I found this long lost chapter. WFR could be the best written rubber bondage fiction storyline ever.
Enjoy - Sir BnT
Conversion Part IV
It was late, past 11 PM on Friday, but I was not tired. I stared at the e-mail I had retrieved from my sent items:
Date:2/3/03 9:21:18 PM Pacific Standard Time
Attached are photos you requested. As shown, I followed up on your suggestions - cock/balls tied, butt plug, and Capsule suit.
I reread the e-mail and then studied the photos: The first was a closeup of my prodigious cock,hugely erect, encircled by straps and buckles, bulging blood vessels and dripping pre-cum. My shaved balls, restrained and separated, looked enormous, at the bursting point. In the second photo, my ass, which I had never bothered to examine much before in person, let alone in a photograph, showed the black rubber base of the plug. What I thought was striking about it, though, was the muscularity and shape: Smooth ripe melons below a tapered waist, my ass looked irresistible. I felt my cock rise up, responding to my own reaction, the desire to give the ass in the photo a thorough pounding. The third photo I sent to Matt showed how I looked in the Capsule suit: a strapping, obviously masculine form encased in shiny, skin-tight rubber; gleaming black muscles; rubber hood hugging a hunky male head and neck; large, wide manly feet and strong hands forming fists within sealed mitts; powerful, virile-looking thighs framing a crotch where the tight rubber could not conceal the large package underneath. In the photo, the Capsule suit exaggerated my masculine features, and yet dehumanized me, in a way I found highly erotic. Studying it was making me even harder. I slipped my hand inside my briefs and massaged my insatiable cock, which had seen quite a bit of solo action in anticipation of hearing from Matt. Yet, despite my own horniness in reaction to the photos, after several days there was still no response from Matt. Over the last few nights I had spent hours online, waiting for him, but his screen name never appeared. Had he recognized me from the photos, even without exposing my face; or some part of my body, even without my signature body hair? Was he just not interested? While I was going over all the possible scenarios in my mind, his screen name popped up on my buddy list. I dropped my cock and started typing.
hotnhairy: Did you get my e-mail?
About two or three minutes passed with no response. My cock started to droop.
RBRDOM: Yes. Noticed you need to learn to follow instructions. DID I NOT TELL YOU TO ADDRESS ME AS ‘SIR’?
Matt’s arrogance was still a surprise to me. Nevertheless, I could feel my cock surge as I typed my response.
h: Right, Sir. Got it, Sir.
R: My interest is non-existent unless you address me as SIR.
h: Understood, Sir.
R: Wearing your Capsule suit now, slave?
In seconds, my cock had sprung back to a full erection and was sticking up at attention through the slit in my briefs. I wasn’t quite sure how I felt about being addressed as ‘slave,’ but my cock had evidently decided for me.
h: no Sir
R: put it on, slave
I hesitated. Surely he must know it wasn’t a matter of snapping my fingers.
h: will take a few minutes, Sir
R: I’ll give you 5 minutes to suit up, starting now. Don’t keep me waiting...
Feeling like an idiot madman, I tore off my socks, briefs, and t-shirt and grabbed the Capsule suit from a drawer. Struggling while I rushed through all the steps involved, I inserted my feet into the feet of the suit, attempted to draw the legs up quickly, pulled and stretched the suit upward and over, and wiggled into the hood and body of it as quickly as possible while trying not to destroy it. Sweating to race the clock, fumbling with the zippers through the mitts, I cursed when I caught the skin of my balls while closing the zippers around my crotch and ass.
The suit had seemed cold and slightly inflexible when I started. As I finished and sat in front of my computer, it felt thicker and tighter than I remembered, especially at my chest and shoulders. My head was perspiring heavily, and the sweat was interfering with my limited vision. I peered through the small perforations at the eyes of the hood, to try to find the angle at which I could see the keyboard. My fingers were slick with sweat and enclosed tightly in the rubber mitts attached to the suit. As quickly as the close-fitting rubber allowed, I typed into the instant message window.
h: badk, Zir. harc tp type w/ mitts & hoos
R: typos are not acceptable, slave. retype that and get it right if you expect me to keep chatting with you tonight.
Squinting through the pinholes in the hood, backspacing to correct letters when I got them wrong, I retyped slowly and laboriously. I could feel my hands and feet perspiring heavily within their rubber encasement. My cock was pulsating intermittently.
h: back, Sir. hard to type with mitts and hood, Sir
R: you’ll learn. how’s the suit feel, slave?
h: tight & sweaty, Sir. hot, Sir.
R: very nice. I like my slaves sealed, hot, sweaty, and in total bondage. You ready for that?
Not sure how to answer, I hesitated. I wasn’t sure what I was ready for.
h: yes, Sir.
R: good. Take a picture of urself right now, sitting at your computer, and send it to me.
h: will take some time Sir
R: I have time, slave. Also, make a new screen name for urself - rbrslv
h: Sir, yes Sir
As I carried out my tasks, I had weird sensations of hastily rushing and yet moving awkwardly and repetitively in slow motion. Taking the picture, downloading it to my computer, creating the new screen name, logging in again, e-mailing the picture, sending the IM - all seemed to take forever as I struggled to see and feel through the rubber to achieve the view and digital dexterity required to get everything done. It seemed a ludicrous situation, and at one point, while I was fumbling with the keyboard for what could have been the 20th time, I started laughing. I could feel the sweat building all over my body under the skintight suit, yet my cock was stiff and aching.
rbrslv: sent you the picture, Sir
RBRDOM: got it. That suit is quite tight on u.
r: should have gotten a large, I guess, Sir.
R: I like it as is. u need to sleep in it tonite.
I drew my head back in surprise. Under the hood, I could feel a look of doubt forming on my face. I didn’t think I could get any sleep that way.
r: I could try
R: the proper response is, ‘Sir, yes SIR’
r: yes SIR
R: and, it’s not a request. It’s an order! Do it!
r: right, Sir.
I was still put-out by his attitude. Was this really the sweet, eager-to-please, baby-faced Matt I used to order around in bed? About a minute passed with no further response from him. I typed “Sir?” into the IM box, and AOL told me he was not signed on.
I felt foolish, disconcerted, even on the verge of anger, as I disconnected. “Screw him,” I thought. Sure, he had gotten me to act crazy, squeeze into the rubber suit and jump through hoops, like some kind of kinky pet dog, but I certainly wasn’t going any further. I had no intention of lying in bed all night alone, trying to sleep in a hot, sweaty, uncomfortably tight rubber get-up just because he said so. Nevertheless, the pressure of the rubber against my cock and balls combined with the stimulation of chatting with Matt had left me in an uncontrollably horny state. My turgid cock, trapped under the slick tightness of the suit, demanded immediate attention. I stood up abruptly, cupped and squeezed my crotch with my mitt-covered hands, and then laid face down on my bed. Imagined visions of Matt in my mind mixed with the reality of the odors of sweat and rubber as I humped the bed vigorously and got lost in a pre-orgasmic frenzy. Grinding my pelvis into the mattress, I found myself fantasizing about being dominated by Matt. Oh, my beautiful Matt! I would do anything for you! My cock exploded quickly, strongly, pumping inside the rubber, almost painfully letting go, exuding cum in spurts, going on forever, until it finally stopped. I laid still. Minutes passed. I was insensible, drained, exhausted. I felt engulfed in sweat but too tired to do anything about it. I had a vague notion of wanting to get free of the rubber, but sleep was overpowering me. My body slackened and entered a state of deep relaxation.
Next came the confusion. Darkness. Had I turned off the lights? My open eyes could find no illumination. No, my eyes were closed. I was sleeping. I had to wake up but I was too tired. I couldn’t move. Sleep was overpowering me. Yes, I was dreaming. No, I was awake. My mind could not decide if I was conscious. Then, real or imagined, Matt was present, talking to me, on top of me: pinning me down, holding my wrists together, pulling my rubber-encased head roughly to one side, finding my lips through the hood, kissing me deeply, using more hands than possible, pinching my nipples, fingering the rubber up my ass crack, putting his hands everywhere, controlling me, making me hard. His strong, thick, insistent tongue probed my mouth, and in my dream I sucked it wildly and pushed my ass up against the pressure of his body. I tried to turn around but he held me down. The tongue withdrew, and Matt’s honey-like breath was in my nostrils as his dreamy, low-key voice barely penetrated the consciousness in my dream. Or, was it that he was actually speaking, and his words were dulled by the rubber hood? Still confused, I just wanted him to kiss me again, but the words continued. Now they seemed so real, not dream-like at all. And his tone was not what I remembered of him. He sounded commanding and serious, and the words began to make sense. “I thought it was you.... I’d know that cock of yours anywhere....The photos tonight - recognized your old desk, with a new computer on it. I thought you were pretending to be interested, to bust my balls. So I’m here, in the middle of the night, courtesy of my old key. And you’re in rubber, just like I told you to be. And now I’ve got you. Ready or not, you’re about to be trained as my slave.” Before I could fully comprehend the words, the tongue was back in my mouth. Drawing it in gladly, I started to suck on it, but it had become huge, cold, and unyielding, and it was too large to suck. My mouth was forced wide around it as it advanced further, and I realized it was not Matt’s tongue. I also realized I wasn’t sleeping! This was really happening!
My struggling began when I felt something tighten at the back of my neck as the object was pushed into my mouth more deeply. I tried to speak and to raise my hands to object, but I found my arms had become powerless, joined closely togther behind my back, firmly set at my elbows and wrists. I flexed my legs, to twist to try to turn over, and found my knees and ankles had also been bound. Finally fully awake, I began to fight in earnest. I heaved against the restraints and protested as loudly as the gag would allow. Instead of being released, I was flipped over and lifted, by two sets of hands! I felt the hands setting me down, on something soft - under me, over me, wrapped around me, closing in on me, my head enveloped as I heard Matt’s voice: “The more you struggle and make noise, the tighter things will get.”
I tried to calm myself. There were tearing sounds, tightening sensations, pressure around me, slowly surrounding me, enveloping me, closer and closer, insulating me from head to toe. I was feeling packed, like a cocoon. Doing my best to resist the urge to give in to claustrophobic panic, I noticed that my cock was semi-erect, trying to rise up. Then I was lifted, carried somewhere, set down. Nothing. Silence. More nothing. Then motion. I sensed I was in a vehicle. It was moving, transporting me, or what I had become: a rubber-sealed, bound-up package. How had I allowed this to happen? Wrestling against the restraints, trying to roll and twist, I renewed my efforts to escape, but movement seemed futile. I was fixed in place and held tight within my thick shroud. As I struggled, I became more aware of my cock, erect and slippery, trapped in the rubber, held securely, pressing upward and throbbing against my belly. The more I worked against the bondage, the tighter it felt, and the stiffer my pulsing cock seemed to get. On the verge of cumming, I involuntarily cried out, sending bellows through the gag and into the packing around my head. There was a tugging sensation at my head, and then Matt’s voice came through again: “Too late for second thoughts, my friend. Don’t fret. I have a feeling you’ll make an excellent rubber slave.” I squirmed uncontrollably when I felt the intensity of the tightness increasing even more, and then I heard my own muffled cries erupting as my cock convulsed and exploded in spasms that racked my whole body.