By Rubbag

He turns to the left, and I follow him away from the cloakroom, away from the exit. The main floor of the club is only some twenty feet across, but it must be more than forty feet high, with the floor suspended midway up. A tube of concrete not a cylinder though, its six-sided, a hexagon. The wall behind me has the door we’ve just come through, then the next wall is open, some kind of alcove or room beyond which we are walking toward. Then beyond, a bank wall, no door this time but a single entrance flanked by two statues and between them stairs leading up higher into the building. Then another room only single shining down there and through sixty degrees and then another flat wall, with stairs leading down. Last and behind us now, the last of the alcoves and then I know what the sound is. The sound of gym equipment in use, the multi-gym equipment with the slotted masses attached, moving up and down their metal rails.

There is the sound of someone working out, but there is something desperate and muffled about it. I turn around trying to see what exactly is going on even as I’m being led away from the source of the sound.

“No, Jed, this way.”

I follow and stand beside him at the entrance to another, not an alcove, but a room three quarters of a circle cut off where it runs into the main floor of the club. Push bench seats line the outside, on which sit a variety of business types. It’s hard to see them and even harder to see the shapes, which kneel at their feet. The floor is solid, some kind of wood beneath my feet. In the centre of the room is low platform, a circle about ten feet across, from the top of which a dull glow comes high up above, a few small spotlights shining down onto the stage.

And it is a stage — a long, man-shaped tube of rubber is all that’s on it. There is just the faintest impression of a head, a torso and legs. No opening to be seen, just a single tube of rubber, which connects to an oxygen tank, like a diver might use. For a moment I wonder if there’s actually anyone in there, but then I see it — the chest moves up and down gently, trying to breathe as slow as it can, trying to make the air last.

“There are many bets you can make,” he says, “and … many forfeits.”

“Will he be ok?”

“That’s not important, Jed. All that matters is what are the odds, and do you want to play?”

Then I turn back and look at the bag of rubber, thinking of what it must be like for the man inside trying to stay calm, trying to breathe as little as possible. Not able to see the gauge, not knowing how much air he has left, which one of his breaths might be his last. And I feel hot and horny, shit I’d not expected this, and he can see the effect it’s having on me, my under armour pushed out in front of me.

“How … how do I play?”

“Point your pad at the platform and select information.”

I do as he says, it’s actually quite straightforward. I press INFORMATION and the screen blinks and then:

GAME: DIVERS DILEMMA

ODDS: Survival 2-1, Suffocation 10-1

BET: YES / NO

Curious, I press YES.

The screen blinks again.

ENTER AMOUNT $ * * * 0 0 0

SELECT 0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 FOR EACH BLANK

THEN CONFIRM

Marcus can see that I’m puzzled.

“There are no return options, Jed, you have to place a bet now and the minimum on this game is $1,000.”

I type in 001 and then CONFIRM and then its updates.

PLAYER: JED/06

CASH: $ 019 000

CREDIT: $ 020 000

BETS: 1) DIVERS DILEMA Survival $1000 2-1

When I look up again I find we are not alone. A rather portly man in an expensive suit walks slowly up to us holding a leash in his hand.

“Evening, Marcus, is this a new boy?” he says.

I don’t listen to their conversation. I’m just looking at the boy at the end of the leash. A harness covers most of his face, he looks about my age, but he’s lithe and wiry in build and I can see enough to know how much of a struggle it’s been for him to keep up, as grateful for the break he tries to get his breathing under control. I bet he can scarcely move, that’s how tired he looks, forced to crawl on his elbows, as his forearms are strapped to his biceps and the same with his legs the calves and thighs joined, that’s got to hurt.

The pad in my hand lights up, and I look down as they are still talking beside me, and then I realise I’d misheard and it wasn’t his own boy he was talking about.

FROM: MASTER SENECA

TO: JED/06

OFFER: JED/ 06 TO PERFORM ORAL SERVICE, $ 2000

YES / NO

My eyes snap up from the screen, and I see how amused he is still talking to Marcus the owner, but he’s watching me turn red. I’m careful to press NO, and I see him look down and shrug as he continues his conversation.

“Anyway, Marcus, I must speak to you about …” and then he looks at me “… another matter.”

“Very well, Seneca, I’ll join you at the muscle challenge presently.”

He gives me a hungry look, and with a not-too-gentle pull on the lead he drags his boy away.

A robot or unit is coming back toward us and I forget Seneca and his boy. Instead I just find thinking about how good this man looks with every part of his body rippling beneath its transparent skin and in that moment I know he’s sealed into just like poor Josh.

He comes to a stop before us, standing stiffly at attention.

There is a slight tilt of his head as if he’s listening to something, and then:

[ –How–may–this–unit–ser-ve–you–Dom-in-us — ]

Like before when he speaks, there is no emotion, no feeling. But something is not quite the same, the intonation is the same but voice is slightly different. Only then do I pull my eyes away from its crotch and look him in the face. Its not him, he’s the same build, the same angular features, the same black hair cut the same, made to look the same, but it’s not the same man.

“Unit One, take the guest to the Stud Poker table.”

The same pause as before, and then:

[ –Yes–Dom-in-us– ]

“I have some business to attend to. Go with this unit, Jed.”

The man waits patiently for his master to finish speaking before he rotates to face me, and I look straight into his face, that waxy plastic coating and those silver eyes looking through me.

[ –Fol-low–this–unit–Sir–]

He rotates, and I follow behind, watching the way he walks, each leg extended like a dancer, graceful and perfectly mechanical one after another. But there is no movement at all in his body as he moves and the arms remain stiff by his sides.

And I’m forced to wonder how long he’s been made to wear that suit for.

I have to ask.

“How long have you had that suit on for?”

Nothing.

It takes me awhile get one of the rules of this game.

“Unit One, how long have you been in that suit?”

He stops and without turning tilts his head to one side slightly before he answers.

[ –This–unit–is–unit-one–it -has–no–thou-ghts–or–des-ir-es–Sir– ]

And then another pause.

[ –Fol-low–this–unit–Sir–]

And he starts moving again.

There is someone coming toward us, hard to make out with all this light from below, but then I see him. The familiar black hair and silver eyes and the same perfect body in clear rubber. The figure stops, it must have come down the staircase behind it. In its hands like a waiter, a silver tray carrying tumblers of some shots on the rocks. It seems to be waiting for us to pass. I’ve been fooled once, but this time I’m more careful, yeah I’m sure now it’s the same one that met us at the Limo. The Unit I’m following stops right in front of him and then rotates to face right, making a strange detour around him before starting off again along its original path. There are other rules which they must obey, the glass floor, the alcoves, the cloakroom, even the lift and the car park are all marked with metal strips that these men, the units, are forced to follow like tram lines. Then I look at the leading stairs, wondering if Josh is up but that thought does not last long. Tall and Italian are not the only two units here. There are two more standing on plinths on either side of the entrance to the staircase. Each selected to match these two have the same height and the same bodybuilder physique, the same empty silver eyes as the two I’ve seen, but this time their skins are black beneath the transparent rubber suit and their heads are shaven. Their faces are handsome blanks, seemingly unaware of where they are, of what they are, two statues on plinths either side of a doorway. They don’t move, they don’t move at all. I just don’t see how they can hold that pose. They’re tensed up, every muscle ripped and defined so tense but not a flicker of movement not even in their cocks large and almost erect and fully visible packed into the clear chastity cup at the front of each suit

[–This –way–Sir– ]

My unit is waiting for me and I follow him, moving away from these strange statues. We step up off the glass into the card room, it looks almost normal, a round felt table, a single lamp in glass shade above it. I can feel my instincts coming back as buzz and excitement of the cards hits me like an old friend.

[ –Dom-in-us–Tra-jan—-Dom-in-us– Clau-di-us –Dom-in-us– Mar-cell-us-this–is — guest –Jed/06 — ]

He turns and is gone, and I’m left with these three men, three heavies all in suits. They stand up and then smile, offering me their hands, which I have to bend over the table to reach. So far it’s like any Friday night poker match with beers and a few friends, and then I realise that I’m bent over this table wearing only my white under armour gear with my ass all but pointing into the air.

They sit down again, leaving me to slide back and then stand upright again. The dealer, the one calling himself Trajan, waves his hand to indicate the seat next to where I’m still standing.

“Come on, son, take a chair and we’ll deal you in.”

I sat down opposite Trajan, who seemed to have been the dealer before I arrived. My weight pressed down in the light steel frame of the chair I’d been offered, and when I looked up again I found Trajan speaking.

“Ok I think something more traditional gentlemen, five card draw, up to three cards redrawn after the ante, the ante and all raises to be $100 increments, maximum raise to be $5000. Agreed?”

I look around the table as the other two nod once in agreement while I just say, “Yeah, sure man.” I’m still distracted by the table, wondering where all the cards are. The table is made out of some dark, almost black glass, as thick as my hand and perhaps eight feet or so across and strange to say, for a poker game, there doesn’t seem to be a card in sight.

I had been trying to blank them, to be cool, but I have to look up confused, not knowing how even to start in on a game. Trajan smiles at me, he just taps on the table and a flicker of light runs across the surface and a stack of cards appears like magic beneath his hand.

“I think, gentleman, it’s only polite if we deal our guest in first on this hand.”

He placed his hand above the cards and then slides the top card towards me, enjoying the look on my face as I watch the surface of the table seem to ripple as the card flies towards me, coming to a dead stop by my right hand. I try and touch it and my fingers only meet the hard surface of the table. They laugh at the joke as Trajan continues to deal out the rest of the cards. A second, third and fourth card come my way, it’s only by the fifth that I’ve realised that the cards are some kind of image created within the depth of the table. I put my hand on top of them and slide my fingers about the table, watching fascinated as the cards follow my fingertips, seemingly floating through the solid glass surface. Its not just a screen, the cards have real depth to them just like the stack of cards which Trajan’s hand seems float above. Only when they move or you try and touch them do you find that they are only an illusion.

“Come on, boy, get your money on the table.” It is Marcellus who is speaking, growing impatient for me to figure out how to even look at my cards, never mind put a chip down on this table. I glare back at him, but he is already busy with something else. His left hand gripped around an expanding bag of rubber, which is attached to tube wand, the tube runs somewhere under the table. A rebreather bag? He’s holding it, stopping it, there is a sudden snort from beneath the table, but Marcellus keeps his hand tight around the bag, holding it closed. Then I feel the table start to move and a muffled “uhh..uhh..uhh” comes from underneath, growing more desperate until Marcellus casually lets go of the bag, and I see it frantically inflate and deflate as it falls back to the floor.

“Boy! Slide your cards towards you when they reach the edge of the table.” Trajan reaches out and pulls his own hand back towards him. “Like this, boy.”

I put my fingertips over the five cards. And pull them towards me, the table has a bevel around the outside of it as I pull the cards down onto it. They flicker and then seem to rotate, so that I can see their faces.

I hold one finger up over my mouth.

“shhh,” I say to Trajan as I place my pad onto the glass of the table.

The table flickers, and a pile of chips with $100 and $1000 on them appear by my left hand. I check that and minus my bet they add up to $30,000, and, satisfied, I slide a $100 dollars across into the centre of the table.

“I’m playing, gentlemen. How about you?”

Josh reckons that my only weakness in cards is that I can be a bit headstrong. Who is he to talk? He’s the one that got himself locked into a rubber chastity harness, been like that for months, a month before he even fessed up to me. Months of him getting hornier and more desperate, needing either $30,000 or to become a 260-pound bodybuilder to clear his debts, but getting neither. That’s where I’ve come into the game, I’m his best buddy, and that’s how I end up putting myself into pot, having to play to save him having to play to save myself.

The good news is I’m very good poker player.

The bad news is so are the people I’m playing against.

After an hour of play I’m $8,000 up still $22,000 short, and then I try and push too hard and I’m taken down $3,000, lost one hand and I’m kicking myself for being such a fool, just a little wild at times, as Josh once said my only flaw as a poker player.

My betting pad lights up.

DIVERS DILEMA CONCLUDED

YOUR BET Survival $1000 2-1

PAY ON Survival only

SUM $2000

UPDATE

It blinks again and:

PLAYER: JED/06

CASH: $ 029 700

CREDIT: $ 020 000

BETS: POKER $1000

“Well, boy, are you in?”

I look at my cards.

I look at him.

“Fold,” I say.

PLAYER: JED/06

CASH: $ 028 700

CREDIT: $ 020 000

BETS: NONE

I sit back, glad of the break, watching them ratchet the pot up way out of my league to $10 000 and then $12 000 before at last Claudius is called and found to be bluffing. But that’s not important, what is important is that I knew he was bluffing, I know his tell, and it is, well, that’s my secret. Marcellus I think I’ve the measure of now, and that just leaves Trajan, who folded at $2 000 and if he could have won the pot he doesn’t show it, not a flicker in his face when he saw their hands.

There is a break in the play, Marcellus and Claudius are still discussing the last hand rather than thinking about the next. I stretch my legs out under the table, rubbing my hands down the smooth white under armour I’m wearing. I’m thinking of the poor bastard in the rubber bag, if hes ok, where he is now, what it was like in there for him. My feet touch rubber and I look up, thinking I’ve kicked one of the men I’m playing with, but there’s no reaction from them. My feet are bare and, intrigued, I use my toes to explore. They find what feels like a metal bar, cold steel rising from the floor. I move on and then another metal bar a little further away as far as I can reach. Not bars, pillars, thin pillars, holding the weight of the table but there’s something else there, something between them. I push out my leg, reaching as far as it will go between the pillars. A muffled cry comes out from beneath the table as my toes dig into rubber and I realise that I’ve just found someone’s ribs. I pull my foot back, catching it on a thick rubber belt as it finds the floor beside, next to, a thigh? A knee? There’s someone down there bent double and strapped in a foetal. It comes to me what the first thing I had felt must have been, a man’s foot covered in rubber. I was thinking too much about the cards and now I know what the rebreather bag is attached to. I find my feet going back, feeling the rubber on his flesh as my toes explore his bound body feeling the front of my under armour go moist as I realise I’m leaking precum, wanting so bad to get my cock out and touch it.

“Are you in, Jed?”

“Eh…”

“Are you playing, Jed?”

It’s Trajan who is speaking, waiting to deal, waiting for me. I manage to leave my cock alone.

In fact they’re all waiting for me.

“Sure I’m in,” as I slide the ante to the middle of the table, trying not to think about the rubber boy beneath it, trying to look as if my hands were doing something innocent beneath the table.

I let them check their cards out first.

Watching them before I look at my own.

Two pairs, two queens and two queens with card left to one side.

I always see pairs no matter what my hand is, forcing my eyes to jump as I look along the line.

Marcellus takes two cards. Claudius stays pat and for me.

“One card.”

I slide one back, unwanted it flickers and vanishes. Trajan slides one back to me, I make the effort to look at it before placing it at the end of my line of cards, with an oh so quick glance at the middle of my hand.

Trajan takes one.

Lets see, if I’m right $400 from the ante then $800, then $1600, Marcellus raises it to $400 and we’re on $1100 now and it’s Claudius, he should hesitate and if I’m right, if I’m right.

“Fold,” he says.

He took a heavy hit wit his last hand.

“I’ll see your $400 and raise you by $100.” Ignoring Claudius and just locking my eyes with Marcellus.

“I’ll see your $500 and raise you $500,” from Trajan. I keep my eyes locked on Marcellus as I my pulse quickens.

“Very good, Trajan, I’ll see your $1000 and raise you $1000, over to you boy.”

I hesitate, I really do hesitate, I swallow hard, hoping that my bluff of being nervous hides the fact that I really am.

I decide it’s better not to speak. I simply slide two $1000 dollar chips out to the center of the table where my hand meets Trajans.

“I’ll see your 2000 dollars boy and raise you another 2000.”

“I’m in,” from Marcellus.

And then it’s back to me, and I slide another $4000 into the middle.

A pause. Trajan starts to think about his hand.

“And,” I say, “and I’ll raise you $1000.”

“Very well, boy, I’ll see your $5000,” and Trajan is still in.

And then, and then the break I need, I need Marcellus to be smart before I get burned.

“Fold,” he says.

And yes, and I do a quick bit of maths. I just need one more round and then there be enough to buy back Josh and get out of here.

“I’ll see you 5000,” I say.

Trajan slides across a single $5000 chip.

“Let me tell you what you’re going to do now, Boy. You’re going to call me.”

Trajan is looking amused.

Smiling at me.

“Let me tell you what I think.”

And he pauses, letting me hang.

“I think you’re holding four of a kind.”

I try not to react. He’s just fishing trying to psyche me out.

“I’ll tell you for nothing, I’ve a straight flush.”

I try and read him, but I’m getting nothing, nothing, except what I can see, him just grinning at me.

“Now you cant go on, you don’t have the cash … or the credit.”

Still nothing from him, nothing I can hold.

“So you have two choices. You put another $10000 and call me. Or you can fold.”

Fuck! I’m biting my lip, I turn my head away but I’m not sure it helps.

“Let me give you a third choice, Jed.”

I find I have to look back at him, feeling trapped by his eyes as they look through me.

“I’ll let you call me for $5000. If you put those white leggings of yours onto the table.”

There is a long pause before I speak.

“I’ll see you for $5000.”

I move my hands down to my hips, pressing my thumbs under the elasticised waist. I slowly work the leggings down, shifting my weight to expose my ass, and then my cock is free, not erect now as I peel the gear from my legs before reaching down I pull it out and put it down on the table.

I don’t have a choice, there’s $24 500 on the table, just enough to win Josh back but even without that I’d still make the same decision.

“I’ll call you.”

I slide my virtual cards back onto the table top. Tapping each card twice and they blink and seem to turn over the six of diamonds and then one, two and three and four queens.

I look up at him, fairly sure, fairly confident.

He just taps the table top five times, and all his cards flick over in one go as the display changes.

7 8 9 10 JACK all Diamonds.

“I wasn’t lying about the straight flush, boy.”

He reaches across to claim the pot as I watch my chips vanish. He then picks up my under armour and examines the stain at the front.

“I see you’ve been getting excited, boy,” before draping it over the back of his chair, letting me see it hang there like a trophy.

My pad lights up.

PLAYER: JED/06

CASH: $ 028 700

CREDIT: $ 020 000

BETS: POKER $17 900

And then blinks.

PLAYER: JED/06

CASH: $ 010 800

CREDIT: $ 020 000 RED

BETS: NONE

I sit back defeated, on a real downer, suddenly very conscious of being naked from the waist down.

“Well are you in, boy?”

It’s Trajan.

I look at him.

I look at my under armour behind him.

“Yeah, deal me in.”

The next hand I was down to $8000 or so and the next saw me on $5000 an then I knew I was finished, one raise to $5000 and I was out of the game. And the last hand three tens two sevens I had to call Claudius with everything I had, about $2000 on the table and he had four threes.

I watch my chips vanish, slumping forward onto the table.

My pad lights up one single message.

ACCOUNT JED/06 CLOSED

There is a hand on my shoulder.

“I think you had better come with me.”

I follow Marcus back to the cloak room.

Unit One is waiting for me.

The two black statues are there as well.

They hold me between them.

“Put out your leg, Jed,” Marcus says behind me.

Unit One slips my right foot through what looks like a pair of rubber briefs.

“Now the other one.”

He works the trunks up my legs.

I just stare down, watching them get closer and closer.

They have a cup on the front.

I can feel how smooth this rubber skin is as he slips my balls and cock into some kind of compartment at the front.

And then he’s done and he steps back, his hands by his side. He doesn’t even look, he just turns, rotates and then paces off to stand in the open elevator.

I’m looking down at the trunks, they’re shiny enough, but apart from the cup at the front they look rather loose.

“Activate C6.”

The folds and wrinkles in the rubber move and then vanish, as it seems to shrink onto into my skin tighter and tighter, putting pressure on everything thing except my cock and balls, which seem to be floating somewhere inside. I try and touch them and feel nothing but the firm surface that makes up the front of the suit. I look down to see only a pair of tight rubber boxers on me, so tight they seem to be part of my skin.

I’ve seen this before. I’ve seen it on Josh.

“Welcome to chastity, Jed.”

“Unit one will see you out.”