From: slick@ican.net (Slick)
Subject: Rubber Party (m/m, boots, rubber, ws)
Date: Thu, 08 May 1997 20:25:03 GMT

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.