WARNING: THE FOLLOWING IS A SEXUALLY EXPLICIT FICTIONAL STORY. DO NOT READ IF YOU ARE UNDER 18, OR IF YOU ARE NOT INTERESTED IN READING ABOUT SEXUALLY EXPLICIT SITUATIONS AND ACTIVITIES.
- RUBBER PARTY -
by Chuck
Seeing a Canadian rubber guy dressed in hip boots and heavy duty raingear in TOY recently, reminded me of some exciting days I once spent in Montreal. In the largest French speaking city in North America, I was determined to meet a sexy French Canadian stud. It happened sooner than I expected.
Staying in a cheap hotel (my usual preference), I discovered that the bath lacked a plug. Being old-fashioned, a long soak in the tub suits me better than a quick shower, although I always enjoy a good we wank when I do find myself under a warm spray. Anyway, needing a plug I decided to visit the nearest hardware store (Quincaillerie in Montreal!) and when a husky young man asked, "Je peux vous aider?" I said, "YES." Little did I know how much he could help me.
The plug seemed to be just an excuse for getting into conversation. Raoul spoke excellent English. Not that I was interested in his linguistic ability. I have rarely met a man with such perfectly developed muscles and such easy sexuality as Raoul displayed. his open lumberjack shirt (it was a cool Autumn day) did not hide the curve of his firm pectoral muscles. And those faded blue jeans only served to enhance the effect on my mind of his obviously large cock and balls. You might say I was looking rather than listening. And he knew it! It was Raoul who invited me to go fishing with him on his day off. This just happened to be the next day.
With my usual innocence, I asked "Will I need to bring hip boots?"
"No we fish from a boat," he said. It was my turn to be looked at closely. "You have hip boots?'
"At home, but not here."
Raoul grinned. "You want to get a pair?"
"I'd like to, but I'm on a budget."
"Don't worry about money," Raoul said. "How about this evening?" "I'm free," I said, quickly. It was going to be easy to cancel a boring dinner engagement with a literary acquaintance from New York. I like books, but SEX comes first. And looking at the growing bulge in Raoul's tight jeans I had no doubt that fucking and sucking was not far away. He offered to pick me up at the hotel on his motorcycle. I hope I'll recognize you," I said. Just for a joke.
"I'll be riding a black 900cc BMW and wearing an American police leather jacket," Raoul said.
"I've got a leather jacket myself," I said. he seemed to be glad.
"First some leather and then hip boots," he said. I had no idea what he meant.
Raoul arrived promptly. I was waiting outside the hotel wearing black leather boots, a California Highway Patrol jacket and a pair of slightly torn jeans. Dismounting from his bike, Raoul stood behind me and pressed his crotch against my backside. He was taller than me. "I want to fuck you," he said, licking my ear. It didn't seem to matter that it was a busy street.
"Right now?" I asked, feeling his large hand pressing against my balls. Wearing a jock strap I enjoyed the pressure and immediately developed a strong erection.
"Right now," Raoul said.
The old man at the reception desk didn't seem to notice as we walked across the lobby to the lift. But as the creaky old lift arrived, he looked up and said, "No fucking in the elevator."
Raoul said something in the Quebec patois and the old man spoke and laughed. "What did he say?" I asked.
"Don't forget to use rubber."
I just happened to have a package of Trojan rubbers beside the bed. Most nights I fall asleep with a rubber full of spunk on my cock, ready for a second load in the morning. It keeps me health.
Raoul had no objection to using a condom. Wasting no time, he unbuttoned his jeans and pulled out his long thick weapon. He rolled the Trojan all the way down to his fat balls which were heavy and full. "Strip off," he said. It sounded like an order so I obeyed. He hardly gave me time to grease up my arse with fuck lubricant before lifting up my legs. With my feet on his shoulders I knew I was in the grip of a master. There would be no use trying to pull away. I was best to give in and enjoy it.
"Shit, you're too big," I groaned as that rubbered prick began pushing my sphincter muscle into submission. "Please stop."
"No way."
"Please!"
"I'm in now and it's going all the way and you're going to beg for more in a minute."
Raoul was correct.
With that big cock moving in and out in a steady rhythm, agony became sexual pleasure. My tits hardened up and Raoul began rubbing and twisting them as his muscle hard belly slapped against mine. Caught between slabs of sweaty male flesh my own cock was being rubbed into a state of no return. As Raoul squirted his spunk in to the tight sheath with five violent thrusts, my own creamy load shot up between us. It shot out in several powerful jets landing on the fucker's gleaming pectorals and slowly slid down to his stomach. Before inserting his cock, Raoul had unzipped his jacket. He was naked beneath the leather.
After this fucking we rested for a while. I licked the spunk off Raoul's body, enjoying the smell of seat and leather. My partner buried his face into my jock strap, swallowing my balls snug and sweaty inside their fabric pouch. In no time my drained testicles felt full again and my throbbing penis was trying to break free of the elastic strap. suddenly, and not a moment too soon, Raoul looked up and said, "Hip boots."
"Well, it doesn't really matter," I said, trying to be reasonable. When it comes to rubber gear I rarely am. "When I get back to London..."
"Shit no! Ici Montreal. I know what you like."
I wondered. There are some guys who think I'm crazy. Not that I give a fuck (and I hope all you rubber guys feel the same way).
"Johnny works at the Industrial Rubber Company in Lachine, I'll give him a call."
"Well, if you think..."
Ten minutes later we were roaring down Dorchester Boulevard hell bent for rubber. Sitting behind Raoul I had a sudden urge to fuck the big guy and I pushed my crotch against his arse. He responded by pushing back against my jock strapped cock. We understood each other without saying a word. I think a motorcycle cop understood us too as we waited for a red light to become green. He gunned his engine and sped ahead of us, but not before giving me one of the lewdest winks I've ever had. One of these days I'm going to write a serious book about motorcycle cops, but let's get back to Johnny.
The curly haired Irishman lived in Lachine, a district where French is spoken more often than English and where producing babies seems to be a kind of hobby. Johnny's hobby was repairing old Harley-Davidson motorcycles. He also displayed a record sized trout above his fireplace and something equally impressive inside his greasy jeans. We sat in Johnny's bike filled garage drinking Dow ale and only after about an hour of friendly bullshit did Raoul mention hip boots. "We carry ten different brands," Johnny said. "Plus gas masks, body length black rubber waders, rubber aprons, elbow length gloves and insulated diving suits."
I looked at my watch. It was ten o'clock and dark outside; dark as only a night in the north can be. "What a pity the warehouse is closed. I'd like to see some of those boots and things."
"Maybe it could be arranged," Johnny said. "I could call the alarm company and tell them I'm going to be working late tonight."
"Let's have a rubber party," Raoul suggested.
"It wasn't far to the warehouse, a large ugly building surrounded by a high barbed wire fence. At the end of the alley where my two new friends parked their bikes there was a bright light and I saw at least six men doing some late night work. I could hardly believe my eyes. They were all wearing crotch high hip boots and their boots were shiny and wet. "Looks like they're fixing the sewer," Johnny said. "Shall we go and see?"
Two young booted giants were down in the hole repairing the leaking pipe. The shit filled water was up to their knees as they worked in the glow of the arc lamps. Other booted men were digging in the wet mud for some mysterious reason. If the city water department vehicle had not been there, I would have said these were a bunch of rubber guys having fun. They were husky young fuckers and looking at them striding about in their muddy shitty boots make my cock hard. Raoul seemed to know one of the water workers and began a conversation. "They'll be taking a break soon," he said. "How about it Johnny?"
"Shit, they can join us. They get their boots from us in any case. Ranger premier quality with steel-toecaps. Good for five years of heavy duty in the sewers."
I held my nose. "I'm surprised they don't wear masks," I said.
"They will at the party," Johnny said. "Let's have some beer."
"We'll have a piss and shit party," Raoul said.
"Who's going to clean up afterwards?" I asked.
"I'll give you one guess," Johnny said, looking at me with a grin.
Raoul and I rode off to the nearest provincial liquor store while Johnny opened up the warehouse. It was fun riding through the night with three cases of beer between my legs.
Not wishing to attract too much attention, Johnny only turned on a few lights. In the dim light I saw steel storage bins piled high with cartons containing all the items Johnny had mentioned. There were enough hip boots to equip and army. It didn't take long for the three of us to get fitted out in black rubber boots. Wearing the boots we turned to the work site and Johnny jumped down into the hole where the shitty water was till flowing and began lending a hand. The work pumped up his muscles and the bulge in his jeans. I found myself wading into the mud and soon my boots had lost their virgin look. And then the foreman blew a whistle and ten men headed for the rubber warehouse. The sound of we boots as they walked down the alley reminded me of one of my rubber fantasies, but this was real. Some of the men had turned down the tops of their boots exposing the dirty canvas linings, but most were still up to their hips in black rubber. Looking at all these boots gave me an idea. I felt in my pocket. There were ten condoms in my pocket.
Nobody talked about the pleasure of wearing rubber. These men worked in rubber boots for several hours most days of the week. It was a way of life. But I could tell that they enjoyed wearing those muddy hip boots. Man to man they knew they looked sexy and I could see them looking at each other, wondering about something only many men seem to enjoy. Put simply as a question: "Is he going to fuck me, or am I going to fuck him?" And one more question. "Will we fuck each other?" Just men amongst men. Soldiers, sailors, fishermen and the guys at Johnny's party. The idea I mentioned was also quite simple. I wanted to be fucked by ten men wearing rubber. Hip boots were not enough. To make my fantasy come true, they would have to wear rubber gas masks and fist fucker gloves. The diving suits would come later.
I think some of those beefy young men had fantasies of their own. A couple of booted studs began pissing in each others hip boots and a circle of beer drinkers formed around them. I joined in and soon felt warm liquid filling up the boots I was wearing. And then suddenly we were all pissinginto another man's boots. But this was only the beginning. I saw Johnny sitting astride one of the young giants who had been working in the shit. Apparently this man couldn't get enough of the stuff at his work. With his arse pressed against the prone man's face, Johnny was obliging his appetite. At the same time, at least four fountains of steaming piss were splashing on the giant's washboard belly. I could see there would be no limits at this party.
With good Canadian beer loosening my wildest impulses like tigers from a cage, I approached a group of five men (if I could get five cocks up my arse, it would at least fulfill half of my fantasy) and boldly said, "I'd like you guys to fuck me."
There was only one problem. These men did not understand English and my French was not very good. So it had to be sign language. They grinned as I went from man to man unbuttoning their fly buttons and pulling out stiff cocks. One man protested when I started to unroll a lubricated condom onto his enormous French-Canadian cock. But the others were good sports, especially the one who did speak a few words of my language. "We fuck you," he said. He pointed at a pile of rubber aprons on the floor. The smell of rubber was driving me crazy and these goods smelled overpowering as I fell across them, exposing my naked buttock and waited for the first thick cock to start pumping. I didn't have to wait long. If Raoul's weapon had made me wince, this brute's rod nearly forced a scream. The thought of four more was a nightmare. But after a few seconds the fucking became a pleasure again. I could take a hundred booted men up my sex hungry hole. Closing my eyes and breathing deeply I surrendered to the total experience of rubber fucking. After the third cock had swelled up inside my anal passage and another young man had squirted out his manly juice, I allowed myself a glance to see the remaining two. I nearly fainted. There were twenty young fuckers waiting in line.
Unknown to me, Johnny had called some friends who belonged to a motorcycle club (The Saint-Laurent Jock Riders) and now there was a mix of rubber and leather guys. Needless to say, the floor was a wash with piss and spilled beer.
After being fucked twelve times without a break, I was ready for a rest. Amazing enough my arse wasn't sore, each man had been generous with the lubrication, but it felt as though from now on my arse hole would never tighten up again. So many thick cocks had loosened my up beyond the point of no return.
And then I spotted Raoul wearing a rubber diving suit and a rubber mask with breathing tubes. He was the total rubber-man. Another man was carrying the same gear and they approached me just as I was being mounted for the thirteenth time. They waited until my fucker had finished, leaving me gasping like a landed fish and then stripped me naked. But I wasn't naked long. With two holding up my legs, I was completely sheathed in tight black rubber, breathing through a tube and staring at a monster cock a few inches from my suspended arse. Somebody had put a slit in the right spot and so the fucking began again.
While being fucked I felt a strong urge to piss. There was no point holding back so I let go. My piss spurted out around the big fucker's deeply inserted cock and immediately another man pressed his mouth against my arse and somehow managed to suck me dry without stopping the fucking.
After eighteen fucks I felt too weak to protest when a large rubber gloved fist was inserted. I had never been fist fucked before. It was hard to believe that such a large forearm could slide into my ass so easily. He was an expert fist fucker, this mystery man in black rubber. Through the glass eye apertures of his police gas mask I could see a pair of glittering eyes. I stared back, helpless as a rabbit. I tried to recognize the man who had my life in his carefully exploring fist. It was like staring at the devil. Grunting inside my own mast I writhed in the sensual ecstasy of total helplessness. I had the new experience of orgasm without ejacutlation and suddenly I was floating in a new dimension. My whole body seemed to be tingling as the head of my cock did at the moment of shooting out the spunk when wanking. I was a sex machine flying high and would never return to earth. In the distance I saw men wearing hip boots and drinking beer. They seemed to be a million miles away. The sensation of constant orgasm made it impossible to think. There was fire in those satanic eyes and I saw that his entire arm was inside my body. Then everything went black.
My unconsciousness only lasted a few seconds, although it seemed like an eternity. Opening my eyes, I saw the massive arm being slowly withdrawn. It was a tantalizingly slow withdrawal and I felt sorry that this incredible intimacy with a man I didn't know, was coming to an end. I had been the devil's slave; unwilling at first, but now ready to be impaled whenever those glittering eyes commanded.
But who was the "devil," this figure in gleaming black rubber who had sent me into a new sexual dimension, far beyond the reach of most mortals? I stared in fascination as he removed the mask. After loosening the head straps he unpeeled the rubber snout and cheeks from his face. I gasped with astonishment. It was Raoul.
Signaling the still waiting fuckers to take their pleasure in some other arse, Raoul removed my mask and gently rubbed the sweat from my face. "How do you feel?" he asked.
"Wonderfully fucked out," I said.
"You've broken all the records," he said.
"Is the party over?" I asked. I felt too weak to stand up.
"You better drink this," a voice said. It was Johnny. "We always give this to a guy who's been gang fucked."
It was a creamy, slightly sweet liquid and the effect was a miracle. I felt my arse tightening up and my cock began swelling inside the rubber skin I was still wearing. I was ready for sex again. More than ready. "It's made me want to wank myself," I announced.
"Happy to oblige," said a handsome young man wearing hip boots and a rubber apron. I didn't remember him from the long line of fuckers. "I'm Johnny's brother, Shaun," the young man told me, grasping my erect cock through the rubber. By putting his hand inside the slit he made the hole even bigger and soon released my trapped cock. With Raoul and Johnny watching, Shaun quickly brought me to a climax and since I usually wear a condom, it surprised me to see how far my spunk jetted out. With each squirt, Shaun squeezed my balls until not a drop remained to be ejected. "You'll have another load soon," Shaun assured me.
When Johnny gave me another mug of that creamy protein drink I was ready to help Shaun clean up. In fact I volunteered. All the other guests had left so we hosed down the floor, wearing our hip boots for the purpose they were intended for. I mean hip boots are meant to be used for dirty and wet jobs, to keep a man's legs dry, aren't they? It would be crazy to think that a man wearing black rubber hip boots might become sexually excited. The idea of a muscular young man getting turned on while hosing a pile of shit up to his balls in wet black rubber is surely insane. I can only say I went crazy in Montreal and I still have the boots Johnny gave me. Naturally, I only wear them when I go fishing or find a big pile of shit to wash away. It happens often.