Masks/Faces (Suggested Story)

“Isn’t that one of those weird masks that those guys were wearing out there?” Paul said, picking the black rubber mask off the floor of the hallway. The party was ramping up inside, and the two of them had stepped away from the main dance floor for a second to cool off, and to make out in a quieter place.

“Fuck, all of those guys give me the creeps,” Jack said, “I never really understood the whole rubber thing.”

Paul looked down at the mask in his hand. It was made of black rubber, and designed to look like a masculine face when you put it on, with a heavy brow, broad chin, and stern facial expression. The group that Ken was talking about had shown up to the party about half an hour before, all of them wearing full body rubber outfits. There had been two guys in masks like this, who were clearly the doms of the group. The rest had all seemed to have a different kind of mask on—drone, gas mask, a rubber pup hood, and various others. “These things are expensive—why would you take it off and just leave it around?”

“It’s gross Paul, that thing must be soaked with sweat.”

“It’s totally dry, actually.”

“I don’t care. Come on, let’s go back and dance some more.”

Paul never liked passing up an opportunity to get his boyfriend’s goat, so he pulled on the mask, pushing it around so he could see through the eye holes. “How do I look? Dominant? Intimidating?”

Sexy…

Paul gave a little start at the additional word. He’d…heard it, but not from Jack. From somewhere…else. A deep voice, deeper than his own was. Rugged and…commanding.

Let’s see how sexy we look…

There it was again. This time, less like a voice, and more…more like a thought. Paul convinced himself rather quickly that it must have been his own, because he was rather curious. He wanted to see what it looked like.

“Take that thing off! You look like a freak.”

“Hold on, let’s find a mirror. I wanna see what it looks like.”

Jack just gave a heavy sigh. “I’m going back to the dance floor. I’m not making out with a face like that.”

Jack waited a second to see if Paul would come to his senses, take the mask off, and follow him. When he didn’t, he turned in a huff and stomped away. That would be an argument later, but right now, Paul wanted to find a mirror.

The party was taking place in retrofitted warehouse, and away from the busy dance floor, there was a maze of hallways where later on in the evening, guys would be having sex. For now, Paul found an old bathroom that hadn’t been remodeled yet, and slipped inside. The mirror was dusty and unwashed, but he could see the mask on his face well enough. It was disconcerting, seeing a face that wasn’t his staring back at him in the glass.

We look much better than your old face…

Paul was young and twinkish, with boyish charm that had gotten him far with other guys, but looking at this mask, he started to realize what it was missing. It had no authority. He didn’t look like someone who was important, someone manly.

Someone worthy of service.

This face—no, this mask, he corrected himself—it was totally different. The smooth, bald head, the deep set eyes that hid his own through the holes, the broad nose, the lips almost twisted into a sneer. This was the face of someone who dominated. Someone who took control, who deserved to be in control.

Yes, we should be in control.

Paul realized how hard he’d gotten, just staring at himself in the mirror. He was wearing a rather skimpy spandex outfit—he’d checked his street clothes away earlier.

We’d look better in rubber. We’d be so hot, wouldn’t we?

This was all becoming a bit too much. It was hot inside the mask, Paul could feel himself starting to sweat. He should take it off.

No—we can’t have that. Don’t we look so much better this way? We’re in control. We know what you need…

The door swung open, and someone entered the bathroom. Paul quickly put his cock away in his outfit, though he couldn’t hide his hard on, and didn’t have time to take off the mask. The person who entered though, was one of the rubbermen from earlier—not one of the doms in a mask like the one he’d found, but one of the submissives. He hadn’t gotten close enough to any of them to really see just how completely they were covered in rubber—in fact, he couldn’t even see the entry point of the man’s suit, or a place where his hood could be removed. The submissive’s hood was perfectly smooth—no ears, no nose, and no eyes. There weren’t even pinpricks like some Paul had seen before. There was just a mouth—except it wasn’t really a mouth. It was puckered, more like an anus, and it was situated too high on the mask—right in the middle of the thing’s face, more where the nose should have been. The thing got down on it’s knees in front of Paul, and then did nothing more.

We will use it. We want to use it. It needs to be used, it needs to service us. Let us enjoy it’s service.

The thing’s mouth drooled something dark and sticky onto the floor. Part of Paul was disgusted at the thought of putting his cock anywhere near that strange thing’s hole, but before he realized it, his hands had pulled his cock out of his spandex and pushed it against the thing’s pucker. He hadn’t wanted to do that, had he? Or did some part of him want it? Was that a part of him at all? It was getting harder and harder to think in the mask, it was so hot and wet. He could feel the sweat running down the inside of the mask and onto his chest.

“Yes, we will fuck it. We will fuck it, and it will serve well.”

Had he said that? He could almost hear the echo in the tiled bathroom, but he hadn’t thought those words. Distracted, he hadn’t noticed his hands wrapping around the back of the thing’s head, gripping the smooth rubber, feeling his hands…indent the drone’s smooth dome, almost like there was no skull inside, just soft, pliable, fuckable rubber. He thrust his cock inside, feeling the sticky substance coat his cock, and when he pulled it out, he saw it was coated in black latex, before he thrust it inside the thing’s hole again. Each time, the rubber built up another layer, slowly but surely making his cock thicker and longer with each thrust. He looked up and saw himself in the mirror, and noticed something else. The sensation of sweat running down his face and onto his chest—it wasn’t sweat. It was liquid rubber. He could see the dark globs running down his chest, leaving streaks of black behind. Desperately, Paul tried to regain control of his hands, of his body, but couldn’t—something had hijacked control—he was a prisoner in his own mind.

The door opened again, and this time, the other two doms walked in. This close, Paul could see the detail, how their masks moved and twitched in an almost lifelike way. It wasn’t a mask at all—it…it was a face.

“How are we coming along in here?” one of the doms said. The voice—he knew the voice. It was the same one that he’d heard in his head, the same one that had spoken out loud a few moments before.

“Good. The body is strong, but the mind was very weak. We have already taken control. Assimilation will be quick.”

It came from his mouth, the exact same voice. Paul tried to scream, tried to wrest control away, but it was so hot. It felt like his mind was cooking, boiling alive. It was so hard to think, so hard to focus or concentrate. Paul only lasted a few more minutes, before the last bits of his individuality were converted to rubber, the mask sealing itself, becoming a new face as the doms worked to cover their new host in rubber, sculpting it, building it into an exact replica of the others, broad shouldered, muscular, with a massive, permanently erect rubber cock. When they were satisfied, the three doms and the sub left the bathroom. Now that they were threefold, they could afford to add a few more submissives to their flock.