Rubber Madness

I have been a medical technician for 15 years, now working for Dr. Lora Latimer, who specializes in behavior modification. She has an M.D. and a Ph.D. in psychology and her practice is part of the Western General Hospital; and I am one of seven medical assistants.

Dr. Latimer’s work is very advanced; she does primarily research on patients who behave far from the norm and are socially handicapped because of it. She has pioneered a number of procedures involving drugs, hypnosis, subliminal audio and video, electrical stimulation and sensory deprivation.

I work a 12-hour night-shift five days a week, monitoring patients from 8 p.m. to 8 a.m. At 7 a.m. Dr. Latimer visits her patients, I give her my report and then go home. The doctor is always polite and friendly, but we have no social contact outside work.

So I was surprised when she rang the doorbell to my modest apartment one day at noon. Awoken from deep sleep, I opened to door. Without invitation she came in and said, “I have a proposition for you. But first I need to examine your apartment. I’m sure you don’t mind.”

I stood there still half asleep as she marched in and started to open closets. I suddenly realized what she was after; wide awake now I ran into the spare room, but it was too late. “I was pretty certain that’s what I would find,” she said as she surveyed the small room filled with rubber garments, “but I had to be certain.” My head turned bright red from embarrassment.

“No need to be ashamed,” she said as she pointed me to the living room and we sat down. “I figured you for a rubberist and I’m glad I was able to confirm it. The job I have in mind for you can only be done by a rubberist.”

“I already have a job,” I replied.

“Which you can have back anytime you want to. What I am offering you should be more interesting for you. My husband, who is also a rubberist, is going to fund a private clinic just for rubberists.”

“You are going to cure rubberists?” I asked.

“No, this will be for people who want to enjoy rubber more.”

I nodded, but didn’t quite understand. “The clinic will be in our house and the patients will stay from a few hours to a few days. They will be drugged and encased in rubber during their stay and I need somebody qualified to watch them; the treatment could possibly be dangerous.”

“And when they come out of the treatment they will have a greater desire for rubber?”

“I expect that their desire for rubber will increase with the length of the treatment,” she said.

“What about working hours?” I asked.

“Irregular. I would expect you to give up your apartment and live in the clinic. In the presence of patients you will need to be dressed in rubber; they need to get the feeling that this is normal for the personnel at the clinic. So far I have three patients starting with 12-hour sessions once a week and a 6-hour recovery period after that. Which means you have to be present and dressed in rubber 54 hours a week to start with. And this will undoubtedly increase with time as some of the treatments become longer.”

“When would you want me to start?”

“Saturday,” she said. “There are some final preparations to be made before the first patient arrives Tuesday.”

I agreed without hesitation. Being required to wear rubber on the job was what convinced me. I didn’t even ask about the salary.

Dr. Latimer gave me the address and I showed up at her house Saturday morning with six boxes of rubber garments in my car. I decided to keep the apartment and the furniture a little while longer, just in case.

I met her husband Philip and I can’t say that I liked him very much. He struck me as overbearing and condescending, a rich guy who never had to work for a living.

Dr. Latimer showed me my quarters up on the third floor of the huge old house, a separate apartment with a bedroom, a sitting room and a bathroom. I was surprised to find an extraordinary amount of closet space in the bedroom, ideal for a rubberist. The garments in the six boxes I had brought barely filled one of the smaller closets.

There were several other rooms on the third floor. Dr. Latimer opened the door to one of them; it was filled with boxes. “This is a storage room,” she said. “My husband buys dozens of rubber garments every week, wears them for a little while and then discards them. I managed to retrieve most of them and put them in boxes. You are welcome to use them. You will also find three boxes of DVDs which I saved after he recorded them on this hard-disks.”

Three floors down, in the basement, was the clinic. It was modern and spotless. There was an office for the doctor, two small patient rooms with one bed each and two treatment rooms filled with equipment. In the center of each room was a large contrivance made from inflated rubber parts. “These are the enclosure in which the patients are confined,” the doctor explained. “In here they are completely cut off from the outside world. Today and tomorrow we need to set up one of them and then test it.”

“Test it how?” I asked.

“You are going to test it, a twelve-hour cycle starting early tomorrow morning.”

“You mean you are going to use me as a guinea-pig?”

“That’s exactly what I mean,” she answered. “But I will be monitoring you myself and can stop the treatment at any time.”

We went to work. The enclosure was basically a very soft, narrow rubber bed onto which the patient was strapped face down. There was an inflatable rubbersuit with a number of attached cables and a helmet which enclosed the entire head. Before putting on the helmet, the patient had to swallow a thin rubber tube which served to drop liquids and drugs into his stomach. The tube ended in an inflatable gag in the helmet, and tubes to the nostrils were connected to an array of valves and gas cylinders. The helmet had ear-phones and video displays instead of eye-openings.

The penis and balls were encased in a soft shell which also had a number of wires protruding from it. All wires and tubes were plugged into a control cabinet with a computer screen and keyboard. Dr. Latimer inserted a disk and, after checking all the connections, started the program. The suit and the bed began to vibrate in intervals and I could hear gas hiss faintly from the helmet.

She tested various parts of the program until late afternoon and then told me to be ready at 7 a.m. Sunday morning. I didn’t sleep very well that night; the whole thing began to look like mad science.

The Trial

I showed up in the basement on time. Dr. Latimer was already there and she told me to strip naked and step into the suit. Then she inserted the stomach tube into my mouth and I began to swallow it. When it was all the way in she pressed the gag after it and pulled the helmet over my head, which cut off my sight completely.

Next she clamped the shell around my penis and balls and told me to lie down. I was then strapped down so that my entire body, including arms and legs, were immobile.

For a while nothing happened. Suddenly I felt soft vibrations, evoking an intense rubber feeling over my entire body, coming and going in waves. After a while the vibrations concentrated on my penis and balls and electrical stimulation was added. Next I felt rubber hands gripping, pulling and squeezing both my balls and penis, interspersed with mild jolts of electrical pulses. This went on for perhaps half-an-hour. I was getting more and more aroused and when the vibrations all over my body came back I had a massive orgasm.

Then everything stopped. Normally when I have an orgasm in rubber I want to get out of it immediately afterwards. Not this time. I lay there, exhausted and sweating, wanting this to go on forever.

After a long time the suit inflated and I could feel a tingling in my penis again. Images of rubber-clad figures appeared before my eyes and I could hear the rustling of rubber. Then a rubber mouth started sucking my cock and rubber hands massaged my balls. There were brief episodes of men and women writhing in rubber and having orgasms. Then I was squeezed between two rubber-clad women and I had a long orgasm.

Then everything stopped again and I lay in darkness, immensely satisfied and hoping that there would be more.

There was more, about eight of these cycles, each one different, each one heaven.

After 12 hours Dr. Latimer shut off the apparatus and took me out. I was disoriented and wobbly and didn’t want to leave my cocoon. She led me to the shower, dried me off and then put me on the bed in one of the patient rooms. I immediately fell asleep.

When I woke up at 1 a.m. Dr. Latimer examined me and asked me a number of questions. I described to her my experience. When she was finally satisfied I staggered up to the third floor and hastily put on several rubber garments. Then I lay down on the bed and masturbated. After the first orgasm I had no desire to shed the rubber. I fell asleep and woke up at 6 a.m. I got up, put on more rubber, spread a heavy rubber bag on the bed and slid into it. Then I masturbated again, slowly and deliberately, re-living the experience in the cocoon. I didn’t stop until 10 a.m.

I went downstairs to the kitchen for breakfast. Dr. Latimer had explained to me that there would be food in the kitchen for breakfast and dinner, provided by a catering service. After I ate I walked through the house, but found it deserted. So I went to the basement and started to clean up, washing the heavy rubbersuit, the mask and the penis-shell. At noon I went back to my room, slid back into the rubber bag, pulled a gasmask over my head, masturbated again and fell asleep.

Dr. Latimer woke me at 7 p.m. and wanted to know how I felt. I told her that I felt wonderful but that I had an immense desire to masturbate and would she please leave me alone until I was on duty the following morning. She smiled and left the room.

The Patients

I went to the basement the next morning at 6:15 a.m., wearing a comfortable rubbersuit, boots and a white rubber lab-coat she had provided. Dr. Latimer was already there, checking the equipment. “You cleaned up, I see,” she said, “very conscientious. How are you feeling this morning?” I told her that I felt relaxed and recovered, but I had an almost irresistible urge to masturbate. “Good,” she replied, “the treatment is working. You will find that this urge is going to decrease over the next few days, but then remain above the level you had before.”

The patient was undressing in one of the bedrooms. When he came out, Dr. Latimer took him to the bathroom and gave him an enema. While his bowels were being cleaned out she went over the instrumentation again, making a list of all the indicators I had to check periodically and what to do in the case of deviations.

Half an hour later I helped him get into the suit, made him swallow the stomach tube and strapped on the helmet, while Dr. Latimer encapsulated his penis and balls. Then we put him into the enclosure together and strapped him down. At 7:00 a.m. precisely she switched on the apparatus.

We observed the patient together and then she left for the hospital. The enclosure started to vibrate and I checked the readouts. I could hear faint moaning. I sat down in a chair and had a hard time keeping from masturbating.

At 11 a.m. Philip dropped by and wanted to know how things were going. He was dressed entirely in rubber. I told him that everything looked normal. He questioned me about my experience, but then the doorbell rang and he went away.

At noon I couldn’t stand it any longer. Sitting in my chair and keeping an eye on the instruments, I opened the lab-coat and the crotch zippers of my rubbersuit and began to masturbate. Suddenly a voice behind me said, “I can do that for you.” Startled and embarrassed I stood up and turned around. A women, dressed head to toe in black rubber, stood in the doorway. She moved toward me and grabbed my exposed penis. “You just watch the instruments,” she said, “I’ll do the rest.”

She pressed me into the chair, knelt in front of me and began to stroke my penis and massage my balls. In less than a minute I had an orgasm.

She stood up, went to the bathroom, came back with a wash-cloth and cleaned me up. “I understand you were the first one to get the treatment. How was it?

“Who the hell are you?” I asked, out of breath.

“Oh, forgive me. My name is Fran. I am taking care of Philip.”

“What you mean, taking care?”

“He is impotent; he can only get an orgasm if he masturbates while he is tied up in rubber. I come here three times a week and tie him up for a few hours.”

“Does Dr. Latimer know about this” I asked.

“She hired me.”

I studied her. She was slender with perky breasts and long legs. I liked her face.

“Thank you,” I said after a while.

“Anytime,” she answered. “There is nothing else to do for me while Philip jerks off. Do you mind if I keep you company?”

“Not at all, as long as you don’t distract me from my work.”

“I can’t promise that.”

“How long do you keep Philip tied up?”

“I vary the time; he never knows how long he is going to be in his cocoon. I think I’ll make it six hours today.”

We talked while I was watching the instruments. After an hour she left briefly and returned with a condom. She opened my zippers, pulled over my cock and began to suck. This time I lasted almost five minutes.

At six o-clock she said good-bye and at seven Dr. Latimer showed up. We shut down the equipment, took the patient out of his suit and put him in one of the bedrooms. His reaction was different from mine, he stared into space and then fell asleep. Dr. Latimer said she would keep and eye on him and I took a shower and then went to bed.

In the morning he was still a bit disoriented and Dr. Latimer asked me to drive him home. At first he sat silently in the car next to me and then he suddenly burst out, “That was unbelievable! I thought my dick was going to explode.”

He was now suddenly alive and wanted to talk about his experience. His name was Joseph. When we arrived at his house he asked me to come in for a cup of coffee. It was a modest bungalow with two bedrooms, with one being used as his rubber room. Joseph showed me his extensive collection of rubber garments, for which he had built an addition on the back-side of the house.

He lived alone, he explained, by choice. He had been married briefly when he was young, but got divorced when he realized that he preferred having sex by himself in rubber. He recently took early retirement and was now devoting all of his time to rubber. Joseph seemed happy and content, a man who had accepted his deviation from the norm and decided to make the best of it.

The second patient appeared the following morning. His twelve hours in the cocoon passed without any incidents, but his reaction was more extreme than mine had been. After he had showered he slid between the rubber sheets and began to masturbate, babbling to himself. An hour later he wanted to go home, but he was in no condition to drive himself. So, at 9 p.m. I volunteered to take him to his place, which was a spacious condo on the waterfront. After I unlocked the door for him he sunk into an easy chair and mumbled, “Would you help me getting dressed in some rubber?”

I looked around and there were rubber garments everywhere, almost all of them women’s clothes. I gathered a few items and helped him get into them. He wanted more: several skirts and dresses, two coats and several capes. Then he stumbled into the bedroom, lay down on the rubber-covered bed and started to masturbate. At this point I let myself out.

The third patient was dropped off by his wife the following day, a Saturday. The session was again normal and he was lucid but weak when he came out of it. Dr. Latimer called his wife and she came to pick him. She tried to get him to her car, but couldn’t quite manage it. Dr. Latimer asked me if I could go with them and the wife offered to drive me back.

We got the husband into to front passenger seat; I got in the back and the wife drove. She introduced herself as Rose and said her husband’s name was Fred. We drove for about 45 minutes; Fred was silent but Rose wanted to know how the session went. I told her everything was normal but that he would experience a strong craving for rubber, especially during the first day or two. She said she had planned to put him into rubber as soon as they got home and asked me if I could help her. I said I would be glad to.

I was curious about their relationship so I asked her if she would mind talking about it. “Not at all,” she replied. “I don’t wear rubber myself, but I knew my husband was a rubberist even before we got married. It never bothered me, it is just something he needs. Once or twice a week I help him get dressed in rubber and then tie him up for two or three hours. I gave him Dr. Latimer’s treatment for his birthday.”

“What do you get out of it?”

“We have a very happy marriage. No stress, very few arguments,” she said. Fred nodded.

They lived on a farm. Rose and I helped Fred into the house and up into the attic. She stripped his clothes off and together we helped him put on two rubbersuits, latex gloves and a heavy rubber hood. Then we put him down on a rubber-covered bed, slid him into a heavy rubber bag and pulled numerous rubber straps tight. Rose said, “I’ll see you in the morning.” We turned off the light and went downstairs to the kitchen, where Rose offered me coffee. Then she drove me back.

It had now been a week since my own 12-hour treatment and my desire for rubber remained considerably above what it had been before. On my off-days I had been going to the storage room on the third floor after breakfast, rummaging through the boxes. By about 10 a.m. I was dressed in rubber garments and sitting in the easy chair or laying on the bed, watching the videos and masturbating. I skipped lunch and reluctantly shed the rubber only when it was time for dinner.

Fran

The day after Fred’s treatment, a Sunday, I slept late. At about 10 a.m. I selected a few rubber garments from the rapidly filling closets, put them on and went back to bed. Just as I was about to start to masturbate there was a knock on the door and Fran came into my bedroom. She wore a rubber outfit again and slid into my bed, grabbing my exposed dick. “Well,” she said, “here we are again. Philips is neatly tucked away and I have nothing to do. I thought I might put the time to good use.”

“How much time do you have?” I asked.

“All day. He is tied up in a bondage chair, watching some new videos he just got. They are on a changer and he told me to leave him alone until 6 p.m.

“Do you ever have sex with your clients?” I asked.

“Never with clients, but with friends I make an exception. Do you have a condom?”

I pointed as the night-table. She opened the drawer, got one out and rolled it over my penis. Then she lay on top of me and inserted it into her.

We made love in rubber for almost an hour. Whenever I came close to an orgasm she slowed down to prolong the joy. When it finally came, it was the most fulfilling orgasm I ever had.

After a while we took a shower and got dressed. We walked along the shore and had lunch. I wanted to know more about her, so I steered the conversation toward the service she provided.

“How many clients do you have?” I asked.

“Right now, ten,”

“Are they all like Philip?”

“You mean rich, spoiled and obnoxious?”

“More or less.”

“No, I charge Philip the highest rate, he can afford it. He is also difficult and no fun to be with. The others are much nicer; I charge them what they can afford. I really don’t do much; I tie them up in rubber and release them a few hours later. I don’t have sex with them, although most of them I bring to an orgasm before I untie them.”

“Always in rubber?”

“That’s my specialty. I know what rubberists need.”

“How did you get into this line?” I asked.

“I had a friend who asked me to do it for him. He recommended me to others.”

“Are you a rubberist yourself?”

“Not really. I love the material for what it does to my subjects; it reduces them to blubber in my hands. When they are tied up in it I can give them the best orgasm any man could possible have.”

“Could you show me?” I asked.

We took a taxi back to the clinic. In my apartment she rummaged through the closets and found a pair of latex briefs which a formed extension for the penis and balls and a rubbersuit with a crotch opening. While I changed she put on the rubber outfit she had worn in the morning.

We went to the storage room and she selected a straight-jacket, a hood and a bondage bag, all made from heavy rubber. She put the straight-jacket and the hood on me and then spread the bag out on the bed. The hood had no eye openings and my mouth was filled with a gag, which she inflated until I could no longer talk. Then she guided me into the bag, zipped it up and tightened several strap around my body. I felt my penis and balls being pulled through a small opening in the bag and held outside with a strap.

I couldn’t move, see or hear. She began to gently massage my balls, then my penis, then both. The massaging gradually became more intense and I was getting closer and closer to an orgasm when she suddenly stopped. I lay there, desperate for an orgasm, but nothing happened. I didn’t even know if she was still in the room.

Then the massaging started again, slow and delicately, gradually increasing in intensity.

She did this for two hours. At the end she pulled and squeezed my penis hard. I moaned and screamed into my gag and had a massive orgasm.

She left me tied up for another 15 minutes or so and then removed the straps and the hood and opened the zipper of the bag. “It’s 6 p.m.,” she said, “I got to release Philip. I’m sure you can get out of the bag yourself.”

With some difficulty I managed to stand up and wiggle out of the bag. I took a shower and got dressed. When I went downstairs for dinner she had already left.

The Treatments Continue

On the following Tuesday Joseph showed up for his second session, another 12 hours. There were no problems again and after only an hour in the recovery room he asked if I would drive him home. He had come by taxi, he said, in the hope that the two of us could have another chat.

I gladly obliged. In the car he couldn’t stop talking. “After you left I spent 24 hours in rubber, masturbating and sleeping a lot. Then I went out for long drives in my car, wearing rubber underneath my regular clothes.”

When we got to his house at 9 p.m. he disappeared into his bedroom and came out ten minutes later dressed in a rubbersuit, rubber boots and a heavy black rubber raincoat. “Would you do me a favor and drop me off on your way back about five miles from here. I want to walk back dressed like this.”

“What if someone sees you?”

“So what? I’ll tell them that I’m a rubberist. I no longer care if everybody knows. That’s the way I want to live.”

I dropped him off on a street corner when the odometer showed 5 miles and he started walking back. I hoped he wouldn’t get into trouble; his outfit would have been less noticeable if it had been raining, but it was a warm summer night.

The following evening Dr. Latimer and I were alone at dinner and she said, “We have a patient scheduled for tomorrow. Number two is coming in for his second treatment, but he wants a 24-hour one.”

“Is that safe after only one session.” I asked.

“I would have preferred 12 hours, but he is insistent. Also, he wants to be put into his own rubber clothes after the treatment and stay here for another 24 hours.”

“Fortunately we have two recovery rooms.”

“Yes, but somebody needs to keep an eye on him, especially after his reaction the first time. I understand you have met Fran; I'll ask her to help you.”

I blushed stammered, “I hope I wasn’t indiscreet …”

“Don’t apologize. I fully expected the two of you to connect.”

Number two showed up early the following morning, carrying two suitcases. He laid out his rubber clothes in the order he wanted to wear them later and got an enema. As I put him into the rubbersuit he said quietly, “Thanks for your help after my first session. By the way, my name is Carl.” We shook hands, he swallowed the stomach tube and his face disappeared into the hood.

It was a long session. At 7 p.m. Dr. Latimer took over briefly so I could relieve myself and have some dinner. During the night I fought sleep and I was happy to see both Fran and Dr. Latimer shortly before 7 a.m. We took Carl out of his cocoon, dried him off with a towel and dressed him in the clothes he had brought. It was a massive outfit, some 30 garments and a large rubber bag. We put him down on the bed and he started masturbating immediately.

Philip came down to the basement and threw a fit when he saw Fran helping me. He had an argument with Dr. Latimer, during which she told him firmly that he had nothing to say about what Fran did on her own time. After a few minutes he stomped out of the clinic, muttering to himself.

Dead-tired I went to bed and didn’t wake up until dinner time. I went to the basement to check on Carl and found Dr. Latimer and Fran in conversation. “Looks like the patient is doing just fine,” the doctor said to me, “I think we can leave him alone until morning.”

All three of us went for a long walk after dinner. Dr. Latimer told us that she had three more prospects lined up and felt that the treatments were going well. “We will start treating two patients at the same time, staggered by an hour so they don’t have to meet..”

An so it went for several months. Joseph stopped after five 12-hour treatments, when he felt he had reached the level of craving he wanted. I have dinner with him once a month and he tells me about his escapades wearing rubber in public.

Carl still comes in once a month for a 24-hour treatment and has become a frequent client of Fran. Rose and Fred drop by every so often to chat.

So far the record stands at 48 hours in the cocoon. The effect is very strong and one has to allow almost 72 hours in the recovery room, but the level of desire appears to remain at a steady high level afterwards.

After 4 weeks on the new job I cancelled the lease on my apartment. I asked Dr. Latimer if she would give me a second treatment, but she declined. “I would be afraid that further treatments would affect your job,” she said. “Some day, when you retire, I will be happy to give you all the treatments you want, free of charge.”

Philip

All had been going well, except for Philip’s reaction to the constant stream of patients and Fran’s increasing involvement. He became aware that Fran was now spending more time with me than with him.

It all came to a head at dinner one night. He complained bitterly that he was getting the short end of the deal, that he was paying the expenses but was getting nothing in return. “How come I’m the only one who hasn’t gotten the treatment?” he shouted.

“I didn’t think you wanted it,” Dr. Latimer replied.

“Of course I want it,” he said angrily. “Didn’t I pay for the whole setup? I’m entitled to it. As a matter of fact I’m entitled to get more than any of your other clients.”

“And how much of a treatment do you want?” Dr. Latimer said quietly.

“How long is the maximum so far?”

“48 hours.”

“I want a week!”

“We don’t know what a week in the enclosure will do,” Dr. Latimer replied, “it would be very risky.”

“Well, I want it,” he replied, “you owe it to me.”

Dr. Latimer shrugged her shoulders. “If you are sure that’s what you want, I’m not going to stop you. We’ll set it up for next week.”

A week later we prepared Philip for the cocoon, adding a catheter and drainage tube. There would be no way we could observe him closely for a whole week, day and night, so we would have to take a chance and leave him alone for much of the time.

There was no incident during the treatment, but when we took him out and put him in the recovery room he didn’t react the way other patients had. He was whimpering and constantly mumbled something we couldn’t understand. It wasn’t until a day later, when we carried him to his own room and put him into a rubbersuit that he calmed down. He closed his eyes and masturbated for several hours.

Philip never recovered from the treatment. He is now living in a small bedroom in the attic masturbating day and night. We give him a shower once a day, feed him and change his rubbersuit. He never talks or opens his eyes.

Dr. Latimer had him declared incompetent and now controls his fortune.

Fran and I now live in Philip’s former rooms.

11.02.09