Tag Archives: rubber

Substance Abuse

By lthr_jock

PC Keith Phillips checked his watch and sighed – still an hour to go before the end of his shift. Tonight had been a long, frustrating evening and while he had been busy earlier, the last couple of hours had been quiet and he had been patrolling on foot on his own. The usually busy streets were empty due to a combination of a fine drizzle and the fact that it was three days before Christmas. He sighed again as he turned to head back towards the station. On nights like this, he really wished he had a police dog to keep him company.

Keith took out his phone in the forlorn hope that someone would have texted him – no luck. Everyone he knew apart from work colleagues was probably asleep. As he resigned himself to a miserable trudge back through the silent streets, he caught sight of a car’s headlights shining out from a garage block. The block was at the end of a narrow, darkened lane and he had often found people up there shooting up. At this time of night, any light was unusual so he squared his shoulders inside his stab vest and walked up the lane.

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My Rubber and Bondage Life

By Hothardhat

Hothardhat’s rubber and bondage life, and its development over the years, is a bit of a saga. Like so many rubberist life stories, this one began in early childhood. It is an oft-told tale, usually revolving around yearning to pull on a pair of dad’s knee-high Wellies or some such activity. Well, this narrative is not much different. Dad always purchased his rubber boots at the local Army-Navy store. There are not too many of those around any more. Dad would sometimes go into one of these emporiums of all things delightful to a five year old budding rubber fetishist (hothardhat not yet understanding these impulses).

Dad typically marched in there to get stuff for hunting and fishing. No matter Dad’s objective, son Darren (Hothardhat’s real-life moniker) would insist on going along, just to breathe in all the wonderful smells found there. Yes, those places exuded the most delicious aromas of rubber and leather. There before Darren would be 16 inch high olive drab pacs (as they were called), thigh length hip boots and even chest waders, the ultimate. Yes, those were, indeed, wonderful stores.

There were times little Darren would sneak into his father’s closet and poke his stick-like legs into the big rubber pacs. And then try to shuffle around the room with these oversize boots almost falling off his feet. He had no clue as to why he was doing this. It just was fun, and he was inexorably drawn to these items.

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