Restrained Rubber

Playing with J is pure trouble. Rubber junkie through and through, he’s already sealed in a full-body latex catsuit, sweat-glossed and gleaming. Still not enough for either of us. I shove him inside a heavy rest sack, drag the zipper up until only his head shows, then lace him tight with red rope until the rubber bulges between every knot. The rope gets lashed to the bed frame, stretching him out like a prize. Two small vibrators hum deep in his ass, wired to a custom box that clicks through pattern after pattern. One press and they pulse, slow grind, quick stutter, driving him right to the brink. I know how badly bondage and rubber get him off, so I ride that line—every edge, every twitch—keeping him desperate and denied.