Internet Rubber

I rang the doorbell and a camera immediately started swiveling above my head.  “Yes?” a voice said in the speaker. 

“I am here about writing the story,” I said. 

“I’ll be right down,” the voice replied.

I opened the door and stepped into the lobby.  An ordinary apartment building, I thought, two apartments per floor, 5 stories high.  The elevator descended, the door opened and out stepped a tall woman.  “I’m the hostess and owner.  Welcome to Internet Rubber,” she said and we shook hands.

“There are two conditions: One, you are not to reveal our location.  We operate strictly over the internet; there is no need for any of our clients to ever come here.  And two, you are not to mention any names, especially those of our clients”  I agreed.

“Let me first show you the equipment,” she said and opened the door to one of the ground-floor apartments.  “Our clients choose what they want to buy and then install it in their homes.  Every gadget here is connected to a USB port in their computer and can be remotely controlled by us from this building.”

She went to the first item, an inflatable bag, which covered the entire body, including the head.  “Once the client is inside this bag and has closed it, we inflate it by remote control.  We monitor the breathing and the pressure.”

“How long does the client stay inside?” I asked.

“However long he wishes.  From one to 24 hours.  Some of them leave it up to us, so they don’t know when they are going to be released.”

She pointed out several other bags, some which did not cover the head, some which were very heavy and some which were not inflated but evacuated.

In another room of the apartment were beds, all with various bondage attachments.  Next to it were stacks of vacuum beds.  The last room had a variety of bondage chairs..

We went into the other apartment on the ground floor.  “Here we have the smaller items and the shipping department,” she said,  As we walked through the shelves she pointed out several types of handcuffs, straps and harnesses, gasmasks with breath control, inflatable hoods, penis suction devices and electrical penis stimulation, door locks and light controls.  All the gadgets had either a USB cable or wireless connection to a computer.  She took a gasmask and plugged into a computer.  A command from the keyboard locked the mask to the head, another inflated a gag and a third shut off breathing air.

*    *    *

The command center was on the second floor.  There were eight computer stations, four in each apartment.  At each computer sat a woman.

“Since this is Saturday night,” my hostess said, “all stations are occupied and each station can handle up to 10 clients.” 

We went over to station number 1 and my host introduced me to the operator.  The large monitor showed a figure masturbating in a rubber bag.  “This man is in Hamburg, Germany,” the operator commented.  “It is 4 a.m. there and he has been in the bag for six hours.  Every time he comes close to an orgasm, I turn on the vacuum until he can no longer move his hands.  So far he has had only one orgasm; he has 3 hours to go and he gets one more at the end.”

The man’s head was encased in a heavy rubber hood with no openings except two small nose tubes.  He was moaning and, judging from the sound, he was gagged.  I noticed that the picture on the screen was of very high quality.

After a while the moaning increased and the jerking of the bag became more pronounced.  The operator typed a command and you could hear the wine of a pump.  The bag slowly contracted around the man until he became rigid.  “Now I leave him like that for a while,” she said, “and tend to the others.  I have eight other clients on-line right now.”

She typed again and a different picture appeared.  A man was laying on a rubber-covered bed, wearing a head-to-toe rubbersuit and a gasmask.  His rubberboots were chained to the foot of the bed and his wrists were cuffed above his head and stretched by a rope.  In addition there was a rail above the bed; his balls and penis were stretched by ropes leading to the rail through small motors and electrical contacts were attached to both.

“This man is in Boston,” the operator said.  “It’s a little after 10 p.m. there and we started the session an hour ago.”  She flipped a switch and spoke into a microphone.  “O.K. Jack, the rest period is over; are you ready for the second part?”

“Yes, Mistress,” the man replied in a muffled voice.

“First, the gag.”  She typed a command and the man grunted into his gag.  Another command and the rope pulled on his wrists until his whole body was stretched tightly.  Then the two small motors above him whirred and his balls and pins were stretched.  Then his body jerked as she applied an electric shock to his genitals.  The grunting was now intense, but she kept on giving him shocks.  This went on for several minutes.  Finally she stopped the shocks, slackened the roped and deflated his gags.

“Thank you, Mistress,” the man said.

*    *    *

My hostess took me to another station.  Here the screen showed an inflated rubber bag which was slowly moving up and down.  “The man inside is wearing some 30 rubber garments,” the operator said.  “Because of the many layers of rubber it takes him about an hour to achieve orgasm.  Then he stops for 30 minutes and starts again.”

“How long has been inside?” I asked.

“6 ½ hours,” the operator replied, “with another 3 ½ hours to go.  So far he has had three orgasms.  He is probably going to make five.”

“Can he talk?”

“No, he is gagged.”

“What if he wants to get out?”

“He  can’t, and he knows it.  As long as his breathing hand heart rate is o.k.,  he stays the full ten hours.  That’s what he wanted when the session started.”

*    *    *

The hostess moved on and I followed her.  “I want you to see our star client..  He has an entire floor devoted to rubber in his house.  Three times a week he spends 24 hours in it.”

We stopped at the next station where the screen showed a man laying on a rubber-covered be.  “He is wearing three rubbersuits; they are locked so that he can’t take them off himself.”  His head was encased in a thick rubber hood with a gag.

The hostess sat down and flipped a switch.  “It’s time to get up,” she said into the microphone.  The man grunted something and sat up.  “We have a visitor and I would like you to give him a tour.  I am going to deflate your gag and then you can take it out.”

The strap holding the gag clicked and the man removed it.  He stood up and the camera followed his movement.  “Be glad to,” he said.  “This is my bedroom.  In addition to the bed I have an easy-chair and a large-screen TV.  Next to it you can see my collection of rubber videos; I have over 200 of them.”

He went out of the bedroom into a large room with several doors.  The rest of the space was taken up by hanging rubber garments.  “This is my rubber wardrobe and dressing room.”  As he walked around the picture automatically to different cameras.

“How many garments are there?” I asked.

“A little over 300,” he answered and opened one of the doors.  “Here is my study where I have my computer.”  He pointed at the door.  “Each room can be locked remotely.”

The next door led to a large bathroom with a walk-in shower, a toilet, a large, enclosed bathtub and a sauna.  “There is a steam generator for the bathtub.  The temperature of the water for the tub and in the sauna can be controlled from where you are.”

Another door led to a small room with an inflatable bag on a cot.  Next to it was a prison cell with just enough room for a bed and a bondage chair.  The last door opened into a small room with a bed and the walls completely covered in black rubber.  “This is the wet room,” the man said, “there are nozzles in the ceiling which produce a drizzle and the temperature is controlled remotely.”

“O.K.,” the hostess interrupted, “put on a heavy raincoat and then get the gag and the handcuffs.”

The man walked over to the long racks of rubber clothing, pulled out a red raincoat and got into it.  Then he walked to the bedroom, strapped the gag into his mouth, inflated it and got a pair of handcuffs.  When he was back in the wet room he closed the door, climbed under the heavy rubber comforter and cuffed his hands.  The hostess typed a command, the door and the gag locked and the light went out in the room.  Then she set the temperature to 105F and turned on the drizzle.

“How long is he usually in there?” I asked.

“One or two hours,” she replied.  “But tonight I think I will let him sweat for three.”

An alarm rang at one of the other stations.  “Let’s go and see what is happening,” the hostess said and we hurried toward the sound.  On the screen a man in a heavy rubbersuit was hanging by his wrists.  His head was in an inflated rubber hood and his penis was inside a pneumatic tube.  His rubber boots were chained to the floor and his whole body appeared to be painfully stretched.  “What happened?” the hostess asked the operator.

“I just brought him close to an orgasm,” she replied “and the alarm went off.”

“Lower him down a bit and ask him if he is alright.”

The operator typed on the keyboard and the rubber-clad body on the screen relaxed.  “Are you alright,” the operator said into the microphone.  The figure nodded.  “Do you want to stop?”  The man shook his head vehemently.

An unseen winch began to stretch him again and the pneumatic penis tube started to pump.  He groaned louder and louder and, just when he was about to have an orgasm, the operator stopped the action.  The man jerked in his bonds and then began to whimper.

*    *    *

“Let me show you another one,” the hostess said and moved back to her own console.  She typed something and on the screen appeared a man sitting at a desk.  He was wearing a rubber suit, but his entire lower body was encased in an inflated bag, strapped to the chair.  His head was inside a rubber helmet, looking at a computer screen.

He was typing with his rubber-gloved hands.  “Every time he makes a mistake he gets a small electric shock to his penis and balls,” the hostess explained.  “When he stops writing for more than five minutes the computer delivers massive shocks until he starts again.  He is a writer and this is his way of fighting writer’s block.  Last month he wrote an entire novel in two weeks.”

*    *    *

“Number 46 is due again,” one of the operators called to the hostess and we walked over to that console.  The screen came alive and showed a figure in a rubber bag sitting in an easy chair.  “This one masturbates while watching rubber movies.  If he goes too far and has an orgasm, the screen shuts off, the lights go out and he sits in darkness for an hour.  We have a large collection of movies, all in high-definition; most of them he has never seen before.”

We watched him masturbate for a while and then I asked, “how long can he usually hold out?”

The operator replied, “Rarely more than 30 minutes.  He has been in the bag for five hours and has had six orgasms.”

“How often does he do that?”

“Once a week he spends an entire night this way.”

*    *    *

A bell rang at one of the consoles.  “It’s Corola, boss,” the attending operator called out, “do you want to talk to her?”  The hostess walked over to the console, taking me in tow.  A woman in a tight-fitting rubbersuit was on the screen, looking into the camera.  The hostess nodded to the operator.

“Good morning, Corola,” she said.

“Good evening to you,” the woman replied.  “I have three clients here for 24-hour sessions.  I want to get some sleep.  Can you watch them for me?”

“Show them to us,” the hostess said into the microphone.  The she turned to me and said, “This name you can mention.  Corola is a Rubber Mistress and she welcomes more clients.”

The camera moved to a heavily rubbered figure who was suspended from the ceiling horizontally with chains.  His head was encased in an inflated hood and his penis was being sucked by a pneumatic fixture, pulsing slowly.  The man moaned and twisted in his bonds.

Corola grabbed the man’s balls and squeezed them hard.  “For this one I want you to increase the rate and intensity every 30 minutes, but he is not to have any orgasm.  I want to do that myself at the end of the session.”

The camera went to wide-angle and showed a large dungeon.  There were two more rubber-clad figures visible.  Corola walked over to one of them and the camera focused in on a man who was strapped into a bondage chair.  He was wearing a heavy rubbersuit with a tight-fitting helmet and his mouth was spread open by a ball-gag.  His arms, boots, chest and head were secured with wide rubber-straps so he could not move.

“On this one you just need to check his breathing,” Corola commented.

The camera swiveled over to the third man, who was hung from the ceiling in a rubber bag.  Wires led from a small opening in the bag to a electrical instrument on the floor and the bag jerked every few seconds and muffled moans could be heard.

“I programmed the stimulator to give him shocks at random intervals,” Corola said.  “Just watch his heart rate.”

“O.K.,” the hostess said, “we’ll watch them.  The usual fee?”

“That will be ok,” the woman replied, “see you in a few hours.”

“Of course,” Corola said and walked away.

*    *    *

“I suggest you view our recordings,” the hostess said.   “You can do this at home, at your leisure.”

“Recordings?”

“We have several hundred hours of video recordings, all in high-definition.  All of the sessions here are recorded and the client gets a copy.  Most of the clients allow us to make them available to others, with a minor amount of editing.  They are on our web-site and I will give you the pass-word.”

So I went home and immediately accessed the web-site.  I watched for the next 24 hours, getting up only for brief bathroom breaks and occasional snacks.  I was hooked.

I ordered a few items: a gag, handcuffs with a chain so I could type, a half-bag which encased my lower body and an electrical machine.  When these items arrived via FedEx I signed up for a session.

Now I am sitting at my desk, writing this story.  I am wearing all my heavy rubber garments, including the new half-bag and a heavy hood with the USB-connected gag.  One of the operators is reading what I type and when I make an error I get an electrical shock to my penis and balls.  I have had three orgasms so far; each time I stopped writing and was urged back to writing by a series of massive electrical shock.

I don’t know when I will be released, but I have never enjoyed rubber more.

 

21.11.08