New Year's Resolution 12

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“1683, wake up”

Paul’s eyes snapped open and immediately he could see his muscular form still in its thick, skin-tight red rubber in the mirror placed in front of him. He was boiling hot, the sweat pooling in the rubber suit and making him uncomfortable, his muscled aching from the position he had been strapped into. Drool was running freely around the ball gag, so he reckoned he’d been secured like this for sometime. From what he could see, he had been strapped on all fours onto some kind of device. His stomach lay on something solid, with his mitted hands secured in front of him to the base of the device. His legs (ankles still strapped to his thighs) were similarly secured, but his knees were held apart by the device leaving his arse open and exposed.

His eyes bulged as he swore and struggled, his mountainous muscles heaving against the black leather restraints. Wrenching against the straps he could hear them creaking and groaning, until a rubbered form behind him stepped forward and secured a wide leather belt around his waist, securing Paul tightly to the device. Now he couldn’t get enough leverage to affect anything other than a helpless writhing motion. He glared up at the figure in black rubber as he rubbed his hands all over Paul’s quivering flanks.

“Time for your last lesson here, boi.”

With that statement he unzipped the back of Paul’s suit, exposing his arse to the air. Paul yelled at the realisation of what was about to happen and re-doubled his attempts to escape, with no affect. The figure carefully poured a lubricant over Paul’s arse, working it deep inside him with an invading finger. As the finger pushed inside, Paul tried to keep it out and found to his horror that on some level his body was reacting positively to this invasion. His cock started to harden, to press tightly against the rubber spikes as they crushed his cock between himself and the device he was strapped to.

“In case you’re wondering, boi, this is called a fucking bench. And that’s just what I’m going to do.”

With no further ado, the figure unsnapped the codpiece on the front of his suit, revealing a thick cock and balls, fully covered in a sheath of shining black rubber. Already hard, it bobbed in front of him as he placed himself between Paul’s thighs and slowly pushed inside him.

Paul had never been invaded like this while not under some kind of control and the pressure and pain made him scream. The figure roared with laughter as his helpless victim wriggled and squirmed as much as he could in an attempt to break free. Paul tried to expel the invader from his arse, but all that did was clench tighter, drawing an exhalation of satisfied breath as he pushed further inside.

“1683, pleasure on.”

Suddenly, Paul found the whole experience incredibly arousing. His trapped cock rose and pressed tightly against the spikes, the pain simply making his erection stronger. He started to grunt into the gag, each grunt coinciding with a thrust from the man stood behind him. Everything seemed to arouse him – the heat and sweat, the tightness of the bonds, the restriction of the rubber, even the continuous streams of drool running from the gag. But most of all, that invading cock ramming deep inside his arse thrust tremors of delight through his entire system and he found his entire body responding to it. Consciously, he hated what was going on, he felt himself humiliated and controlled, used and abused – but he could do nothing to stop his body responding and that knowledge made him scream internally as he realised that this was what the future held for him.

That knowledge made his cock surge against the spikes and he exploded into orgasm just as the rubber covered invader came as well. The man pulled out of Paul’s arse and patted his back.

“Nice, boi, nice. Very responsive. Someone will pay a lot of money for you. Just one more thing to do.”

He stood in front of Paul, his rubbered cock still standing erect in front of him. Leaning forward he unstrapped the harness from Paul’s head and let the ball gag slide out of his aching mouth. Paul yawned and stretched his aching jaw, then focused on the cock that stood just in front of his head.


Still aroused beyond his brain’s control, Paul knew what was expected of him and knew that he could never do it, would not submit to this further indignity. No way, he would resist, he would stop himself, he would….

As he thought these things, his head bent forward and with long slow strokes of his tongue, he began to lick the cock clean. Tears ran from his eyes down the front of the rubber hood as he realised that he was no longer in control of his body and that everything the man had told him was true.

“Good, boi, very good. Now, 1683, resume control.”

After a second’s hesitation, Paul began slurping hungrily and greedily at the Boss’s cock, licking it all over, cleaning it of the juices staining the black rubber. As the Boss rubbed Paul’s hooded head with both hands, Paul wondered what the hell his problem had been and he settled down in enjoyment of the situation.


As Paul walked to work that evening, he strode down the street in happy contemplation. He caught sight of himself in a shop window and stopped to admire himself. His towering, muscular form seemed to be accented by the newly shaved head and he was wearing the clothes that the Boss had provided him. His legs were clad in skintight denim bleachers, old and thin with several tears. The bleachers disappeared into knee high cherry red ranger boots, ladder-laced with yellow laces which stood out starkly against the stiff leather of the boots. His torso strained the confines of a too-tight white Fred Perry shirt, the nipples on his massive pectorals clearly visible through the straining fabric. Over the top, he wore a leather MA-1 jacket which had been treated with a rubber compound to make it shine like latex. All in all, Paul thought he looked pretty good. Checking his watch he saw that he was going to be late if he didn’t hurry, so he ran off down the street towards Inferno.

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