben do this. Then, quite suddenly, he took the small instrument he’d pointed at Ben earlier and ‘shot’ at Ben’s right elbow, and then his left. Ben hardly had time to register the visual disturbance it seemed to cause as it streaked through the air before whatever had been shot at him took effect, and his elbows felt strangely warm, just as his throat and tongue had done before. He felt the same kind of ‘inflation’ he’d already experienced, only this time it was as though there was no room for whatever it was to inflate under the skin. Something was swelling up in the joints of both his arms and filling up with air, and there was no room for it to grow any more, but it wouldn’t stop… and then, to his horror, he watched as the bones of his forearms and upper arms were very neatly, very gently, complete painlessly nudged apart, and on both sides he was able to see the spherical mass bulging where the joint had been. He tried to lift his right arm at the elbow, but it lay by his side completely flat and lifeless. The best he could do was to shrug his shoulder and let the movement shake the whole thing, but he had no control over it at all. His heart racing, he looked up at the intruder again. The intruder was still smiling.

“Don’t worry, I meant that to happen,” he said with a grin, “and I mean this to happen, too.” He aimed shots at Ben’s knees, and Ben tried to scream for help, because he knew what was going to happen, and he knew how defenceless that would leave him, whatever this man had planned. The intruder stepped forward and kneeled on Ben’s bed – to Ben’s surprise, this time his weight actually made a difference, and the bed frame creaked – and as Ben’s knees swelled and pushed the bones of his legs apart, he reached forward and caressed them with his gloved hands. Ben could only watch as the lower halves of his legs were lifted by the ankles and bent backwards at the knee, in the opposite direction to which they used to bend. Again, he realised there was no pain at all, and the joints didn’t feel heavy, but he knew he was completely vulnerable, and he was still reeling from what had happened to him so far. His cock was still hard, however, and for the first time the intruder seemed to have noticed this as well. He gave Ben an appraising look. Ben tried to adjust his expression to look less awkward, but his mouth was still full of his tongue, and his whole face was stretched open by it.

“You’ve got a hard-on,” said the intruder. He reached forward and ran a gloved hand the length of Ben’s eight inches. “That’s quite interesting.” His eyes met Ben’s again. “Don’t you think?”

Ben was trying to think of the best way to answer when, without warning, the intruder wrapped his arms around Ben’s thighs, pulled him further down the bed and tucked Ben’s feet over his shoulders. Ben could feel the smooth latex of the intruder’s bodysuit against the back his calves, although he still couldn’t move them. His arsehole was suddenly very exposed, and he hardly had time to prepare himself before the intruder ripped off his codpiece to reveal a hefty, solid, black rubber-covered cock which he ploughed into Ben mercilessly and forcefully. Ben wanted to yell, the pain was so intense and the thrusts so violent, but he had no way of making a sound, no chance of biting down on anything to relieve the pain and no way of pushing this man away from him. He screwed up his eyes and tried to relax himself, to make it easier on himself, but it was impossible. He tried desperately to find a way of enjoying it, of making it bearable. OK, he thought, I'm being raped, but isn't that kind of horny for me? The burning feeling in his anus and the ache in his gut weren’t really convincing him, but he persisted. This is a fucking hot bastard and he's got his cock in me now, he thought, I'm honoured to have him working on me. The thought of STIs crossed his mind at this point, but he tried to shrug it off. He's a rubberman, thought Ben, He's a big, horny fucking rubberman and he's got me restrained, gagged and helpless and now he's laying into me, and I fucking love it. And then, to Ben’s surprise, he shot his load all over the bed, all over the rubber that covered the intruder’s body and across his own torso, soaking his vest. The intruder, who looked like he’d been building up to something similar himself, grit his teeth and Ben felt his arse fill up with hot, warm semen. He was wearing a sheath, wasn't he?, thought Ben, and then he was distracted by the hollow feeling in his gut as the shiny black cock messily slid out of him, and watched as the intruder gently wiped his rubber down with the corner of Ben’s duvet, and tucked his cock back inside the codpiece. Lying on his bed in a pool of his own semen, his arse full of somebody else’s and his arms, legs, mouth and voicebox still out of order, Ben wondered what was coming next.