Strange Encounter: Permanent Effects

Chapter 1 - What just happened?

“Got a ride or did you walk?” The question came from my drinking pal, still seated at the bar. Cal was a big gorilla of a guy. Very strong, the sort of guy tough guys generally only tackle once. We were friends, often shared an evening at the bar — a local ‘Gay’ meeting place — and that was about it. Neither of us advertised our sexuality overtly, but preferred to be singles. In fact I’d had a number of casual relationships, but none lasted long — mainly because the only things we actually had in common was a liking for sex. 

This is compounded by my rather cavalier approach in any relationship, partly a defence against revealing too much of my own vulnerability, but which often made me appear very callous. I’d been rejected by my family for being Gay, and humiliated by them because of my fetish taste for rubber. I’d learned as a teenager not to allow anyone to get too close to me emotionally, and built a sort of emotional wall around myself. I’d withdrawn from the family as much as I could, becoming secretive and then taking delight in engaging in decidedly risky sexual encounters. 

In a way this was a part of my ‘fetish’ life as well. A barrier against the world, but one in which I could surrender control of my sexuality and pleasure to someone else — on my terms. There was really only one person I’d ever really felt a strong attraction for — a cousin who’d actually never shown much more than casual friendship toward me, but who I knew was Gay, and I liked to imagine, shared my fetish. I’d not seen him for almost ten years, and more or less accepted that this was one dream that would never be more than something to wank to in bed.

“Walked over,” I replied. “Not safe to ride the bike after a few drinks, Cal.” I winked. “Just wore the leathers for the look of it.” The truth is that I am a risk taker. I’ve found myself in some very risky, not to say dangerous situations because of it. It gave me a buzz, and occasionally it lead to a really good sex session.

I’m a biker. I have a bike, a rather nice one I use mainly as a means to get about town, but I’m also a rebel, so I take chances on occasion. Truth to tell, my friends are probably right, I have a suicidal streak on the bike, and that gets me a lot of hassle from the cops. I wear leathers because it’s sensible to do so, but also, as tonight, because it gives me a buzz to have nothing under them while out in public. My summer hobby is sailing or surfing, and for that I wear my other ‘naughty’ public fetish, my wetsuits … a less public one is offering myself as the ‘victim’ in bondage sex scenes. Some guys respect your limits, others … well, let’s just say I’ve had a couple of close calls.

I’d long since dropped all contact with my family. They couldn’t handle my being Gay, and I’d simply never told them about the fetish. It wasn’t worth having to listen to the screaming and shouting. So I finished my schooling with some piss-poor A-Levels, packed as much as I could and struck out on my own. It hadn’t been easy, and eight years on, it still wasn’t. Life consisted of work, watching television in my small flat, surfing the internet, or creating erotic ‘paintings’ on my computer when I couldn’t afford to go out. Occasionally I agreed to a Hook up with some stranger on the internet and a couple of times I’d had some pretty rough and rather unpleasant encounters with SM lovers, but mostly just got tied up, or chained or some other form of bondage so someone could fuck me, make me suck cock or be a plaything for a group. It often earned me some extra cash, and was mostly enjoyable. When I did have a bit of spare money, I often came to this small Gay hangout, or, when I was feeling really cock hungry, putting on my rubbers, and going to the RubberZone.

He laughed. “Yeah, I guessed. Sensible, but take care. You’ve heard the rumours …”

“Yeah. Don’t worry, nothing ever happens to me — nothing that wasn’t intended anyway.” I grinned. This was true as far as it went. I’m reasonably fit, and big enough to look after myself. Even at school I was generally left alone, and I had always been careful to hide my lack of interest in the opposite sex. Wetsuits had been my substitute for a craving to be dressed in tight rubber, and no one queried your wearing one if you surfed or sailed, allowing me to indulge my fantasy of being someone’s rubber lover. Of course, now I lived in my own place, I could wear more exotic latex gear, and did. In private mainly, though I often wore it when I agree to some sex hook up, of course, went to the RubberZone club where I often volunteered for a bondage demo. “And I’ve no arrangements tonight. Besides, it’s less than five minutes to my place if I cut through the old graveyard.”

“You crazy? That’s where all these strange occurrences are happening. Take a taxi and go round it.”

“Oh come on, you don’t believe these stories about ghosts, or aliens, or whatever do you?” I had heard the stories. The story was that guys were abducted, subjected to sexual activity and usually woke up not sure whether they’d dreamed it, experienced it, or where it had happened. Some simply vanished a few weeks after the experience. I grinned and made for the door. Between being frustrated about my work and future prospects — I’d once dreamed of working in designing things — but I work in a job where its all about picking customer orders and dealing with their queries … I deliberately use this shortcut in the hope that I will get abducted, but, as I said, nothing ever happens to me … It would solve all my problems. “See you tomorrow.”

I was just passing a large mausoleum when a figure stepped out from behind it, held out a hand and something flashed. I went out like a light.

I became aware of my surroundings to find myself secured face down over a padded bench, my wrists and neck secured by a heavy set of ‘stocks’ of the board type, the openings for my neck and wrists padded and forming a sort of seal. A gag, which I quickly determined to be a rubber penis, filled my mouth and cut off my urge to protest. I faced a black wall, and my view was further restricted by side panels less than sixty centimetres either side of me. My legs were secured to upright supports of some sort by straps on my thighs and ankles, with a further broad and heavy belt across my hips and back and I realised that I was naked and sporting a very eager erection. 

I’ve always enjoyed being restrained for sex, and this was intense. I enjoy giving head when I can get someone, and I enjoy being given it. Somehow this went a bit further, and suggested my butt was going to get some attention. Well, I was hardly in a position to refuse …

Hands examined me, but I could hear and see nothing, and though I struggled against the restraints, no one said anything and the examination carried on. Then someone began to masturbate me. Whoever it was knew exactly what he was doing. He brought me off in no time at all, then coated my still hypersensitive cock in some cool cream or gel, and continued to massage it. I struggled as something quite large was pressed against my sphincter. It felt like a cock, and believe me I do know what that feels like. As you’ve gathered, I’m very definitely Gay, very into rubber fetish, and though I don’t have a regular boyfriend, I do, from time to time, let someone ‘pick me up’ at a club or bar, or hire out to someone looking for a heavier session …

The thing entered my man pussy and I realised it was probably some kind of dildo. It was big and stretched me a little, but once inside me, it felt good. Then I felt my butt fill with something warm and unlike cum, which I rather like inside me, this felt thicker and there was a lot more of it. By now, my cock was once again rigid and enjoying the gentle massage it was getting. I moaned as I felt myself getting ready to shoot another load … I should have felt outrage, fear … instead I felt relaxed, enjoying the experience and above all enjoying the sex … The thing in my butt eased itself gently deeper, then slowly drew back, but remain inside me. I felt another flood of the thick and soothing fluid, then it pushed slowly deeper, and deep inside me discharged another dose of the thick fluid. With each such discharge, I became more relaxed. I was enjoying this, and I wanted it … 

Slowly the desire began to grow to be dressed in rubber, to wear one of my wetsuits, or better, my favourite latex catsuit … meanwhile my cock was getting more attention …

I woke up with a rigid boner as the alarm clock beside my bed set off the radio. Confused, I grabbed my watch and checked the time. How’d I get home? My bike leathers were draped over the back of the chair I kept in the bedroom where I usually draped my clothes when I went to bed. The room was exactly as it should be. So what the hell had happened to me last night? Had it been some kind of hallucination? Had somebody slipped me something in a drink? Cal perhaps? I dismissed that out of hand, even as my hand gripped my rigid cock and began automatically to stroke … 

The feel of my cock in my hand, and the response to my stroking calmed me down. What had I seen? Essentially, nothing substantial. A figure stepping out of a mausoleum I’d walked past dozens of times was hardly something to make a fuss about. I wasn’t even sure he’d come out of it. He could have been behind it. What was the strange flash I’d seen? Had I actually ‘seen’ it, or was it a trick of the eye? What else could I remember? A fantastic masturbation, something pumped into my butt that felt ,,, Well, not at all like cum or lubricant. Come to that, my butt didn’t feel as if I’d been fucked, but I had that comfortable ‘glow’ in my hole that said I had been, and there was a slickness between my cheeks that said I had. But the memories and feelings were all jumbled up.  What the fuck had I experienced?

And that still left the fact I’d absolutely no idea how I’d got home, got undressed and got into bed. There was a strong smell of latex — which increased my arousal — in the room, but I knew the only rubber here was safely stowed in my ‘special’ closet. And anyway, the smell seemed to be coming from my skin. It felt like it was something I should be worried about, but, somehow, it was just all so unreal, and so unlikely, I couldn’t see any need to get in a sweat about it.

By now my stroking had reached the point where I was about to shoot my load, so I very carefully slid out of bed, moved to the bathroom and finished myself off into the basin. A quick wash, brush my teeth, run the comb through my hair, and I headed to the kitchen for a coffee, my mind now trying to focus on the day’s tasks and away from the feeling in my butt that wanted more. Boring, it always is when your job is more or less a dead-end in a building supplies warehouse. At least it paid my bills and gave me the pocket money to enjoy my fetish …

That had been almost two weeks earlier, and my libido hadn’t calmed down. Nor had my desire to be in rubber, and I now wore it all the time, though, at work, I’d had to tone it down. And last night I’d gone to the RubberZone. The RubberZone specialised in serious bondage and rubber. I’d worn my latex jeans and a latex muscle shirt under my leather jacket and walked there. It had been crowded, and I’d been ‘touched up’ by a number of rubber patrons, and given ‘head’ to a couple in the secluded booths set aside for more ‘intimate’ contact. I’d noticed a couple of men in the most incredible latex outfits as I made my way to the bar after getting a really good butt fuck from another regular. 

They’d looked as if the latex was part of them beneath the harnesses they wore, and I’d admired them, though it was obvious they were with ‘masters’ and not ‘available’. One of them had bumped against me at the bar. He’d grinned and apologised for the contact. His codpiece had made fairly definite contact in my butt crack as we were jostled at the bar. It was definite enough to make my rear zip slide in the residue cum leaking from my hole.

“Oops, sorry,” he’d said. “I hope my master didn’t see that.” He grinned. “Hope I didn’t make you spill anything.”

“Nope, my glass is just about empty. I was just finishing anyway.” I eased aside. “Here, take my place.” 

“Thanks.” He squeezed past me, his hefty codpiece pressed against my thigh, then, as he turned away, I was jostled from behind and the pouch of my latex jeans was pressed firmly into the crack of his firm butt. He laughed. “Sorry, I’m plugged, but thanks …”

Embarrassed I mumbled an apology and eased my way out, recovered my jacket from the reception and stepped out into the street, automatically checking no one I knew was around to see me leave the RubberZone.

Frustrated at not having been able to get my own cock dealt with and still semi-aroused I set off, taking my usual shortcut. There’d been no calls for volunteers, and I seemed to be the only ‘available’ sub there. It’s at times like this I’d accept anyone as a partner, even some abusive arsehole — as long as he regularly used my cock! Reaching the large mausoleum I stopped as the path was blocked by two shiny black latex figures. I turned to run and there were two more behind me. Another stepped out of the shadows and held up a thin device. It flashed and my world went black.