Lyle grinned as two trees of just the right size came into view. He'd been planning this trip for a while. It was the very definition of "me time." Not only did he not *need* anyone else for what he had in mind, he didn't even *want* anyone to know what he was planning. Everything about this trip was about ensuring maximum solitude. No one knew where he was going, and he'd hiked far into the woods and far enough off the beaten path to make sure he wouldn't have any unexpected visitors. And now, with these trees at just the right spacing and just the right thickness, it was time to put his plan into motion. And that plan was?
... He was going to suck his own dick.
It seemed like an absurd goal--it was certainly a selfish one--but over the last few years it had gone from a juvenile bit of day dreaming to a point of near obsession. He'd started taking yoga classes. He'd started working one his flexibility and making serious self-suck attempts during basically any time he was confident his boyfriend or his particularly nosey roommates weren't going to peek at what he was up to. He'd gotten *close*, but never quite got all the way. If his man could be trusted, Lyle had world-class blowjob skills, and today he would not rest until he'd gotten a taste of himself. Today was the day, he was sure of it. Because today he h ad *technology.*
He unfurled a huge rectangle of thick, shiny, stretchy material. Early on he'd discovered that a hammock was the best way to help himself fold as tightly as he needed to. It curved under his weight, accentuating his attempts to curl into a ball, but it wasn't perfect. It didn't quite sag enough to fully support his contorting body. Also, his technique was, in a word, vigorous. Three times, just when he could feel his lips brushing their target, his desperate humping had dislodged him from the hammock. That was not an injury he would have wanted to explain if he'd hurt himself in the fall. So he needed something that'd hold on tighter and stretch a little more. This new hammock promised to be just what the doctor ordered. It was so-called "bio-philic latex," designed to "hug users like a second skin" and "conform to every nuance of anatomy with stretchy comfort." It was the perfect solution.
After fumbling with the best knot he could manage--knots were not his strong suit--he had the hammock mounted nice and high. High enough that it was hard to climb into. He knew he'd need a *lot* of sag to fold himself properly, and he didn't want to risk bottoming out rust as things were getting good. When all was in readiness, there was nothing to it but to do it. he stripped down, revealing his toned and athletic build, and awkwardly scrambled up to the hammock. The latex felt warm and grippy against his skin, instantly conforming perfectly to his bare back. It probably would have grabbed his thighs and calves just as firmly, but he'd already kicked both legs up. A quick shift and reach caught his legs behind his elbows and he carefully eased them back so they could hook around his neck. Almost before he'd even started trying, he felt his own tip brush against his lips. Part of it was the combination of his own excitement and the oddly sensual caress of the latex sheet, but he'd popped a near instantaneous and achingly intense boner. Already off to a good start.
He began to work, determined to get a taste of his own medicine. Flexes of his legs pulled his head lower. Thrusts of his contorted hips drove his cock closer. Each movement produced a soft, rubbery creak from the hammock and stretched it just that much more. As the rubber sheet tried to ease back at the end of each thrust, he could feel it tugging on his back, actually pulling him forward a bit. Just a few minutes of effort had brought the tip of his dick into kissing distance with each thrust. It wasn't much, and when he tried to slurp it up he probably looked more than a little like a horse trying to pluck an apple from a handler's hands with its lips, but it was a start. Even those brief hints of softness and warmth against the head of his cock were sinfully motivating. He had to feel more.
A few more minutes of trial and error taught him if he timed his thrusts with the proper rhythm, there was a bit of a feedback loop he could take advantage of. He would bounce and swing, his weight pressing harder into the hammock, wrapping him tighter, driving his cock closer to the throat it was destined to fill. Then he'd spring back up to give himself even more momentum to use on the next thrust. He was coming closer to well and truly fucking his own face with each bounce. Now the hammock was wrapping him so tight during the downstroke that it actually closed over him, briefly enclosing him fully in latex before bouncing him back so high he would have been slingshotted into the branches if the stuff wasn't also clinging comfortably to his skin. The hammock was going absolutely wild, swinging back and forth until he was nearly upside down on some swings. But he was so close. So *close.*
With one final flex and thrust, just as the stretch and swing reached their zenith, he finally did it. It was everything he'd hoped it would be. He felt his girthy shaft slide deep into his mouth. He locked his lips around it and savored the sensation of his skilled tongue curling around it. Suddenly the world seemed far away, he was there in his dark, snug cocoon, his mouth stuffed with his own cock, his to suckle and pleasure in ways no one else ever could. Latex squeaked and creaked all around him, and almost without effort he could feel his tip nudging deeper. He relaxed his throat to accept it, denying his gag reflex so he could properly milk himself. His body shuddered and quivered, pleasure washing over his mind, blotting out observations which should have been concerning. Observations like the swinging had shifted from back and forth to full, twisting rotations. Observations like the slow, continuous creak of latex as each twist squeezed him tighter. All he knew was, without effort, his cock was driving deeper. Before long his own balls were pressed firmly against his chin, and he was giving himself the most wanton, lustful, indulgent deepthroat he'd ever given and ever experienced.
~~~
In the outside world, Lyle's predicament couldn't be clearer. Already he was wrapped so tight in the latex sheet he was barely recognizable as a curled up person. The rubber was stretched lewdly over his ass, the only part of him that was still noticeably anatomical, but the rest was just muted series of bumps and curves. And the whole bundle was still spinning, still packing tighter. Each rotation squeezed him just that little bit more. Each revolution muted any visible details further. In a prolonged, squeaky spin, he went from folded hunk to giant tootsie roll... and the bundle was still spinning.
~~~
John trudged through the woods. All in all, this had been a pretty lousy hiking trip. It had been cloudy and overcast. He'd been hoping for some good photo opportunities but there hadn't been so much as the hint of wildlife. He was moments away from deciding to just go home and call the whole trip a bust when he saw something odd in the distance. Strung between two trees, stretched so taut that the trees themselves had bowed toward it, was a shiny rubber ball with twisted threads of rubber coming off each side. As he got closer, there wasn't much more information to explain what exactly he was looking at, though he *did* find a scattered pile of abandoned clothes and some camping supplies.
"What in the world..." John mused, stepping up to the rubber ball.
It was perfectly spherical, save for the slightly pinched ends where the twisted rubber stretched away from it. When he drummed his fingers on the outside of the ball, he found it pleasantly firm, like a well-inflated dodgeball, and about that size as well. It was also oddly warm to the touch, considering how chilly afternoon had gotten. He looked around to see if anyone had left a note or something to explain this odd bit of wilderness decoration, but there was nothing. Nothing, except...
He squinted and leaned closer. It was almost inaudible, but when he placed his ear right against the ball, he could hear the subtlest of suckling sounds. With each suckle, the ball twitched ever so slightly. He placed his palms against the ball and gave it a roll in the direction opposite the twist, but it didn't do any good. The rubber that had been twisted up had basically fused.
"Weird..." he muttered. "Hello? Is this anybody's?"
No answer but the echo of his own voice. He wasn't sure why, but he decided this was the sort of thing that warranted further investigation. He popped out his hunting knife, supported the ball with one hand, and sawed through the rubber twist on one side. Instantly, the ball yanked out of his hand when the tension was released, launching toward the other tree and bouncing off with a hollow *PONT* before rebounding directly at his chest. He caught it and stumbled back. It was heavier than it looked. And even several seconds after hitting the tree, the whole ball was jiggling and wobbling. He could swear there was something muffled coming from inside the ball, but he couldn't make it out. A few more swipes freed the ball, and he tucked it under his arm for the return trip.
A few hours later, he was seated at his dining room table in his large, empty apartment. Attempts to untwist the rubber threads weren't any more successful in his home, so he'd decided the best course of action was to very carefully put an Xacto knife to work. That weird sucking sound hadn't stopped, so he was confident the tree impact from earlier and the car ride hadn't broken it, so it was fairly sturdy. But still, best to take care.
The moment he nicked the surface of the ball, the tiny opening created by the blade caused the rubber wrapping to snap open quickly enough to launch the thing off the table.
"What the hell?" he yelped, dashing around to the other side of the table to find the bouncing ball.
When he grabbed it, the first thing he noticed was that it was just as smooth and glossy unwrapped as it had been with the rubber sheet on it. It was also just as warm, but the color had changed. Rather than the forest green of the rubber outer layer, it was a tannish brown, the very color of the tanned skin he'd hoped to come home with on his little weekend away. And there was something else too. On the side facing him, there was a little puckered indent, the only thing marring the otherwise perfectly smooth surface besides some faint lines that may have been a design. He gave the dimple an experimental poke, and to his surprise, it "winked" at him, pulling just that bit tighter for a moment before relaxing. And before his eyes, the whole ball changed color, subtly shifting to a more reddish shade. The quiet suckling noise, now much less muffled, became even louder, and quicker too. Confused, he spun the ball in his hand and found an even bigger surprise waiting just below the dimple.
It was a man's face, or most of it. The face was upside down. Everything below the upper lip was hidden, and at first it wasn't clear what it was hidden by. The eyes were gorgeous brown beauties, and they were absolutely gazing right at his, cheeks beneath them a beet red. In his shock to find the cute--albeit squished--man's face, John hadn't noticed that the suckling sound had suddenly stopped. But a moment after he'd spun the ball so that the face was upright, it happened again, and finally he understood what he was looking at.
The sound of slow, savory suckles started to fill the room. Each one was accompanied by a creaky, rubbery twitch of the compressed face, roughly in the mouth area. John's brain followed the lines that made up the "design" on the ball. This was a leg, wrapped up and around... which meant the little dimple was his asshole... and the thing was his mouth was...
"Well aren't *you* the talented one..." John said, a blush on his own cheeks.
The sucking sped up a bit. For a second or two, John just watched, his own breathing becoming deeper and more sultry as the reality of the situation started to sink in. He was holding a whole man. A whole *stud* of a man, if the subtle lines of formerly defined muscles had anything to say about it. He was warm, smooth, and helpless. And now, as John felt his glossy skin get warmer, the balled up man was looking him in the eye and sucking himself off harder and faster. This man... this *toy*, was his to do with as he pleased.
He could feel his own cock straining against his jeans. Awkwardly, unwilling to release the ball from his grip for even a moment, he reached behind his back with one hand and grabbed his shirt, pulling it off so he could feel the warm, twitching smoothness of his new toy against his bare chest. Then he teased his hand under the ball and tugged his zipper. A little bit of finagling allowed his cock to spring up from the fly of his briefs. He carefully placed a hand on either side of the ball and kept his eyes locked on those of the toy. Slowly he lowered it down. Down. Down until he could feel his tip against the tight pucker. The eyes staring into his widened briefly, and the smoldering blush was joined by an almost imperceptible curl of lips around the self-sucking ball's cock. He shifted his sucking to something slower and more purposeful. John twisted him this way and that and pushed. With an almost comical, drawn-out squeak, his cock started to sink into the tightest, warmest hole he'd ever felt. Muscles inside clutched and squeezed at him, but accepted him inch by inch until he'd managed to wriggle his full length into the waiting asshole. He started to bob the ball, slowly at first, but soon he abandoned moderation. It wasn't like this was the only time he'd be humping this thing. Who cared if the first time went quick?
He leaned back and shut his eyes to focus on the sensation, pistoning the tight ball on his shaft as the suckling became hungrier and more desperate. It felt so good. But as tight and moist as it was, it wasn't enough. He wanted more.
He stood, ball still impaled on his length, and dashed to the bedroom. He practically dove on to the bed, planting the ball firmly beneath him and humping into it with all of his weight. Now the suckling sound was joined by a loud squeak and a quiet, appreciative whimper with each thrust. He was practically bouncing up into the air on each back stroke as the ball rebounded after each thrust. He gritted his teeth and did everything he could to hold off, to tease that much more pleasure out of the forthcoming climax. Then, finally, it came. He grunted and rolled to the side, curling himself around the ball and hugging it to his chest as he shook and shot jet after jet into the toy. The ball was quivering and slurping, each suckle ending with a quiet gulp as he evidently milked a few spurts of himself at the same time. He rolled to his back when his balls were finally drained, breathless and sweaty. His cock slowly slithered from the tight hole.
For a few minutes of afterglow, he just gazed at the shiny ball as it sucked itself dry and kept its gaze firmly locked on John's eyes. The refractory period seemed to come to a swift and sudden end when something dawned upon John. As his cock started to rise to attention for another round, he smirked at his toy.
"Room for one more?" he asked, raising the ball up and twisting it face first to his cock.
He pulled the ball toward him and started to angle his tip to press against the corner of the ball's mouth. It wasn't clear if this would work--the mouth almost looked painted on--but it was worth a try. He twisted and wriggled the thing, pulling harder and harder, and then ***POP***, he managed to cram his cock into the ball's mouth right alongside its own. The eyes widened again, then almost ravenously he felt the tongue and throat go to work.
John tilted his head back and smiled.
"You're going to be a lot of fun..."