Bound for Glory (mm mc fet)

Copyright © 2003

Inspired by the work of writer Westpalm

Synopsis: A popular boyband gets a new look from their designer/choreographer--whether they like it or not. (mc, mm, ft)

Suggestion: Read the story "Nick's Shiny Rubber Suit" by fantasy writer Westpalm, which inspired this story. It's brief, and can be found right here at Look for Westpalm under "Authors". I changed the costumer's name, to separate the two works as mine was not created as a collaboration with anyone. This story does stand on its own, but it's fun to know its history.

View the dream cast for Bound for Glory"Okay. You guys ready for this?" Nick's voice came from behind the door of the quick-change room.

The foursome sat in a semicircle in their overstuffed chairs and on the sofa, exchanging puzzled looks, wondering what all the fuss was about. They were the majority of the insanely-popular boyband known as Pump Y'Up. Their number included Jason, the wild-haired singer whose tenor voice reached up as high as he was tall. T.C., the prankster with the wrestler's build and dyed hair whose constant smile was framed by a rough goatee. Reb, the redheaded country boy with the bass voice and thick sideburns, and finally the shy black-haired Stevie, the youngest at 19, who tended to keep to the background when not onstage, A small scruff of hair left on his chin was as close as he came to anything rebellious.

In a far corner of the room, Nick's hand-selected choreographer and costume designer, Taylor, sat silently watching and waiting.

The fifth band member, Nick, the blond heartthrob of the group, had called the boys together at the end of their vacation time to reveal what he would only refer to as "a life-changing surprise".

"Uh, yeah. I guess we're ready", said Jason.

"Did you say you were ready??", Nick called, louder.

"Get yer ass out here, already! Let's get this show on the road!", T.C. hollered at the door.

"Okay, brace yourselves", Nick said, opening the door and stepping out into the room.

"Well, time's a-wastin--", T.C. began, his voice catching in his throat as he caught sight of his buddy Nick standing before them.

Jason's eyes practically bugged out of his head, as he said, "Nick, what the--?!"

Reb's mouth moved silently, as he tried to form words. "Wh-whuh the hell--boy, what you got on?? I mean, shit!"

Poor shy Stevie looked like he was trying to press his body backwards through the back of the couch. His face bore a shocked expression, and if his mouth were clenched shut any tighter, he would have broken his jaw.

"Well", Nick asked, "whattaya think?" The beautiful Nick, with his athletic arms and legs, his impossibly trim waist, rock-hard abs, and his adorable baby face beneath thick blond hair stood before them in a skintight rubber bodysuit. And when I say skintight, I mean SKIN tight. The material was thick and strong, and shone with gleaming highlights on his shoulders, forearms, and chest as he moved into the light. The surface was highly polished and smooth as glass. The four seated boys could actually catch their reflections in Nick's chest and abs. Though the rubber suit was of sufficiently thick material that Nick's endowments weren't perfectly outlined in graphic detail, the bulges and curves left very little to the imagination. Nick's suit hugged extra tight to his crotch area, holding everything in place and showing it off, and you could see from across the room that Nick preferred to wear his penis up. And it was certainly up now. Up and hard. Snug, trim rubber gloves covered his hands, the cuffs of which blended so well with the sleeves that they appeared to be attached as one piece. On Nick's feet were tennis-shoe style rubber boots which hugged his ankles and blended with the pant legs the same way the gloves melded with the sleeves. His innocent-appearing baby face protruded from a high collar that conformed to the shape of his neck.

Nick spun around, his arms outstretched to show off the whole ensemble. "Well, what do you think, guys? Say something! Isn't it awesome?" As he exposed his back to his fellow band members, they could see how the seat of the rubber suit accentuated Nick's firm young ass, and they saw their own reflections shining there.

"Dude, don't ever do that again", Jason pleaded.

"Turn. Around.", T.C. demanded harshly.

Nick turned back to face them, looking confused and disappointed. "Guys? What's the matter? This is it, guys. This is our new look! This is the ultimate look for Pump Y'Up!"

"As far as your jokes go, Nicky, this one pretty much sucks", Reb drawled. Jason and T.C. started to get up as if to go.

Nick couldn't believe the boys weren't as excited about this as he was. "Guys, I swear, I'm not joking! This is the best uniform I've ever worn since we formed the band! It's slick, it's comfortable, it's--"

"...perverted", said Stevie, almost in a whisper.

Jason eyed his best friend suspiciously. "Nick, did you just call that thing...a uniform? What are you sayin--?"

Reb had stood up, too. "If you think we'd ever be able to do our choreography in that rubber straightjacket, you are just plain fucked up. Even if we liked the way it looked--" and Stevie shook his head furiously. "--which we don't, we could never move like we have to onstage wearing something like that."

"But you're wrong!", Nick exclaimed. "Watch this!" And Nick dropped to the floor, springing into one of their more famous dance routines (and also one of their most physically demanding) from their video "Goodbye Kiss-Off". Nick's spry body moved like quicksilver, his legs darting lithely on the carpeted floor, his feet bouncing from one spot to another, carrying him through their familiar dance steps with military precision. He spun around, twisting at the waist, catching himself with his hands, then springing upwards to land back on his feet and twirl around to face his friends.

The four band members watched the display, almost mesmerized by the fluid movements of the rubber clad young man who was their closest friend. He was always the best dancer of the group, without question. But his movements now seemed even freer, almost hypnotic in the way he let go and allowed the dance to carry him, the skintight, shining black rubber conforming to his body, yet not hampering a single movement. Nick seemed more to flow than merely dance.

"See? It feels great! I get more freedom in this suit than I have in ANYTHING else we've worn--even the basketball jerseys we had in "Go, Go, Go". Guys, please, I'm not crazy." Nick ran his gloved fingers over his smooth, rubbered chest. "And, when you move in this thing, it's like, God, I can barely describe it. It's like it's massaging you, caressing every inch of your body. It feels sooooo goo--"

T.C. was marching towards the door. "That's it. It's time to go! Call us when you're sane again, Nicky."

Before T.C. could put his hand on the doorknob, Nick had appeared in front of him, slamming his palm against the jam, blocking his friend's way with his arm. He had crossed the room in seconds, his body a shining black blur. The guys stared, mouths hanging open. They had never seen Nick move that fast.

Nick looked angrily at T.C., and over T.C.'s shoulder at the rest of the group. "So that's it? You're just gonna leave? I hire this guy out of my own pocket", and he darted a thumb back towards Taylor, "work with him for weeks during time we'd scheduled as our vacation break, come up with the design for the ultimate dance suit, and you just decide to tell me to piss off? What the FUCK is up with that?!"

T.C. stared silently at Nick with wide eyes. The rest of the group had also gone quiet. Nick was always the most even-tempered of the group, the most cheerful. They had never seen him this angry. They had never seen him angry, period.

Nick took a deep breath, then gently rested his rubber-gloved hands on T.C. shoulders, lowering his head to look at the floor. "God, I'm sorry, man. I just put so much time into this, I just wanted--" Nick looked up to meet T.C.'s gaze. "Hey, if you think I'm whacked, and you wanna go, you should go." But he did not take his hands off T.C. "But I gotta tellya--" and Nick slid one arm around T.C.'s shoulders and eased him back to face the others. "I would really, really appreciate it if you fellas would just try this out. Just this once. Just for me. I guess I've spent like what, fourteen days or more getting used to it, I didn't even think about whether it might catch you off-guard. I'm sorry."

And Nick guided T.C. back into the room. "But I believe in this, guys. You know I would never do anything to harm the group. I love you guys like brothers, you know that. Please. Just try it out, that's all I'm saying. Just suit up once. For me."

The foursome looked at each other, exchanging a silent debate with their glances. Reb shrugged, T.C. raised his eyebrows in a "Why not?" expression. Stevie, who had never risen from the couch, was biting his thumbnail, looking nervously at the group with an expression that indicated he'd go along with the majority rule, as usual. Jason turned to face the rubberboy who was their friend Nick. "Okay. We try on the costumes. Just once. But if we don't like 'em for any reason--ANY reason--then they come off and you never bring it up again. Case closed. Got it?"

Nick was practically bouncing up and down. "You won't regret this! You'll love 'em, I promise you!"

"Do we have to be naked??"

T.C. and the other four boys stood uncomfortably as Nick gathered their rubber suits. Stevie had removed only his shirt and shoes, still uneasy about disrobing in front of others, even these young men who had become as close to him as siblings.

Nick nodded, a look of satisfaction on his face. He still wore his gleaming suit, of course, and was anxious to see his fellow band mates similarly attired. "Yes, you have to go commando in these things if you want 'em to fit right", Nick said with authority.

Jason looked over the slick, sleek suit Nick had rested over the chair back beside him. Lifting one sleeve and seeing how tight and unforgiving the suit would be, he asked, "How do we even get 'em on? They look so--so snug. I mean, should we be all wet or something?"

"Or something", Nick said, tossing him a small bottle. "Use this first."

Reb caught his bottle easily and looked it over. "Looks like deodorant."

"It's a roll-on, yeah", Nick conceded, "but it's designed to make it easy for the suit to slide on with out having to tug at it." The guys exchanged looks of trepidation. "Unless of course you want to just try yanking 'em on at the cost of several inches of skin. You could do that, I guess", Nick added.

T.C. was already running the smooth ball of the roll-on up and down his arms. "So, I suppose we want to cover everywhere, huh?"

"Every inch", Nick said with finality. The other boys began to slowly apply the roll-on which left only the slightest trace of white powder behind, like talc, then vanished to an invisible glaze. As Nick moved from one singer to the next to direct them on spots they missed, choreographer Taylor busied himself at the back of the room. Apparently, he was getting together more bits of their new costumes, but in fact he was eyeing the spectacle of the quartet of pop dreamboats preparing to be rubberized. He did his best to fumble with different equipment and folders to hide his aching hard-on.

Reb was becoming flustered. "I can't tell if I'm getting myself coated here or not! This thing keeps getting caught up in my--wait just a damn minute!" Reb looked at the roll-on to see that it had a huge tuft of his hair on it. He had felt no pain, so he knew it hadn't been torn free from his chest or arms. He looked down at himself and saw streaks of bare flesh arcing across his chest and abs where he had run the roll-on lubricant. A quick glance at his arms and a loose brush of his hands over them revealed his upper extremities were similarly afflicted, as all the hair on them fluttered lightly to the floor.

Reb looked at his now bare arms and partially shaved chest, and bellowed, "What the hell is this?! Nick!!"

Nick shrugged. "Geez, sorry, man. This stuff works as a hair remover, too. I didn't think much of it, since I shave anyway. Whoops."

Reb was getting red in the face. "Well, 'whoops' my ass! Trying on your suit was one thing, but this--I look like I'm twelve!" Reb looked to T.C. for backup, but the group jokester seemed more amused than put out as he too watched wads of hair fall away from his chest and arms. T.C. smirked, shaking his head slightly. Both Jason and Stevie were smooth-chested, so they had no objections.

Reb relented. "Well, at least we all match now, I guess", he sneered, tossing the bottle back to Nick, who lobbed it right back to him. Reb looked back at him, confused.

"Legs too", Nick said.

"Aw, no way! That's the limit! Modeling the dance suit is one thing, but I'm not gonna shave my legs with this stuff!" He waved the bottle around for emphasis.

"Oh, get over it, Reb", T.C. told him. He was already running the roll-on over his legs, hair falling to the floor at his feet. "It'll grow back."

"Not for several years", thought Taylor from across the room, doing his best to appear preoccupied.

"It's either this or the hair gets yanked off painfully when you pull the suit on over your legs", Nick said.

"I dunno...", Reb pondered.

Nick took back the bottle and said, "Stand straight. I'll do it, then."

To his own surprise, Reb submitted to letting Nick apply the roll-on the rest of the way. For some reason, none of the other boys thought it odd, either.

"What's this scent, anyway?", Jason asked.

T.C. perked right up. "Yeah, I noticed it too, when I was doing my arms. What is that?"

"It's like a really faint lilac or something like that", Stevie observed, lightly sniffing at his hairless arm.

Nick stopped lubing/denuding Reb's legs for a moment. "I didn't know it even had a scent." He sniffed the top of the roll-on, wrinkled his nose as if there was nothing to smell, then felt his shoulders relax as a dopey, contented smile spread across his face. Nick waved the roll-on under Reb's nose, urging him to take a whiff. Reb did, and soon shared his buddy's dopey grin. He suddenly wished Nick would hurry it up and get the rest of that pesky hair off of his legs.

T.C. took a healthy whiff of his own roll-on and felt himself relax a bit, too. "...s'nice..."

Jason and Stevie also inhaled deeply of their roll-on bottles, trying to place the scent, feeling more relaxed and at ease. "...maybe closher to lavender, really...", Jason slurred.

Stevie ran a finger over the roll-on ball, brushing away stray strands of hair. "...smells pretty..."

Taylor looked over at the increasingly mellow boys and said to the youngest member, "Stevie, you're gonna want to lose the pants if you want to finish putting on that roll-on."

Without thinking about it, Stevie dropped his pants and slid off his boxers. "...yeah, lose pants...good idea..."

Taylor then stepped over to the formerly bashful boy and took the roll-on from his hands and proceeded to run it lovingly over his ass and down the back of his legs. "Here, let me."

Stevie swayed slightly, but kept on grinning. "Hey, thanks..."

As choreographer Taylor assisted Stevie, he announced casually, "You other fellas may want to help each other get at those hard-to-reach areas, Make things go faster."

Jason smiled broadly, finding the suggestion delightful somehow. "That's a great idea", he said--nearly slurred--and stepped over a pace to begin running the lube roll-on over Reb's back, who put up no protest.

Nick went to the aid of T.C., and began spreading the lubricant generously across his back and shoulders, then down to his ass, which Nick massaged thoroughly as he worked the clear substance in. T.C. closed his eyes and enjoyed the sensation, uncaring that less than an hour before, had another guy even attempted to touch his ass, he would have hauled off and decked him. Now he simply sighed softly and mumbled to Nick, "Lower."

Reb glanced sideways at Nick as he worked his friend's ass with the lube stick, taking great care to roll the bottle into the crack of T.C.'s ass, and firmly rub the inside of his legs. Reb nudged Jason lightly, and pointed to the spectacle taking place a few feet away. At first Jason blinked, caught off-guard by the sight of one of his best friend's caressing the ass of another friend. Then, from above him, Reb said, "Do like that on me, Jace." As easily as that, Jason found the request as natural as anything, and began to work his buddy's ass. Reb sighed a bit deeper, commenting, "Ohhh, thaaat's the way."

Before long, Reb was thoroughly lubricated, skin slightly shining and totally hairless. By the time Jason had made his way to Reb's pubic hair, the Southern band member was pleasantly smiling and feeling too mellow to protest. Taylor then tended to finishing the lube job on Jason when he was done with Stevie, as Reb was feeling too contented to move much, and Nick was enjoying himself too much with T.C. to help.

A few minutes later, Nick and Taylor were helping the naked quartet into their shining black skintight suits. The lubricant which coated their bodies not only made it easy to slide into the snug rubber, but also served to add to the rubber's shine whenever some was streaked or rubbed onto the suit's surface. Far from being too tight and confining, as the boys had feared, the suits felt fantastic. The smooth, soft rubber clung to their bodies and caressed their now extremely sensitive, freshly-shaved skin. Jason and Stevie both sighed deeply as they slipped into their suits. T.C. gasped and said as he exhaled, "Ohhh, man--!" Reb shrugged his shoulders and rocked on the balls of his feet repeatedly to better take in the sensation of the rubber on his skin. He didn't think he would ever want to take it off.

In short order, where once had stood the world-famous quintet of teen heartthrobs known as Pump Y'Up, now stood five adorable young rubbermen, with bodies held tight inside a gleaming rubber casing that conformed to every inch of their bodies. Taylor led the group down the hall to the rehearsal room, with it's paneled floors and it's mirrored wall, so they could get a good look at themselves.

Nick was the soberest of all the boys, although he too was feeling a bit lightheaded from taking such a hearty whiff of the roll-on lube. Still, he was lucid enough to wave a shining arm broadly at the huge mirror and ask his buddies, "Well, whattaya think?"

The foursome stared at their reflections; seeing shining, smooth, slick, wet, fluid, polished black rubber. T.C. and Stevie wore suit identical to Nick's, with high neck collars and tennis-shoe style rubber boots. Jason and Reb wore crew-neck bodysuits that ended in surfer-style boots with well-cushioned soles. They were the only two not wearing gloves. The sight of seeing themselves transformed into rubbermen worked somewhat to snap them out of their reverie.

Jason spoke first. "Wow. We--we look like we're covered in oil." He ran his fingertips over his rubbered chest, breathing in sharply at the feel of the rubber against his bare skin.

T.C. swiveled on one foot and checked out his ass. It shone as brightly as the rest of him, reflecting his own image back to him upon the curvature of his cheeks. "Nice to see all those squats are still payin' off", he said dryly.

"And my crunches", Stevie said, walking slowly up to the mirror and running his fingertips down the glass, blocking the reflection of his tight, compact washboard abs. He sighed, still too nervous to touch the real ones.

Reb's eyes went straight down to his crotch. His suit--hell, everyone's suit--was so tight it was relatively easy to make out how well endowed each band member was. Especially now, as it seemed that the guys were all very, very happy with their new suits, judging from the sizeable bulges. Reb turned to Nick. "Dude, you can see my package."

"Great, isn't it?"

Reb blinked at Nick, then at his own reflection. "Um,'s kind of more like, um..."

"Creepy", Stevie said.

"What?!" Nick was incredulous.

T.C. was doing muscle poses for himself in the mirror. As he bent and flexed, he said, "Nicky, these things look hot as hell an' all, but let's face it, they're too damn--well--sexual for our crowd. I mean, if our audience wasn't the teeny-bopper crowd, maybe, but let's be real, here." T.C. never looked at Nick as he spoke. He was too busy smiling broadly at his rubberized reflection.

"It is a little revealing, man", Jason added.

"No, no, no", Nick said quickly. "This is just the undersuit! We have jackets, pants, and other stuff that goes over the top of it! But this is the main part of the costume that holds the look together. Trust me on this."

Taylor stepped a bit closer to add, "Each of you has designed for him a jacket, board shorts, shoes, and accessories that have been crafted to fit each one of you specifically. All of which have been created for maximum movement and comfort--but only when used in concert with the undersuit you wear now."

Reb rubbed his chin. "Wellll...", he drawled. "You didn't say before that this was just part of our new look. If there's more..." He twisted at the waist to check out his ass, grinning in response to what he saw. A few feet away, Stevie was embarrassed to note that he was growing hard within his rubber bodysuit as he took in his new look. T.C. continued to flex, and Jason was running his palms up and down his thighs, feeling the smooth surface.

"Let's try a number--test 'em out!", Nick said eagerly.

Jason, who had been distracted by the feel of the rubber against his freshly-smooth skin, looked up, unaware that he was still running his palms over his rubbered body. "Uh, a number? What did you have in min--?"

Not letting him finish, Nick said, "Taylor, cue up the rehearsal track for "Kings of Clubbin'". That's a good dance piece that'll show us how well we can move in our new uniforms."

"You said 'uniforms' again", Reb pointed out.

"Costumes", Nick said without pausing. "Ready?" The beat was already pounding out from the stereo system in the far corner. "And one, two, ready, and--!"

The music pulsated into the room and into the minds of the boyband members. Reflex took over and before anyone could protest, the quintet took up their positions for their well-rehearsed dance number of the hit song they'd performed repeatedly on tour and in videos.

"Lights flashin' in the mirror, Got you grindin' against the wall, Just a dance and a kiss won't do it, Tonight, honey, gotta have it all."

Besides being well-rehearsed, this dance routine was also among their most suggestive. While it was apparent the boyband was marketed to a younger crowd, there were plenty of times that both the boys and the producers pushed the envelope. This song qualified there. Pelvic thrusts, grinds, and crotch-grabs a' plenty filled this dance routine, which is exactly why Nick had chosen it.

Within the first couple steps, every one of the young men was hard as a rock, but tried to ignore the fact by putting his energy into the dance number. It didn't work. The more they danced, the more aroused they became. Nick was relishing every step, every leap and spin, having gotten used to dancing feverishly while wrapped in his shiny new suit, letting the rush of the tactile sensation dance across his skin as he danced across the hardwood.

But the other four were slightly off their game. Put a bit off stride by the unexpected erotic sensation of the clinging skintight rubber and made somewhat lightheaded by the scent of the roll-on (what had been IN that stuff, anyway?), Reb, T.C., Jason, and Stevie danced on autopilot, their heads not quite in the game, their crotches throbbing against their latex second skins.

The end of the "Kings Of Clubbin' " choreography called for the quintet to bound high into the air and land together in a tight crouch. As the boys did so, the sudden stretching and contracting of their suits was all their aching members could take. As their padded feet landed softly upon the floor, their fingers splayed before them, knees tight to their chests, they all fired. Every one of them, Nick included. T.C. and Reb couldn't hold back their soft gasps of pleasure. Jason muttered, "Wh-who-ooaaa...", and Stevie's mouth simply hung open, a startled look on his face. Nick had closed his eyes and let his own orgasm flow easily, feeling his seed spill forth to coat the inside of his uniform, and cover his hard abs. He had clearly done this before.

The four newcomers felt a flush of embarrassment. Each one wondered if he was the only one who had experienced an orgasm. Stevie's face was beet red, T.C. wasn't sure if he should giggle or flee the room. Reb was swallowing hard, and Jason was staring glassy-eyed at his reflection in the dance mirror. The group remained in the crouching position from the end of their dance routine, unmoving, uncertain of what to do next. Nick made the decision for them.

"Try the next track?"

Reb looked up quickly at Nick, whose winning smile was shining back at him and the rest of the boys. Reb couldn't help but smile back. It was obvious that Nick had experienced exactly what Reb had. They all had. The group exchanged looks, each picking up on Nick's contagious broad smile, even Stevie.

Slowly, Nick rose to his feet, stretching slightly, showing that he was still hard as a rock. "It's pretty incredible, isn't it?"

Jason grinned. "That's one way to put it, yeah."

T.C. let out a low whistle, rubbing his palms against the rubber tight against his thighs.

Reb stood up, a bit unsteady on his feet, and let out a deep breath. "Incredible may not be the word", he commented, his hands bracing against his ass.

"So you're in??", Nick beamed. "I mean, these'll be our new outfits for the next album's tour, right?"

Reb looked at the other boys, who looked back with some uncertainty. No one wanted to be the first to say he'd give anything to experience the intoxicating feeling of dancing in their rubber uniforms and carrying both their choreography and themselves to climax. Reb turned back to Nick, and with hands on his hips, answered, "We'll try them. For a little while. That's all we're saying."

"YES!!" Nick raced over to the stereo, and selected another track. "If you liked that one, you have so got to try moving to "Bim-Bam-Boom" in these suits. It is fucking incredible!" Suddenly, Nick stopped in mid-thought, as if he'd caught himself making an error. He turned to look at Taylor, who'd been sitting silently at the far end of the rehearsal hall the entire time. "Taylor?", Nick said. "Um...any input?"

Taylor walked over to the boys, looking on approvingly. "Bim-Bam" is a good choice. But you guys have got to loosen up a bit more in these dance suits. They'll move with you, trust me. Get into your starting positions and I'll show you what I mean."

The rubber boyband was back in work mode, despite their overwhelming feelings of arousal. They followed Taylor's every instruction, as they would with any professional choreographer. The quintet danced, bumped, grinded, and came all afternoon and on into the night.

Soon all their rehearsals took place solely in the band's rubber suits, under the pretense that it was "more comfortable" that way. Before long, the new tour was being planned, and the grueling rehearsal schedule was under way. Day in and day out, the five boys were in their rubber suits--soon referred to unflinchingly by all as uniforms--sweating profusely to demanding and athletic dance routines executed with meticulous precision.

One week into their rehearsals, their latest CD release had topped the charts, adding fuel to their desire to rehearse with fevered determination. The boys usually left their rubber uniforms on all day, whether dancing, eating, working out, going for group runs on the grounds, or sleeping. Reb even confessed to Nick that, "This thing feels so damn good, I never want to take it off."

What few breaks they took were while dressed in rubber, whether jumping in the pool or making waves on their jet skis.

But the breaks were few and far between. Most of their time was spent rehearsing, and they knew when they had gotten a number right when the final dance step ended in orgasm. Taylor guided them in their routines, for it turned out that he really was a top-notch choreographer as well as a costumer. He was a hard taskmaster, but he knew his business. Before long, the band members couldn't reach orgasm without his approval.

Completely unaware, the boyband fell under Taylor's spell, repeatedly checking to make sure they were properly coated in their roll-on lube to make their dance steps more fluid, and keep their bodies hairless. If Taylor clapped his hands together at the end of a number with a shout of, "Good job! Nice work!" the boys would shoot their load then and there, reward for a job well done. But if Taylor shook his head and said, "Let's try it again", they would indeed have to try it again, regardless the ache in their loins, the desperate need to cum. Unconsciously, each band member knew he had no right to an orgasm without their new teacher's--their new master's--permission. And that right would be earned, no matter how much work it took.

Their workouts increased in frequency to four times a week. The boys guzzled protein shakes and health drinks, unaware that Taylor had helpfully laced them with the same mind-numbing powder that was used in their roll-on lube. In record time (no pun intended) the five boys were of trim build, taut musculature, and extreme conditioning. And not only physically.

The first thing the boys heard was the sound of clapping.

"Okay, men! Very nicely done! That's the entire first set we just ran through, without missing nary a beat." Taylor was smacking his hands together above his head, as he did only when he was supremely satisfied with his charges' work.

Reb blinked and looked around. He was standing in the rehearsal room, in his dance suit. When had he come in here? Jason shook his head rapidly. His chest was rising and falling as it would be following a vigorous run. His brow was moist with perspiration. How long had he been here? T.C. ran a hand through his hair, which came away sticky and wet, coated with a combination of hair gel and sweat. What had he been doing? Stevie sniffed hard, as he often did upon waking in the morning. His feet were soggy. Sweat had collected in his rubber boots, which helped to explain the ache in his calves as if he had been dancing hard. Nick alone seemed to be unruffled by the group's disorientation. He shrugged his shoulders and hopped easily on the balls of his feet, like a boxer before a bout, enjoying the slick feel of the moist rubber hugging his back and rear. He bobbed his head side to side, and smiled into the mirror at the rest of his band, who all stood positioned as they would be by their upcoming concert's first intermission.

"Great session, huh guys?", Nick said, his smile fairly flashing.

"What--what--", Reb stammered. "What have we been doing? Were we rehearsing?"

Nick continued to bounce, with a bit more energy. "Dude! Since like, 7:30 this morning, yeah."

The four young men exchanged looks, then Jason asked, "And what time is it now?"

"Just past noon", Taylor answered, looking at his watch. "You guys have earned a break."

T.C. clicked his tongue. "Anyone else got that feeling you get when you wander into a room and wonder "What did I come in here for?" or is it just me?"

"You're tired", Taylor shrugged. "It can happen when you exert yourself for so long, particularly when those dance suits make you perspire so much." He tossed a bottle of Gatorade to Reb.

"Um...thanks." Soon all the boys were chugging down sports drinks and feeling a little less out of sorts. But not a lot.

"What say we decompress a bit before we break for lunch?", Taylor said, making more of a pronouncement than a request for input. He snapped his fingers crisply. "Take five, gentlemen!"

At that signal, a glaze passed over the eyes of the band. Slowly, smoothly, the group coupled up. Reb curled his arms around T.C., who began to kiss him affectionately. Stevie found himself in the arms of Jason, uncertain of how he got there, not really caring. Nick turned to Taylor, only two years his senior but having eyes that appeared much older. Softly, gently, Nick and Taylor kissed, long and fully. Taylor ran his fingertips down Nick's rubbered shoulders and arms, taking his hand and interlacing their fingers. As the two drew closer together, Taylor moved one hand to brace the back of Nick's neck, prolonging their embrace, which Nick did not resist.

In another moment, be it one minute or several- it didn't matter, Taylor pulled away and touched his fingers to Nick's lower lip. Whispering, Taylor said, "Say it for me."

His face going slack, Nick recited, "I worship and obey my master, and live for his pleasure." As soon as the words came out, Nick's face split into a silly grin and he began to laugh quietly. Taylor was taken aback, and began to speak, but was halted as Nick took the choreographer's face in his hands and kissed him again fully.

After the passionate kiss, this time it was Nick who pulled back, his lips curling into his trademark smile. "Y'know, as lyrics go, that mantra pretty much sucks. Remind to write something new for you. As a songwriter you make a pretty good choreographer."

Taylor had no snappy comeback. "How--how long have you been--?"

"Aware of what's going on? Hip to the mind-numbing tricks of your date rape-like powder? I'd say we're going on the better part of a month of lucidity now."

"But-but-but how did you--? A-a-and why aren't you--??"

Nick draped his arms around Taylor's shoulders, grasping his own wrist. "Taking your half-finished questions in order, I have no clue how. Could be you develop an immunity with overuse. And let's face it, when you first had me try on my suit I applied and guzzled a shitload--and I mean a SHITload of powder for your groping and fucking pleasure. Guess my system grew accustomed to it."

Taylor tried to pull away, but Nick pulled him back, now holding on to the instructor's wrists. "And second, I am in no hurry to run off and have you incarcerated because I have not yet exhausted the rush of being a gay rubberboy. Had I known how--how damn intoxicating this could be years ago, it would've saved me an infinity of trouble with hot pants-wearing pop girl divas."

Taylor hesitated, then said, "So you're not mad??"

Nick rolled his eyes and blew air between his lips like a horse. "Oh, I was at first. Wanted to kick your sorry faggoty ass, as a matter of fact." Taylor took a step back, but Nick took a step forward, pressing their chests together. "Then a funny thing happened. As I leapt from my bed to go rearrange your face, I realized with a clear head how goddamn GOOD this little suit of yours felt. And you know what? I realized that I didn't want to take it off." Nick leaned in close. "Ever." And he kissed Taylor again.

Taylor was still incredulous, saying nothing as Nick pulled away, resting one arm upon the choreographer's shoulder as he looked at the other two couples kissing madly. "Sooo...", Nick drawled, "wouldn't you say it's high time we introduce the rest of the group to your spa?" Nick grabbed Taylor by the back of his head and kissed his temple.

Not knowing how to respond, Taylor just smiled. This particular job certainly was taking on a life of its own.

"Okay, okay, you guys. Break it up!"

Taylor swatted at Reb and T.C., who appeared unwilling to disengage their kiss. It was well after lunch, in fact it was the next day after lunch, and Taylor had been using his "take five" trigger repeatedly, sparking boy-on-boy make out sessions during every pause in their rehearsals. The group was becoming increasingly aware of what they were doing, and decreasingly concerned about it at the same time. Like Nick before them, Reb, T.C., Jason, and Stevie, were growing rapidly and increasingly fond not only of rubber, but of each other. So much so that the spontaneous make out sessions now loomed more attractive than dancing in their suits.

"Spread out, spread out!", Nick chided the duo, helping Taylor pry Reb and T.C. apart.

"Hey, it's his fault", T.C. said, jerking a thumb towards Taylor. "He started all this!"

"Yes, yes, something for which we're all permanently scarred, as we wear our rubber jammies to bed...", Nick observed.

"And in the shower", T.C. added.

"And under our street clothes", Reb continued.

"Enough already", Taylor snapped. "C'mon, climb up." Taylor patted the elaborate zero-G style suspension harness that stood before Reb. Reb gave T.C. one last quick peck on the cheek before nimbly jumping into the rig, sliding his booted feet into the stirrups, and grasping the handles above him which placed him in a spread-eagled position. Taylor had moved four such devices into the band's compound, making their expansive weight room seem a bit cramped.

"You, too, T", Nick said, patting his friend on the shoulder and pointing to the only vacant machine.

"Yeah, hurry it up, you two", Jason said, already tightly secured into his own suspension rig. "You gonna leave Stevie and me trussed up here like all day?"

T.C. made an exaggerated show of sauntering very slowly over to his suspension rig, until Nick slapped his ass to hurry him along. In short order, Taylor and Nick had the final band member fastened tightly into his rig. "Sign of bad planning that you don't have five of these things", Nick grumbled under his breath as he secured the straps on T.C.'s feet.

"Now, now", Taylor answered. "You got to do this plenty of times before the others got suited up. Fair's fair, it's their turn." Nick scowled. Then Taylor leaned over close and whispered, "Besides, the fifth one won't be delivered until a week from Thursday, so you'll just have to deal." Nick's face lit up with his trademark smile and he took his place beside Taylor before the attentive, and quite helpless, boys.

"Everybody comfy?", Nick asked.

"I assume there's a reason for all this?", Jason said.

Taylor's tone sounded a bit more serious as he said, "You need to learn to lose yourselves in the feel of your rubber."

Stevie cleared his throat quietly, saying, "Um, maybe I'm a little slow, sorry, but isn't that what we've been doing for the last few weeks?"

Nick walked up to Stevie. "No, all you guys have been doing is wearing the suits and moving around in 'em. You haven't gotten lost in 'em yet."

T.C. laughed. "Well, they are kinda tight, in case you haven't noticed. There's not a lot of extra room for us to lose our way." Reb and Jason snickered along with him, until a sharp ripping sound caught them off guard.

"Whoa!" Stevie looked down to see his entire crotch area was now exposed. Nick waved a small football-shaped patch that had formerly been attached to the front of his friend's rubber uniform.

"You're rushing things along a little faster than I was thinking", Taylor commented dryly, "but I suppose we could proceed without any more exposition."

Taylor and Nick proceeded to similarly expose the rest of the band the same way. Three sharp ripping noises later, all four of the suspended band members were fully exposed. Not surprisingly, they were already semi-hard.

T.C. let out a 'pshaw!' "You mean to say that after all this time I've been unzipping this thing and half climbing out of it whenever I had to take a piss and I actually had a fly all along??"

"Not exactly", Taylor said. At that he attached a large device tot he front of T.C.'s suit, covering the exposed crotch area. It was rubber, but of a thicker industrial grade than the group's uniforms. It was yellow, shaped like an old-fashioned accordion air pump, like those used for inflating small rafts and inner tubes. The device made a strong sucking noise as it fastened into place, drawing up all the air around T.C.'s groin to hold it fast.

"Hey!", T.C. said. Then, "H-h-heeyyy...oh, man, heyyy..."

Taylor saw to the attachment of the other three small suction pumps on Reb, Jason, and Stevie, as Nick pulled out four large white rubber sheets with clear tubes attached to each one. As Taylor checked to make sure each boy's crotch pump was firmly in place, Nick wrapped each of his friends from neck to soles of their feet in the sheets, which had been cut specifically to fit around a person held in just this position.

"Okay, they're tucked in", Nick said. He handed a bulky remote control box to Taylor, who in turn tossed a similar device to Nick.

Reb looked around at his friends' and his own predicament, then asked, "Okay, so what do we do now?"

"Just relax and enjoy the ride", Taylor said. He punched the big red button on his remote and the sound of a large air pump kicked in. Instantly, every one of small devices encasing the boys' privates began to inflate and deflate slowly, steadily, unceasingly.

"Ohhh, MAN!!", T.C. cried.

"This-this-this-this--!", Reb started to say, but his sentence simply melted away to moaning.

Stevie's face froze in an expression of shock, his mouth hanging open limply, his breath coming in hard gasps, until he began to repeat, "...oh wow...oh woww...ohhh woww..."

The pumps worked untiringly, pulling a soft, smooth rubber sheath against each young man's erect member while drawing a sharp vacuum suction of air over and over and over. It was the ultimate, inexhaustible blow job which kept on without pause, without breaking rhythm, without mercy.

"Now?", Nick asked, after about five minutes.

Keeping his eyes on the suspended foursome, Taylor said, "Now."

Nick pressed the button on his own remote, activating a second, softer sounding air pump. No less effective than it's brother, this pump caused the white sheeting wrapped around Nick's performing friends to draw tightly against their rubbered bodies and gently squeeze. Now Reb, Jason, Stevie, and T.C. were not only experiencing a constant ongoing suction on their penises, but the feel of having their entire bodies caressed evenly by massive, soft rubbered hands. The sheets pulled snugly against their suits, which in turn hugged tighter to their bodies. The sensation, the sexual exertion, soon had each band member sweating profusely, lubricating the interior of their uniforms more and more. The added moisture allowed the suits to slip and slide and inch here, a half inch there, as each man bucked and convulsed with pleasure.

The suction hoses would grasp and tug as the rubber adjusted to the slips caused by the onset of increased perspiration, provoking sharp jolts of pleasure for the wearer. A convulsive response to the rubber massage made the hosed device attached to the penis draw harder, its pumping action momentarily accelerated.

T.C. was fading fast. "Oh God oh god oh God oh God--!"

Reb was already long gone, as his mouth remained frozen somewhere between a smile and a gasp, his eyes staring upwards at nothing.

Stevie was doing his best to hang on, but was teetering desperately on the edge. He grunted softly, "Uh...uh..uh...uh...uh...uh--!", his pelvis thrusting with a will of it's own, as lyrics from every clichéd cheater's love song ran through his head on a continuous loop. How could something so wrong feel so right? I know I'm being bad, but I feel so, so good...

"How long do we leave 'em like this?", Nick asked.

Taylor pushed a tongue into his cheek. "Well, your own personal record from early on was two and a half hours."

"No shit?! I lasted that long?"

"I don't know that you were all that aware of what was happening by the end, but yeah, that was when your well ran dry, so to speak. But these guys--" and Taylor gestured to the quintet of enraptured pop stars, "--I say we give them about another twenty, twenty-five minutes, then once they're good and relaxed, we can treat them to the finishing touch of the band's new look."

Nick raised an eyebrow, posing the silent question, "That being?"

With a sudden bbbrrrrzzzzzzttttzz!, Taylor held up a pair of barber's clippers. Nick smiled broadly, nodding in agreement. It was then that the suction sound changed in pitch, dropping several octaves and sounding very wet.

Taylor and Nick looked at the tubes coming from the pelvic pumps, and saw portions of each one growing dark here and there as something was being cleared through their length, as with a dentist's cleaning hose.

All four of the restrained boys jerked and pulsed with the throes of orgasm. Mouths open wide, eyes squeezed shut, fingers clenching and unclenching, their muscles tensed beyond any control to relax them. Amazingly, they had all come at the same time. Stevie let out a little gasp of "Oohhhh!", Jason inhaled sharply, Reb let out a loud grunting "UNHH!", and T.C. let 'er rip with a bellowing "YYYYEEEAAAHHHH!!! MA-ma!!"

After about half a minute, all four of them were once again hanging limp in their suspension rigs, chests heaving, mouths drawing breath in ragged gasps, hands hanging limp at the wrists, the only sound left in the room the gentle mechanical sucking of the pumps.

Taylor looked at Nick. "Or sooner. They could be relaxed sooner than twenty minutes, you never know."

The pounding beat of the music was so intense that it shook the rehearsal room mirrors. The singers didn't sing so much as roar, and their feet beat against the hardwood with power and precision. When the number struck its final beat, the five musicians stomped their boots down hard, their fists thrust upward together in a show of triumph. Had they been on stage at a concert hall, the roof would be reverberating with thunderous applause.

There was a barely audible buzz as the CD stopped spinning, and the quintet remained in their finishing stance, relishing the moment, feeling the adrenaline rush.

"I wanna do it again!!", Stevie shouted.

Taylor clapped his hands with admiration. "Whoa, easy there, tiger. Two straight run-throughs of your entire concert's choreography is more than enough. What say you take five?"

With that, Stevie grabbed Jason by the shoulders and in less than a heartbeat had his tongue deep in his mouth. Jason pulled him off with some effort, blurting out, "Down, boy! Who are you and what have you done with Stevie??"

As the five members of the boyband enjoyed a laugh at that, other than their ubiquitous skintight black rubber dance suits, there were some definite changes apparent in the group. Nick slapped Stevie playfully on the back, brushing his trademark blond shock of hair away from his forehead. But now that blond hair was also carefully trimmed high up over his ears and tight in back. Jason squeezed Stevie's arms affectionately then kissed him on the forehead. Jason's own wild tufts of hair were now clipped down to a severe crew cut. T.C. had foregone his regular multicolored dyes and let his hair return to its natural brown, now flatteringly cut down to an only slightly-spiky buzzcut. His goatee was also gone. Reb's red country boy hair was similarly buzzed down to a 1950's style cut and his sideburns had been shaved off. And Stevie, with his already short dark hair, seemed relatively unchanged, but for the baby-smooth chin where once was his scruff of a beard. The group was now rubbered and buzzed. All that was left was to mechanize them.

Taylor liked what he saw. "Gentlemen, with the launch of your latest concert tour only a few days away, I'd say you are looking ready to go."

"Ready?", Jason beamed. "We are stoked! We're juiced!"

Reb fingered T.C.'s ass. "And we're a little horny, too."

"But you can't keep going at top speed 24/7", Taylor pointed out. "You do need a break."

"Yes! Break time!", Stevie agreed. "Off we go to those G-force suspension suctiony things, then! Come along, men. Hup-two!"

Jason shook his head. "Geez, the kid's unstoppable", T.C, observed.

"Actually, I had something else in mind", Taylor said. Taylor had produced a small duffle bag and from it he pulled a pair of stylized glasses and lobbed them over to Stevie.

Stevie had no idea what he was holding, only that it looked cool. He strapped them atop his head and began posing like a model. "So when do they give me an orgasm?", he asked, smiling.

"Easy, fella", Taylor chided. He tossed four more sets of glasses to the rest of the band.

Nick caught his and looked at them, puzzled. "What's this?"

Before Taylor could answer, Jason had already placed the glasses on over his eyes. "It's some funky blindfold. I can't see anything."

With the glasses in place on Jason's head, T.C. recognized what they were. "Dudes, these are VR goggles! I've worn sets like these in big arcades." To Taylor, he asked, "Are we gonna rock out in some virtual reality game as part of our downtime?"

Taylor simply curled his index finger toward himself, indicating that the group should walk where he was going. "Follow."

The group went down the hallway to the rec room, where Taylor gestured them inside. The ping pong and foosball tables had been pushed to the far walls. The pinball and video game machines were shoved into the corners. The pool table and big-screen Playstation had been set aside. In the middle of the room were five cushioned benches, not unlike those in a weight room, lined up side-by-side.

"What's all this?", Jason asked.

"Something recreational", Taylor grinned.

"Keen", Stevie said, leaping onto one of the benches in a reclining pose with his hands behind his head. He slid off instantly to thump against the carpet. From the floor, he commented, "They may be a little short."

As the others laughed, Nick walked over to examine the benches. They were truncated, sure enough, and set at a slight angle, making them appear triangular. On one end the cushioned padding extended down onto the floor. What was that for?

Taylor assisted Stevie up. "You got on it backwards. Try it like this." Taylor then guided Stevie down onto the bench, face-down, his waist bent over the edge, his chest resting down upon the padding, his arms extended out before him to grasp the far edge. Nick could now see the purpose of the floor padding, as Stevie's knees rested upon it. Taylor gestured to everyone in the group. "C'mon, guys. Everybody take their places."

No one needed to be told twice. The rubberboys all hastily leapt to the free benches, plopping down eagerly in anticipation of whatever would come next. Hopefully them. Nick eyed Taylor suspiciously, wondering how it was that they were about to engage in some activity that he knew nothing about. Taylor simply raised an eyebrow to Nick's silent inquiry. "Well, I had to save some surprises for you to enjoy with your teammates, didn't I?"

Nick gave Taylor a quick kiss, then took his place on the last free bench. Taylor then worked quickly, pulling strong leather straps from beneath the bench padding to secure each band member hand and foot. They were soon bound in place and were not going anywhere. Next the goggles were fastened securely in place over each young man's eyes, and clicked on. A video camera image appeared before each boy upon his goggles' visor screen.

"Hey, what am I looking at?", T.C. asked.

"You'll see", Taylor assured him.

"I'm staring at firm rubbered man-ass", Reb observed.

Taylor walked over to Jason, and began to knead his buttocks. "Someone on my screen is going after the guy's ass--whoa! That's me! I'm watching myself here!"

"That's right", Taylor admitted, "each of you is plugged into a VR camera trained upon yourself. Now you get to see what I'm seeing while you feel what you feel."

"If that makes any sense", Stevie mumbled. The remark prompted Taylor to begin with the group's youngster.

"You've just volunteered to go first, Stevie", Taylor said with mock menace. Inside his goggles, Stevie saw Taylor undo a hidden zipper that ran the length of his butt crack. He felt the cool air of the room against his bare cheeks as he saw the scene playing out before him. It was both disconcerting and highly erotic. Taylor began to apply generous amount of clear lube gel to Stevie's behind. He liked where this was going. He could see/feel that Taylor has put on a pair of rubber gloves as he proceeded to do--whatever it was he was he was doing. "You okay in there, Stevie?", Taylor asked. Stevie only nodded. He was fascinated and thrilled all at the same time. He was watching porn. He was porn. He had never experienced anything like this.

Once Stevie was thoroughly lubed, Taylor began to probe the youngest band member's behind with one gloved finger, then two. Stevie moaned softly in approval.

"What's going on over there?", Reb asked.

"Yeah, no fair! All's I can see is my own ass!", T.C. fairly yelled.

"Wait your turn!", Stevie snapped back.

"I'll be with you in a minute, T", Taylor assured him. With that, he removed his fingers and began to insert a black rubber dildo inside Stevie. Stevie responded with low and pleasant intakes of breath as the firm rubber sheath made its home inside him. Stevie had reflexively closed his eyes when the dildo was inserted, so it wasn't until it was firmly in place that he saw upon his projected screen that still visible protruding from his ass was a long, thick black tube that vanished off the bottom of his visor.

"Th-there's a cord or something...", he began to say.

Taylor patted him on the head, saying, "All things in time, little buddy." With that, he kissed him atop his head and moved on to Jason. Soon every band member was firmly plugged, all with questions about the mysterious tube leading out of their asses.

Taylor took his place behind the band, well out of view of their VR cameras. "Gentlemen, remember when you first started out, performing at county fairs and charity events before anyone knew who you were? You had to burst onto stage and announce yourselves, do you remember that? How did you do that?"

"We said our names, and then the name of the band", T.C. recalled.

"We had to get the crowd revved on our own, and do it quick", Reb said.

"We were basically the warm-up act for someone bigger than we were", Jason added.

"Imagine you're back there now", Taylor said. "You've just jumped out on stage before a crowd of kids who have no idea who you are. You're all wearing cheap mall-bought costumes of the same shirt, slacks, and tennis shoes. You look like you're nothing special. You have less than thirty seconds to prove otherwise, or else the audience will walk away to ride the tilt-o-whirl. Go."

As if they'd been transported back in time, the boys shouted out they're dated intro shpeal like the pros they were. "Hey, everybody! How you all doin'?? I'm REB!"

"Woo! I'm JASON!"

"Yo, I'm T.C.!"

"Hey, I'm, STEVIE!"

"Wassup, I'm NICK!"

In unison, the boys hollered out, "We're PUMP Y'UP! And we are HERE to PUMP! YOU! UP!!!"

With that, Taylor hit the switch.

The familiar sound of an air pump filled the rec room. The hoses leading to the boys' dildos inflated, and so did their phallic inserts. Air pushed into the inflatable plugs to completely fill the boys' holes.

"Actually, I'm here to pump you up", Taylor said under his breath, giving his control knob a playful twist. The dildos increased in size, then decreased slightly, as Taylor played with the control dial. Up the inserts would go, filling with air, pressing tight inside the singers, then down a bit smaller, pulling back, then up again, fuller, firmer than before.

Taylor watched as the boys of Pump Y'Up experienced what it truly meant to get pumped up. He manipulated the dial like a master (which essentially is what he was). He pulled the dildos back down to their original size, listening as the band members let out gasps of relief as the pressure subsided. Then he turned the dial even further, sucking the air out of the dildos to compress them down into thin compact shafts, shaking slightly as the hoses contracted, squealing at a high pitch as there was no more air left to draw. Then up again they went, filling with air, pleasuring the boys in ways they had never imagined. And they each had to watch, within their VR goggles, as the hose danced and pulsed with blowing and contracting air, making the dildos inside them pump and thrust.

The lube that Taylor had coated each man with accentuated the pleasure, increasing the stimulus as each was mercilessly fucked by an inanimate rubber tube that seemed, under Taylor's deft hand, to have a life of its own.

In and out, up and down, inflated, deflated, inflated again and then a bit more, down to a thing shaking dowel, then up to maximum capacity, the boys felt themselves violated by their dildo pumps, aroused to the edge of orgasm, then pulled back a split-second before climax. Each one strapped in place, helpless to affect his situation one way or the other, each aching for release while praying it would never stop.

Taylor wondered how long he could continue air-fucking his boyband before one of them would cum. He was more than willing to experiment for a while. It had been a long hard day's work, after all, and they were all due for a break. After a few malicious twists of the dial, Taylor shut the airflow down almost all the way and took a seat in a lounge chair. crossing his legs, awaiting some response. He didn't have long to wait.

"..ey..", T.C. mumbled. "wheresee air??"

" fair, no fair...", Reb moaned.

Jason growled. "...guuuhhrrr...typical, you've had your fun, you don't give a shit where I am..."

"...turnt backkon...comeon...", Stevie whined.

"Say the words", Taylor chided. In unison, the boys said, "...pleeeeasse..."

"Not those words", Taylor said. "Imagine you're back in time before you got famous, you've come out onto the stage--"

"We already did that!", Jason snapped.

"So close...I was so close..." T.C. began thumping his head against the bench.

"Don't do that", Taylor chided. "You'll break the glasses."

"Then turn the damn pump back on!"

"Just say it."

T.C. let out a low growl, but they went into their intro again. Or at least they tried.

"...eyy, ev''all doon...m'rubb..."

"...woo, s'jassin..."

"..yo-meye, teesee..."


"...suppim nigg..."

They all took a deep breath. Nick swallowed, Reb wheezed. Then, with no clear unity whatsoever, they groaned out, "Weer fugg' wee heer t' puhpp...yew...uhppp..."

Taylor leaned in close to Nick's ear. "You realize you just said you were fucked up?"

Nick was starting to drool. "'f shoe fits..."

"Turn on the damn pump!!", T.C. cried.

And so Taylor did. And he turned it off again. And on again. And off. And on. And off and on and off and on and off and on and off and on with increasing frequency and torturous intent for the better part of 45 minutes. When he finally shut off the gauges, every man's suit was sticky beyond belief. When only the sound of exhausted breathing could be heard, Nick grunted for Taylor to approach his bench.


"...nhhn..." Nick tugged at the bonds holding his arm in place. Taylor unstrapped Nick's wrist. Nick jabbed a pointing finger at his VR goggles. Taylor removed them. Limply, Nick flopped his hand upon Taylor's shoulder and looked him in the eye. He swallowed a couple times, then licked his lips. Taylor raised an eyebrow as if to say, "Yes?"

"Frumm now'on...", Nick slurred, "...we only dance wiff dildos inside us, or the tour s'off..."

Taylor grinned as the other semi-conscious boys all moaned in agreement.

Intricate attention had been paid to the details of costume, crew, special effects, and hype by the time the boys of Pump Y'Up finally burst onto the stage before an auditorium of thousands of screaming fans. At long last, this was their much-lauded and mega-hyped return to the touring circuit and their first performance since the end of the previous year's sell-out success, the Toy Soldiers Of Love tour.

Lights strobed, pyrotechnics blazed, and giant screens flashed the image of the young pop idols' hip hop movements more than 50 feet tall, making their figurative "larger than life" status a reality.

After several breathtaking gymnastic moves, flips, and dizzying dance steps, the five young men struck their trademark poses across the stage to thunderous applause and cheers. Nick, of course, stood center stage with one arm outstretched to the throng, his finger pointing toward nothing in particular, while every girl dreamed he was picking her out of the crowd.

T.C. stood at the end of stage left, his stance almost that of a wrestler's, his hunched shoulders and bent knees helping to show off his physique. Between T.C. and Nick stood Jason, standing tall with arms crossed confidently. To Nick's right was Reb, ever the country boy, he stood like a gunslinger with thumbs tucked into his belt. At far stage right was Stevie, trying his best to smile widely, but still appearing bashful. Hands behind his back, feet close together, he leaned slightly forward in a sheepish manner that all the girls swooned over.

As the special effect lighting slowed down and the spotlights grew in intensity, their new costumes could be clearly seen by the audience. A hush fell over the crowd as the group's new look was revealed. Each band member stood in his skintight rubber bodysuit, which gleamed brilliantly beneath the harsh stage lights. Atop every boy's suit was identical sleeveless denim-style jackets with giant snap buttons left unfastened, and low-riding oversized boardshorts. On their feet were very tall hi-top sneakers with broad, snug Velcro straps in lieu of laces.

Every boy's ensemble of jacket, shorts, and shoes was of a different color. A single, solid color, no patches or patterns. T.C. was in royal blue, Jason in green. Nick stood all in red. Reb was attired in orange, and shy Stevie was in a deep yellow. The only additional color, apart from the black of their bodysuits underneath, was a wide purple stripe that ran across their shining ebony chests and wrapped around the back of their jackets. With all the staring, gawking, awestruck teeny boppers in the audience, not one of them realized that their heartthrob heroes had become the living embodiment of the gay Pride flag.

But the crowning touch was the "jewelry" they wore. Around each boy's neck, strapped tightly around each wrist, and bound firmly around every ankle, were bondage restraints. Heavy dog collars sporting a thick metal D-ring, and wrist manacles and ankle bonds with multiple rings adorned each costumed boy. Tiny but formidable padlocks held them all in place. The color of their restraints perfectly matched the color of their jackets and shorts.

And every outfit, of course, was made entirely of crisp, shining, polished rubber. Nothing else touched their bodies.

Nick spoke into his headset mike and announced to the audience, "Ladies and gentlemen, welcome! To this, our very first stop in the Pump Y'UP: BOUND FOR GLORY tour!!"

The crowd went wild.

At this point, every band member froze, holding the pose they struck with their final dance step. The audience roared, as the quintet remained motionless during the whoops and cheers. But as the explosion of screams and applause petered out, the boyband remained frozen stiff, unmoving. The kids filling the auditorium began to wonder what was going on--if perhaps a cue had been missed by the tech crew and the boys were trapped waiting for their next song. Nearly a minute passed with Nick, Jason, T.C., Reb, and Stevie locked in their positions, unmoving, unblinking.

Then, in a brief burst of fireworks, a new figure appeared on the edge of the stage. Clad all in charcoal gray tights, the only color upon him was the Pump Y'Up logo emblazoned across his chest and back. Skillfully, he danced with large steps over to the far left of the stage, to the beginning of the boyband's frozen lineup. With dramatic gestures, he seemed to be summoning something, as trap doors in the stage opened up to send forth additional costume props.

The crowd watched spellbound as the gray figure snatched away T.C.'s jacket and boardshorts with one deft movement. The stage costume was designed with snap-up sides so they could be torn away like warm-up pants. With dramatic flair, the figure in gray wrapped T.C. in the items procured from the stage's trap door. In seconds, T.C. was attired in 17"-high rubber riding boots, shining white rubber pants with a broad red stripe, and a brilliant cardinal red rubber military jacket with yellow braids across the chest. A delighted murmur rippled across the crowd. As soon as T.C. was so attired, he broke his frozen posture and slowly, mechanically, began to stand up straight and tall. His shoulders went back, his chest out, arms stiff at his sides, his legs locked and feet together. Then the gray figure stepped before T.C. and made a grand gesture above a smaller trap in front of the singer, out of which popped a tall red band leader's hat. The figure placed the hat upon T.C.'s head and the crowd went wild.

T.C. was now dressed in the signature costume of the band's Toy Soldiers Of Love tour. The audience knew what was coming and screamed its approval at high decibels.

More quickly now, the gray figure made his way to each of the Pump Y'Up singers in turn. Jason, Nick, Reb, and Stevie all got the same treatment. Each was stripped down to his black bodysuit- which really got the young girls squealing -then was rapidly dressed in toy soldier gear, the band member would stiffen into a rigid posture, and the hat would go on top of his head. In short order, where moments before had been five frozen boyband singers now were a quintet of adorable rubber toy soldiers, standing at attention, ready for orders.

The figure in gray moved with quickly and with considerable grace. The man hidden beneath the all-consuming leotard was Taylor, whose own body spoke of hours or dedicated practice similar to those he put his charges through.

As the opening beats to "Toy Soldiers Of Love" began, Taylor struck a pose like a drill sergeant and barked out an order of right face. The boys, looking more than ever like living toyboys, turned in profile in perfect unison. Then Taylor visited each boy again, moving back across the line in reverse order, placing a giant prop wind-up key in each band member's back.

The crowd cheered as Taylor wound up each key, which then spun lazily as the band turned to face its adoring fans and began to sing with conviction their number one hit of how in truth they were mere automatons, made to be wound up and controlled by their hearts. The band's practiced mechanical, jerky movements were convincing beyond anything they'd done before, making the audience believe that they had in fact been turned into mechanical men.

Taylor disappeared into an upstage trap door, knowing what the onlookers did not. The special effect wind-up keys that formerly did nothing more than rotate for the duration of the song, had been modified. They now attached quite firmly to a thin but formidable band of metal strapped to the back of each performer, which ran down each young man's spine, over his buttocks, and into the butt plug firmly inserted into each man's hole. As the key spun, it gently fucked each boy so that every dance step, every motion, every note, was rewarded with a strong and steady pumping within. The cheering and swooning teeny boppers leaping out of their seats had no idea how true the lyrics were when the boys sang out-

"Got me so confused, am I a man or just a toy? When you turn my key you know you activate my joy. Got no control, no say, if we take it fast or take it slow Yours to control, do what you want, wind me up and watch me go."

At the song's climax, the five boys froze at full attention, then saluted the audience, who roared their approval, unaware that each of their idols on stage had just shot an intoxicating load into their pants. They keys in their backs stopped spinning, the pumping action in their rears ceased, and the toy soldiers stood at ease as the lights went dark. Time for another costume change.

A brief lightshow kept the crowd occupied as the massive screens straddling the stage treated everyone to a barrage of images of the five boys smiling, laughing, mugging the camera, engaging in horseplay. As the lightshow grew more subdued, the band reappeared in new outfits. With the constant rotation of the multicolored lights beaming from the stage, the boys appeared to be clad in slick black sweatshirts and matching pants, heavy shoes, and vests with multiple front buckles in each man's signature colors thrown over the top. In fact, what they wore were heavy-gauge rubber wadersuits, complete with lug-sole fisherman's style boots.

The quintet sang an upbeat song as they moved amongst the lights spotlighting up from hidden housings on the stage. Each time two of them moved upstage, hidden by the shadows behind the lights, they would steal a kiss, adding to the pleasure of being wrapped in rubber.

After their high-steppin' dance mix, four of the boys slipped upstage to leave a fifth member downstage, his head hung low to hide his identity, the lights shifting to a cool ice blue to spotlight him for a solo. The four separated band members sung low and harmonious backup as the fifth, down center stage, raised his face to the crowd and began to sing a hauntingly beautiful ballad. It was Stevie. His shy eyes and dark hair added to the longing in his voice as he slowly went down on one knee, his bulky wadersuit bunching up around his waist, his gloved hands reaching out to the audience. He sang with deep sincerity about self-discovery, about the joy of allowing himself to feel pleasure that harmed no one else, of sharing that experience with those he loved.

It was a song that had every girl in the audience bracing against a pal or burying a tearful face into her boyfriend's shoulder. Stevie's ballad had caused something of a stir when the group's latest CD was released, as parent groups were convinced the song was all about underage sex. Stevie and the rest of Pump Y'Up held a press conference stating unequivocally that this was not the case. The young gentlemen were so courteous, forthright, and sincere that everyone believed the song was in no way about sex. And of course, it wasn't. The rubber singlets and inflatable plugs they wore perfectly concealed beneath their street clothes were testament to that.

At the conclusion of the song, Stevie lowered his head as the lights dimmed, much to the cheers of all in attendance. As more lights and effects burst across the stage, the boys leapt out of their wadersuits and back into their jackets and boardshorts. Their finale was the title track of their Bound For Glory album. It was here the group's collars and wrist and ankle manacles came into play.

White chains (forged of metal but appearing plastic) tethered all the boys together, attaching them at the wrists and legs, locking tight at their collars. With exaggerated gestures in their dances steps, Pump Y'Up tugged and pulled at their restraints as if trying to get free. At that point the only thing that really needed freeing was their throbbing members held within their pants, excited beyond measure by being bound and manacled.

Looking like a quintet of beautiful slaves--which is, in fact, more or less what they were-- the band sang their furious dance mix, doing tricks with their chains from skipping rope to bounding over and around them. "Oh my heart's in chains, you got me locked up tight. My love it holds me fast, just ain't no use to fight! I gladly wear these chains, you hold the key, now that's my story. From your love why should I break free? 'Cause you know I'm bound for glory!"

The more they sang and danced, the tighter the bonds pulled the five of them together, as a pulley beneath the stage gathered all the excess chain on an automated wench, steadily decreasing the slack which allowed them to move about at liberty. By the third chorus, the five young men were held tight together by their bonds, now looking less like teen idols and more like prisoners.

They finished their song huddled tightly together, their harmonies blending beautifully in the close proximity. With dramatic flair, they thrust their arms outward on the final note, their faux chains flying upward into the catwalk. As all eyes looked up to watch the soaring chains, they saw descending from above the five suspension rigs in which the team had trained--or had been conditioned--for weeks.

As the circular rigs gently reached the stage, the now untethered band members lithely leapt into them, deftly fastening themselves in place, strapping their feet to the suspension frame. With dramatic flair they put on VR goggles, then grasped tight to the handlebars protruding from either side of the rigs.

The giant video screen behind the stage flared to life, displaying a view of the audience as seen from the goggles of each of the performers. Slowly, the suspension rigs rose into the air, and onscreen, throngs of smiling and cheering faces looked up at their hovering heroes, arms stretching out to reach them.

At regular intervals, the screen cut from one camera angle to another, with helpful captions like JASONCAM, NICKCAM, or STEVIECAM to point out through whose goggles the audience was looking. In fact, the audience was looking through no one's goggles. Tiny spy cams were mounted on the outside of each band member's headset and it was that image which was being projected to the crowd.

Inside the VR goggles, as reward for a show well done, the boys were treated to a barrage of imagery recorded from past "break" sessions during their long hours of rehearsal for the tour. As they were lifted majestically over the crowd of adoring fans, none of them could see the sea of squealing girls and envious boys screaming their names and declaring their admiration.

They could only see each other.

Well after the concert, fans still crowded around the theater and crushed against what they thought was the stage door from which their beloved idols would no doubt soon emerge. In fact, the group had slipped out a side door, avoiding both paparazzi and adolescent girls. The climbed aboard their tour bus which had been secured in a below ground parking garage two blocks away.

"Gentlemen, your chariot awaits", Taylor said.

The boys made their way onboard, minus their now trademark suits due to the sweaty and soiled condition that they remained in following the show. The new operating procedure was to peel off the suits for a thorough cleaning following each show so they could don them fresh in the morning. When T.C. peeled off his suit tonight, he tossed it over to Reb, commenting, "There's some choice specimen in there if you want, before we send 'em to the cleaners." The comment earned him Reb's suit flung full in his face, which wrapped around T.C.'s head, sleeves slapping like a bolo. From inside the latex turban, T.C. mumbled, "Mmmm...Reb scent."

Now making their way into the massive land yacht, the boys were attired in very loose-fitting rubber coveralls and wide-shaft mud boots. They had showered and felt somewhat refreshed, despite the awkwardness of being without their uniforms. Taylor led them down the aisle to present them with a final present to christen their premiere performance on the new tour.

"Behold. What do you see?"

Jason looked at the bunks that they'd slept in while traveling from town to town, during every tour for the last three years. "It's our bunks. So? We got clean sheets, then, I guess?"

T.C. nudged Reb. "Or hey--rubber sheets!"

"Oh, it's better than rubber sheets", Taylor said. Pressing a button in a ceiling console, Taylor activated a pivot that made each bunk rotate like something out of a spy movie. The top of the beds, with their blankets and pillows, rolled over to become the underside, and the bottoms of the bunks now locked in place as the top, revealing a soft-cushioned flatbed covered in cool brown rubber sheeting with a hose attached at the foot.

The boys just stared a moment, uncertain of what they were looking at. It was Stevie who approached his bunk first, running his fingers over the smooth, cool surface.

"It's a vac rac", he whispered, awestruck.

Jason looked at Taylor. "No shit! Really?"

"Really. Is it time for beddie-bye, fellas?"

The group needed no further coaxing. In an instant, the boyband had shucked off it's coveralls and boots and each man leapt naked into his respective bunk. Taylor visited each bunk in turn, "tucking his boys in". "Good night, Jason."

Jason smiled. He was already erect in anticipation of his bedtime experience. "Good night, Taylor", he said. "I love you." With that, Taylor activated the pump and the vacuum hose sucked the air out of the vac rac sheets, pulling the rubber snugly down upon Jason's taut nude form. Jason sighed easily as he drifted off to sleep.

Taylor visited Reb and T.C. next. "G'night", Reb said. "Nighty-night", said T.C. Together, they said, "We love you, Taylor." They too were soon tightly secured in their vacuumed rubber beds.

When Taylor secured Stevie, he got a "good-night", but then nothing else. "Stevie? Don't you love me?"

Young Stevie, no longer as shy or retiring as he'd been only weeks before, grinned and said, "I love rubber."

Taylor grinned back. "That'll do." And the second-to-last pump was activated, holding Stevie in place for the night's long ride.

Finally, Taylor visited Nick. His boy, his slave, his favorite. Leaning against the edge of Nick's bunk, he asked, "Well? What do you think of your new tour? Look promising?"

Nick smiled his beautiful smile. "That's not all that looks promising these days."

Taylor rested his hand upon Nick's crotch, feeling the powerful erection beneath the rubber sheet. He slowly began to stroke his boy in a circular direction. Nick closed his eyes and moaned ever-so-softly, knowing this was a feeling he could never tire of. With his other hand, Taylor gently caressed Nick's chest, pressing the soft rubber against his pecs, then his abs. Nick sighed, shrugging his shoulders slightly, already losing himself tot he sensation, feeling the effects of the day's exertions, knowing sleep would soon overtake him.

"You want me to tell you that I worship and obey my master and I live for your pleasure?", Nick whispered.

Taylor gave Nick's groin an affectionate squeeze. "Nah. You're right. That sounds kind of lame. Write me something new and slip it into an upcoming concert when I'll least expect it."

"We talkin' pop song or ballad here?"

"Surprise me."

Taylor reached over to the vacuum switch at the foot of Nick's bed. "Good night, buddy."

"G'night, boss."

"I love you, Nick. You love me, man?"

Nick smiled again, already fading to sleep. "You know I do..."

With a soft whooshing noise, Nick's rubber sheets drew him tight, welcoming him into a restful night's sleep, the first of it's many wet dreams only minutes away. Taylor climbed into the front compartment of the bus, taking a seat beside the driver, who was unaware of the extent of the young mens' accommodations.

"Our guys all settled in for the night?"

Taylor took a sip from a waiting thermos of coffee. "All settled in and ready to ride."

"One stop down, just a few dozen more to go, right?", the driver winked. "Quite the adventure, gettin' involved with our boys, huh?"

"My friend, you do not know the half of it." Taylor sighed, nestled back in his seat, and prepared to enjoy the ride that lay ahead.

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