His taunts really angered me. I wanted to hit him so hard that he would beg me to stop, instead. And then I’d have the pleasure of refusing to let up on him. I’d go on belting his ass, just to teach him a lesson. He’d be more careful about the kind of hustler trash he picked up in a bar next time!

  “Shut your cocksucking mouth,” I told him. “You want an ass beating? Then, goddamn it, you’re going to get an ass beating. Bitch! You want to bleed? I’ll make you bleed. You fucking weirdo. Try this on for size, you little freak!”

  I switched the ends of the belt in mid-strapping, and I began to smack his battered buttocks and the backs of his thighs with the buckle, instead. It was a big, heavy buckle, and before long it had done some real damage. I had actually cut him in three or four places, so that his blood began to trickle down his thighs, and it wet the hair on his balls.

  But he loved it. The harder I hit him, the more he wanted me to abuse his naked and vulnerable body. It was damn hard work beating him like that, actually. After a while, I was pouring with sweat, all over. My chest heaved violently as I beat him, and I was uncomfortably aware of a hot, tingling sensation inside my surprisingly rigid cock. This freak show was turning me on, too, and I was even hotter to fuck him than I’d been before I’d found out just where his kinky head was at.

  Suddenly, he turned over onto his back, gasping for breath.

  “No, no more,” he squealed, shrilly. “I can’t take any more. Not there, anyway!”

  I desisted, catching my breath, although I still held my belt in my hand.

  “Serves you right,” I told him, shortly.

  His teeth were clenched in ecstatic pain, and his face dripped sweat. His dick looked huge. It was red and swollen with pent-up lust. It was a beautiful piece of meat, really, and the guy would’ve been a nice trick for anyone, if only he hadn’t been so frigging masochistic.

  And then he started pleading with me to hit his cock with the belt!

  “Beat my dick,” he gasped—and the way he said it made it quite clear that he wasn’t talking about being jerked off.

  “What?” I sputtered. “What the hell do you want?”

  “Beat my dick, instead,” he repeated, breathlessly, staring up at me as though he was imploring me—even daring me—to do it. “Beat my dick with that fucking belt, if you’re man enough! Hurt me with it, you bastard. Mark my cock with it. Make my cock bleed, too. What’s the matter? Don’t you have the balls, tough guy? Aren’t you man enough to dish out a little real pain?”

  I was still furious with him for frustrating me like this, when all I’d wanted to do was have some ordinary sex with him, get my rocks off, and split. So I was happy to oblige him.

  “I’ll show you who’s man enough when it comes to inflicting pain, you nasty little rubber freak,” I promised him.

  As I spoke, I raised the belt high, and I savored the way he screwed up his face in fear and anticipation. But I didn’t use the buckle this time. No, only the leather—but right on his cock and balls! Hard and fast! Blow after blow!

  He screamed. But I went right on strapping his sex organs with the belt. I varied the routine, just to keep him keeping. I aimed few blows at the tops of his thighs, stinging them. I whacked his stomach muscles, which made him yelp and double up in pain. But he didn’t ask me to stop, and after each blow he immediately resumed his passive posture, lying flat on his back on the bed.

  I went back to work on his genitals, snapping the end of the belt against his balls. Grudgingly, I had to admit that he had a high tolerance for pain, and could take a lot of punishment.

  “My cock,” he gasped. “Please—hit my cock some more!”

  I whipped his dick, applying the leather forcefully to his bloated shaft, which had already turned bright red as a result of the repeated impacts landing upon it.

  “Don’t stop,” he pleaded.

  I didn’t!

  After about the tenth or eleventh punishing whack, he moaned louder than usual. And then his cum started spurting out of the piss slit in the tip of his dick, flying all over the place, but mostly landing on my naked and sweat-dripping body as I leaned over the rubber-sheeted bed to whip him in the groin.

  When he was done coming, I stepped back for a moment, panting, nearly exhausted. Abruptly, though, I became aware that I was also so horny that I would have done just about anything, no matter how perverted, to get my rocks off.

  He must have realized this, the sly little bastard, because he raised his head and gave me a knowing look. He patted the black rubber sheet he was lying on and which he had stained with puddles of his jism.

  “Rub your dick on this, man,” he invited me, in a gasp. “Trust me, stud. You’ve never felt anything like it against your naked body. Rubber is wonderful!”

  I had my doubts after what I’d just seen and done. But I was too fucking aroused to pass up anything that might bring me the relief my swollen balls demanded. I crouched on my hands and knees over the bed next to where he was lying. Lowering myself onto the mattress, I began rocking my hips back and forth in a lewd, raunchy fucking rhythm, keeping my cock and balls in full contact with the rubber sheet. The sensation of that sticky, body-warmed rubber on my dick, my nuts, and my inner thighs, adhering tightly to me as it got heated up by my body warmth and dampened by my sweat, was indeed like nothing I’d ever felt before.

  I quickly got over my shyness, and I decided to experiment some more. I collapsed at full length belly-down on the bed and I let my pierced and swollen tits get their share of the action, of that bizarre clinging and friction from the sweaty rubber sheet which felt glued to my flesh and which slithered back and forth with every thrust of my overheated cock. I was already extremely excited. But when the guy got around behind me on his knees, and he began licking my asshole with his hot, wet tongue, I thought I’d go out of my frigging mind!

  He rimmed me as though he’d been starved for the taste of another man’s asshole, and now he was determined to gorge himself on the anal feast.

  Before too long, I was coming, pumping my prick against that rubber sheet and shouting to the guy to shove his tongue deeper up my ass, and clean it out good!

  When I finally stopped spurting and I collapsed on my belly in a puddle of my own sperm, he was right on top on me. His cock was hard again, and he nudged it between my buttocks. He didn’t bother to ask me whether I was willing to let him fuck me. He didn’t have to ask. It was as though he could read my mind. His tongue action in my hole had ignited a fire deep within me that only a stiff dick could extinguish.

  “Not without a rubber,” I reminded him. “I only do safe sex. If you want to fuck me, you’re going to have to put a condom on it, first. Since you’re so into rubber, that shouldn’t be a problem for you!”

  He found a condom and, grunting with impatience, he put it on his dick. After also giving himself a token swipe of lube, he mounted me again—and this time he drove his latex-protected prick into my twitching asshole in a single shove. He began humping me from behind and above, a position which allows really deep penetration.

  And I wanted to be penetrated. I wanted to be fucked, if possible by the world’s biggest cock. The hot rim job, my masturbation against the rubber-coated mattress, the sheer horny abandon of the whole episode—it had all combined to set my asshole ablaze with lust. It was a conflagration which only another man’s hard, hot cock could put out. My trick didn’t possess the world’s biggest cock, unfortunately. But I made do with what I had inside me, using my imagination to augment his dimensions.

  That sticky, slimy rubber was plastered against my face, my pecs, my thighs—every part of me. As for my latex lover, he turned out to be a quite satisfactory fucker, after all.

  He could keep his big tool hard and maintain our screwing rhythm with long, slow, deep-driving strokes. He used my ass expertly, without coming close to ejaculating again, himself. I couldn’t say the same for myself. Having my anus filled and fucked like that brought me right back to the edge of orgasm.

  After only a few minutes of sheer anal ecstasy, I shot again, ferociously. I shouted my fool head off as I came, blasting my hot semen all over his rubber sheets.

  He went right on humping me. And when, after several more minutes of furious fucking, he finally did shoot his own second load of cum into the condom deep within my burning ass, I felt like the most sexually satisfied stud in the world. I couldn’t believe I was being paid for this. Not only would I have been willing to do it for free—I’d almost have been willing to pay him for giving me such a good screwing.

  Well, almost. There was no point in getting too carried away. As a hustler, I had to maintain certain professional standards of behavior.

  He was the kind of a john who wasn’t a big talker, once the sex act had been concluded to our mutual satisfaction. He gave me my money. I got dressed, and I left.

  I didn’t become converted to the rubber scene to the extent of buying black rubber sheets for my own bed. But, come to think of it, with all the hard use the sheets on my bed got, that might be a highly practical idea.

  Part Three: A Costume Party

  Remembering that incident kept my mind occupied until my park pickup and I had driven to his apartment building, with me following him in my car. As he led me inside his place, I vaguely heard him remark that an older guy was “sort of keeping” him—which explained how such a young kid could afford so luxurious an apartment. The living room was a large space, and it seemed to have benefited from the services of a professional interior decorator.

  “So, you’re cheating on this sugar daddy of yours?” I remarked, just to make conversation.

  He laughed. “You bet. Every chance I get.”

  “Aren’t you afraid he’ll find out?”

  “Find out what? He knows what a slut I am. It turns him on, to think about me screwing around with other guys. He doesn’t expect monogamy from me. He’d be disappointed if I practiced it, in fact.”

  Damn! I thought. Why can’t I latch onto an understanding dude like that? It’d make any number of things a hell of a lot easier, for me!

  He led me directly into the bedroom, so that I got only glimpses of the furniture and the décor in the outer rooms. The first thing to catch my full attention was the wall behind the low, broad platform bed. This wall was covered with mirrored tiles, each a foot square, making up one vast reflective surface.

  As for the bed itself, it was covered for the time being by a large quilted bedspread, printed in an elaborate geometrical pattern of black and white.

  My trick didn’t turn on an electric light. Instead, after closing the bedroom door behind us, he used a box of matches to light several tall, thick pillar candles. The flickering candlelight, which was reflected by the mirrored wall, provided a subdued, sensual illumination. The candle wax was scented, too—the fragrance was musk, which added to the intimate, erotic ambience.

  Next, he pushed back the double doors of a closet—revealing an extensive, and possibly definitive, collection of leather and rubber garments suspended on hooks and hangers, and sex toys displayed on shelves. There must’ve been hundreds—maybe thousands—of dollars’ worth of equipment and gear. I was impressed.

  “I suppose you’d like your money,” he said.

  “Later. When we’re finished.”

  “If you show me a really good time, then there’ll be a little extra in it for you.”

  I smiled. “Tips are always appreciated. But I never taken them for granted. I pride myself on earning them. I believe in complete customer satisfaction.”

  He had turned away from the closet, and he was looking at me. “You’re hot,” he declared, with an odd inflection, as though he hadn’t come to that conclusion previously. “You’re very sexy,” he added.

  “Thank you. So are you,” I told him—which, in his case, wasn’t mere politeness on my part.

  “You’re got a really nice body. I can’t wait to see you—” He broke off without finishing the sentence.

  “What, you can’t wait to see me naked?” I prompted him, smiling.

  “No. Well, that, too. But I meant—I’d like to see you dressed up.”

  “Oh, yeah.” I’d forgotten that he wanted this to be a costume party. “You seem to have some interesting things here. Do you think I’d look good in them?”

  “I know you will. Take your clothes off while I pick out some things for you to try on,” he urged me, with an edge of sexual excitement already in his voice, making him sound a little breathless and hoarse. “I’m pretty good at estimating a guy’s size. I’ll get you all suited up, in no time.”

  “Okay,” I agreed. “You’re really into this rubber thing, aren’t you?”

  “I’m a rubberman,” he replied, proudly. “Rubber and latex—that’s what I live for.”

  Standing in front of the open closet, he began to undress, too. By the time he reached into the closet, he was naked, and I could see that his cock was fully hard. It wasn’t small, and I felt my own fuck tool stiffen as I examined his nude body. He had a good, solid man’s body, belying the boyish appearance of his face, and a cock and ass that looked capable of showing another man a hot time in the sack.

  This was supposed to be a paying job, so far as I was concerned. But there was no reason why I couldn’t enjoy my work!

  Pulling off my own clothes, I stood there nude, while my host selected what he wanted me to pose in. He also fetched an expensive-looking little digital camera from a bureau drawer, slinging it around his neck by its strap.

  Playing dress-up wasn’t really my thing, but the thought of being photographed did appeal to my exhibitionistic streak.

  Still, it was a curious way to initiate a sex scene. He scarcely looked at me, as though I wasn’t worthy of his attention as a sex object until I was dressed up to conform to his fantasy image of me. But I was too intrigued by his collection of rubber wear to take offense.

  The first thing he handed me was a pair of very thin, very brief, flexible black rubber underpants, with an open slit in the crotch for the wearer’s genitals to protrude through, and another slit in the seat to expose the crack of the ass. I was careful not to laugh, although I had an urge to do so, which would have ruined the kid’s illusions about me. Instead, I very slowly pulled the kinky undergarment up my legs, and nudged it into place over my pelvic area and butt, while he snapped a photo of me doing so.

  Surprisingly enough, the underpants didn’t feel bad. The thin rubber was cool, and it clung to my ass cheeks and molded itself to my gluts, so that once I had the briefs in place, they truly felt like the proverbial second skin.

  I could see that even this much activity was getting my trick very excited. He gave me a tank top next—also made from the thinnest black rubber imaginable. There were two strategically placed holes in its front, so that my nipples could stick out through them. The tank top fit my torso very snugly, displaying my physique to considerable advantage. Glancing at myself in the mirrored wall beside the bed, I couldn’t help grunting with satisfaction at what I saw. I looked hot, and extremely sexual—like a sort of an S-and-M underwear model.

  As I pulled the bottom edge of the tank top down into place around my waist, he stopped taking photos of me long enough to come closer and adjust the hem around me himself. His fingers went around the edges of the rubber, stroking it lightly, savoring the junction of textures where the synthetic material met and clung to my warm, tanned flesh.

  He brushed his fingers over my exposed and pierced nipples, squeezing and kneading them gently. The tit play turned me on despite my lingering sense of puritanical detachment from this bizarre scene which we were easing ourselves into, rubber garment by rubber garment.

  “I like your pierced tits,” he told me.

  “Yeah, I like them, too. They’re very responsive to stimulation.”

  Rubber pants, or rather chaps, were next. Fashioned from the same satiny, close-fitting black latex, they were very thin and pliable. They felt as though they were really a size too small for me, and I had to tug and stretch them and strain to get them up over my legs and laced closed around my hips.

  Once I had squeezed into them, though, the rubber molded itself to my every muscle, outlining and exaggerating the powerful contours of my calves and thighs in a way that denim or leather never would have done. The rubber edge of the open crotch area cut in just under my balls and hugged the flare of my hipbones, so that the rubber briefs I wore under the chaps were fully exposed. My cock and balls protruded through the front slit of the briefs, the bare skin shockingly contrasted to the surrounding black rubber. When I turned my head over my shoulder and I saw my rear end reflected in the mirrored wall, I could see a similar pale vertical slash of exposed flesh—it was my ass crack, exposed by the slit in the seat of the underpants.

  I had once walked into a leather bar late at night wearing nothing but chaps and boots—no shirt, and with nothing under the chaps where they left my crotch and ass exposed, except for a cock ring and a ball harness. I’d ended up having sex with half a dozen guys in a row in the bar’s back room. But, uninhibited as I was, I doubted that even I would have the nerve to wear these rubber chaps in a bar, over my bare skin. They were just too revealing, too blatantly sexual. They were infinitely more erotic and provocative than any display of complete nudity could ever be.

  All this while, he was taking pictures of me.

  I had to struggle to bend over far enough to push my feet into the black rubber boots, with thick grip soles and buckles, which the kid offered me next. He knelt in a servile posture at my feet to help me get the footwear on, and he fastened the buckles. Then it was time for me to pose for more photos.

  By now I was beginning to be aware of one of the big disadvantages of rubber attire. At first the chaps had felt cold and clammy. But because my skin couldn’t breathe through the rubber, it soon got warm, sticky, and damp with my sweat. And my perspiration remained trapped between my body and the briefs and the chaps. The tank top now felt tight and hot, too. I squirmed a little, breathing harder, and the guy noticed my discomfort.

 

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