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Reign of Rubber

"You're not allowed to tell that story to anyone else for another few weeks." Miles tells his friends under the loudness of energetic dance music. Their focus is towards the gripping conversation that has ended, and with many of the details shared with the relief of finally getting it off his chest.

It's been a few years since the black-ops with his father, and they are less than a month away from the story being declassified. A lengthy set piece that he personally feels completes the saga of him becoming the son that followed in his father's footsteps. This tale is full of drama, sci-fi, and very experimental suits, best told in secrecy. Which is why the rebranded Sexy Studs, now called Latex Lair, felt the most appropriate place to tell such a story in.

"We won't, don't worry." Adrian nods, closing the visor of his motorcycle helmet in the process. And he lifts it back up, gesturing to Alex who is also wearing a similar outfit; a rubber-based motorcycle suit in a dashing helmet resembling a dragon. His own looks more like a dog, and they both turn to Miles with the helmet of a wolf. Whereas Joel is the 'odd' one out, with his neoprene pup-gear, inclusive of the small dildo tail lodged up his rear.

On the surface, no one else in this club knows who they are. In the same way they know no one else either. Their group is sitting on a set of cushioned sofas surrounding a laminated wooden table, next to a dance floor full of masked horny guests. Latex Lair, living up to its name, boasts costumes that have helmets, animal masks, gas masks, and the ever-elusive kinky scuba-wear. Damn shame these folks can't appreciate the lovely apricot smell that goes around this place, or the strong booze being shared around. Even VIPs get it at half price. And then there are these 'masters' who bring their submissive 'pets' on leashes, whether to the dance floor, the bathroom, or plethora of bedrooms for them to enjoy themselves in. As long as people consent and no one gets hurt real bad, everything's fine. Even the weapon incident almost a decade ago seems like a far distant memory.

Miles glances around through his visor and he makes sure that all he knows here are his friends. The anonymity of this place for himself and the others keep his mind off of such stresses. And when he returns his look back to his boyfriend, and his best friend and his husband, he raises a shot glass of whiskey to their future, and that it will always have time for fun. He, Alex, and Adrian take swigs, while Joel has his served on a bowl and he laps off of it.

Alex scoffs whenever he does that, baffled at the bearded dragon's commitment. Pup play's an interesting kink but it's not something he can invest into, nor play the part. But he finds it ironic that Joel's partner, Adrian, is the actual dog in their relationship.

"How long have you been into pup stuff?" Miles asks him, refilling everyone's swigs from an almost empty bottle of whiskey.

Joel gulps down what he's lapped up and giggles warm on booze, "Since Adrian and I have been married. Second evening of our honeymoon." He recalls.

Adrian nods in agreement, whistling the fun times they had.

He gestures to his neoprene gear, "These are new though. The old one started chafing." Smooth polyester-like surface, predominantly black with a sand-color accent to connote his partner's fur color. Hard to see, however, under the pink hue of the dance floor.

"What should we do when we get to our honeymoon phase?" Alex nudges Miles, teasing him about such prospects.

But the wolf's heart skipped a beat, almost like the future rapidly approaches him, flashing in front of his eyes. It surprises him that it's not from danger his job has him accustomed to– no. It's celebrating life with someone else, and he doesn't know when to proceed with that, remaining silent.

Alex laughs it off for him before things get too awkward, patting his shoulder to ease him. "Sorry," he whispers to him. And he shifts the subject, "How long till our room is ready?"

Miles pecks his cheek, "It's okay, dear. Our room'll be ready in an hour at least."

"Did you get us anything fancy?" Adrian asks, looking at the long set of doors across the dance floor.

"Clean-up and a replacement bed," Miles explains. "Last tenants were too rough apparently."

[i]Thirty minutes earlier…[/i]

Another wolf struts down these halls. He also dons a rubber and latex suit made for and by motorcyclists. Even dons a helmet of his kin, black with red glowing visors. The guests look at him with awe, and the employees wave at him like an old friend.

This wolf, after all, is a long-time VIP of Sexy Studs, and even among the first ten to enter the Latex Lair. Known to some as the 'Alpha Wolf', to himself as the 'Rubber Ranger', and the several jokes of his presence bringing the 'Reign of Rubber', he is: Dexter Fennix. A legend outside of the establishment in the same way he is inside, except no one knows about either. None of his peers know about this place, and he hopes his son Miles doesn't know about it either, let alone his friends or even his boyfriend.

His first stop tonight is at the large bar that caters to the dance floor, and to its own private room where guests treat themselves to discounted alcohol, or under-the-table blowjobs and handjobs. The big black leather-cased wolf strides between the seats, the texture of his suit bouncing the colorful lights within the room. He attracts wolf-whistles from other drinkers, even those so-called 'masters' who march their pets around.

"The Alpha himself, 30-year Scotch per usual?" The ferret bartender already motions fetching a full bottle of liquid gold on the top shelf.

"Thanks Dennis," he grabs the bottle and exchanges it with ten one-hundred CAD bills. "Here's the tip."

The ferret pockets it immediately, and starts working on the next drink. "Have a fun evening, Alpha."

Dexter nods and raises the bottle to him before stepping out, reading the label on the bottle of scotch that's almost half his age. A fine strong drink that's technically free, but he's an excellent tipper. The older it is, the better the kick in bed, and he'll be seeing a lot of himself tonight. Maybe even have an 'old friend' pay a visit.

Back onto the dance floor, his room is the fourth in a line of ten, opened by a special key he hides in his neck fluff. Before he enters, though, he notices the room across has about five big black bulls, and one shorter brown cow all grabbing each other's asses, flirting between themselves before entering their room.

"That cow's not gonna be walking for a week," he remarks to himself as he enters his own room.

There's little change done to his tailored room because he's already been ahead of the curve long before they became the Latex Lair. A large bed, a series of mirrors on walls that surround the room, a small hot tub in the corner, and a stripper pole on its personal stage on the opposite side. Everything under a sexy red hue, with a scent of his own musk, mixed in with homegrown roses. The last part is a new trend that he's been hearing about; personalized scents. Almost like a custom perfume without the expensive brand name to it, or the use of exotic ingredients. He has a one liter bottle of it that he had the staff fill the hidden sprayers around the room. There's more personality to this place, and the thought of it sports him a throbbing bulge under all that rubber.

Dexter marches to the center of the room, of course himself being the center of attention. He is surrounded by his personal subordinates– reflections of himself. The fact that he exists in a space that could truly grasp himself makes him far superior than the rest of his selves, but he can imagine it for them. In the same way he imagines them staring in awe, with more lust and love than his peers outside the room. The other Dexters have their cocks out already, leaking imaginary pre, and others even stroking themselves at the sight of the Latex Alpha.

"Me, myself, and I!" The real Dexter announces, walking around with his arms raised, one holding the bottle of scotch. His other selves howl in awe, a harmony of horny wolves singing his tune. That's the noise he wants to hear, sending pleasurable shivers through his body, and his tail wags at the pace a hummingbird flaps its wings. He says to himself, "If only there's technology to pull you guys out of here. Not only will we turn Canada to an unstoppable force of nature, every night will be a fun night for all of me." And they all howl in affirmation once more.

There's about twenty of them that surround him, and trapped behind the supposed glass. And while the technology is truly not there yet, Dexter does have a way of getting them out, and all it takes him is a good swig of the bottle in hand, followed by the warmth sliding down his throat. He mellows down as the gentle AC can no longer match the build up of heat in his body, and in his suit. This method doubles his doppelgangers, who are also stepping through the mirror's borders, parading themselves over to the Latex Alpha. Plenty of hands are soon all over him, touching his pristine muscles bulging from the latex surface of his outfit, as are his glutes, and his toned thighs. But they know to respect his authority, that they may not touch his massive cock yet until he himself has.

"Who am I?" Dexter asks them, expectant of the obvious answer. He loves to hear it.

"Latex! Alpha!" They chant over and over again.

Music to his ears rivaling his howls. He imagines a world where that is what the wolves sing to the moon. For a moment he closes his eyes and intensifies the visualization of his surroundings; the mirrored walls fall down as the ceiling is plucked away by an invisible hand. And all the furniture has gone too; he's no longer inside.

Dexter has gotten better at projecting himself that he can mimic the gentle breeze combing his fur, flowing between his legs making him tingle. Even the minty scent of evening forest dew. The landscape is a dark evergreen, washed under a gentle red light of the moon. In this world, it is the center of everything where even the stars are rubies twinkling in the skies. The darkness between the tree trunks surrounding him have red eyes gazing, followed by all the handsome Dexters walking through them and congregating around him.

He is in his happy place. "Welcome home, Latex Alpha," the countless near-perfect replicas say together. And he commands them with a simple thought: howl in his name.

All the Dexters look towards the red sky, creating an intense pink shade through the already-red visors. And they howl out his name, a long echoing voice calling onto the 'Latex Alpha'.

The real Dexter shudders, feeling the weight of their words onto his shoulder. His studded muscles can carry it with no sweat, and his loud thumping chest can maintain his composure to an otherwise exciting phenomena. It's all about him, and he stands above the rest. He has to look and act the part after all. And soon it returns to the chanting in his name. "Come here," he gestures to the Dexter closest in front of him, and those surrounding him cheered him on for being chosen.

"Yes, Latex Alpha?" His reflection wonders. Behind the visor are starry-eyes, and a gleeful smile containing his excitement, whereas his loins below twitch blatantly.

"Let me assess you," he says to him, causing him to stand with his heels touching, and arms raised and spread outward. He inspects his 'self', and true to the word he assesses his ass; firm, and the latex uniform brings out its curves. "That's a fine ass." He proclaims.

"Your ass is finer, sir," the reflection says what he truly wants to hear.

"That I do," Dexter spanks him, satisfied with his body and his remark. And the more he paces around him, he often finds his eyes fixated on the growing length pinned against his left leg. Dexter feels himself up as he watches with keen need to touch it too. "I like what I'm seeing."

He doesn't answer, except shifts his position to standing at attention like a soldier would; both feet a meter apart, and both hands held behind his back. The real Colonel is walking around and inspecting his 'goods'.

Very hard and wanting, feeling it twitch as he courses his hand along the rubber. His doppelganger lets out a low howl-like moan, and seems to be on the verge of his own climax. But Dexter knows himself better than anyone else– he will resist. Always fun to tease though. Those surrounding them watch in awe, touching themselves like they did earlier. Some are trying to copy what he's doing too. Everyone is inspecting each other, and the real Dexter only needs the common gaze for the rest to fathom his glory.

It's time to up the ante, "Everyone stand at attention!" Dexter orders them. And like good soldiers, they comply sharply, snapping into a standing position. He's kind enough to let their cocks throb at least because he's in a good mood after all. And he walks in between them. Countless lookalikes who maintain a stone face behind their visors. Their eyes don't follow as he passes by, likewise his only focus is below their waists. Once he returns to the center of their formation, he asks, "Do you want to see what a real alpha looks like?"

"Yes sir!" They answer together in one voice, echoing through the night.

Dexter flexes his body, showing off the outline of his curves, abs, and glutes. For a moment he feels the cool AC breeze, substituted by pseudo forest winds. He feels the cold winds blow between his legs, the smallest gaps of his thighs and his plump nuts jiggling surrounded by its rubber sac shape, and how his musk builds up all inside his suit. Much more potent than his custom scent too, and his primary weapon stands at attention. "This is what an Alpha looks like!" He declares.

On cue, his doppelgangers look at him in awe. He feels the tingles on their arms, the thumps of their hearts with temptation to reach out and touch him. They're all an excitable bunch like he himself, but they must wait. Dexter rubs his own arms, feeling the thickness of his muscles, and flexes them at intervals that his dick throbs too. He hears their breathing, hearing their want to caress his fur, along with their subtle whining. They will get their reward soon. "Do you like this, boys?" He struts around, teasing his biggest fans. They can only look but not touch after all. Once he's gone a full circle, he strikes a pose. His muscles throb and bounce as he returns to his VIP room back in the Latex Lair. The reflections are once again behind the mirrors, while he himself is the performer about to go on stage.

"On with the show!" He steps up on the corner platform, holding onto the stripper pole as he revolves around it. A taste of his performance, and until now only realizes that the tune playing is in his head alone. He chuckles, feigning the small mistake, and walks over to the small button panel next to him and plays a jazzy tune on low. His fans still need to hear his voice after all.

Dexter starts his routine by clasping himself against the pole, leaning against it. He takes a spin around before lifting himself, flexing his upper body strength, and then turning around to revolve around it while his bulge rubs against the warm steel. His fans step out of their mirrors again, watching him with awe. Cheers, literal wolf-whistles, and others making sexual hand gestures. It does give him an idea. And he slows himself down as the song's verse wanes, kneeling with his back against the stripper pole.

"Latex! Alpha!" They all chant, and some even added 'Rubber! Ranger!' in the mix. Dexter pants from his first dance, and he stands while stretching his arm forward, "I need a volunteer." While his other paw takes off his own helmet. He wants a face full of handsome for this next bit.

All the other reflections raise their hands, shouting themselves to join him in his dance. Dexter chuckles and closes his eyes, his inviting gesture turns to a point. His index finger scans, those it points to have their hands raised higher, almost like they're about to be picked. But alas, despite everyone's raised hands, there's one obvious winner: it's Dexter Fennix! He opens his eyes to the costumed wolf, and those surrounding him congratulate him. "You, take off your helmet. I wanna see my handsome face."

The other Dexter complies, "Thanks for picking me." He says mask off.

"You're a handsome motherfucker," Dexter winks and pulls him onto the stage and rub muzzles with. He catches a whiff of his musk, sweat, and garden rose. It makes him growl, pulling him closer with his arms as he kisses him. It catches his other self off guard, their eyes aligning soon after. Closing, and their focus towards their sense of touch; hearts beating fast together, each other's hands caressing the fur of the other's face. Abs to abs, bulge to bulge. And they both squeeze their asses together soon after as their tongues rub against each other. He tastes sweet, with a hint of whiskey too.

And Dexter leads him to the pole for their duet, both their legs gripping each other while they frot their throbbing bulges. He says to him, "C'mon, say it."

The other Dexter smiles, his red eyes glistening under the lowlight, offering his hand, "May I have this dance, Latex Alpha?"

"Yes you may, soldier," Dexter accepts, taking his hand. And the music coincidentally picks up, doing their spins around the pole while simultaneously holding each other's hands. They are majestic in their moves, bodies moving apart in a moment only for them to touch moments after. Their bulges gently bump when they're past the pole's mid-length, rubbing against each other with the metal pole as they slide down to the sound of trumpets.

The crowd of Dexters howl in its simplest form. Not the ritual manner, but the one that induces arousal. But the real Dexter and his reflection are too enamored in each other's beauty and sexiness to hear them. There's this allure to his red eyes that he has a hard time looking away from, enough to pull himself towards him for a tight embrace, and the subtle white fur that his free hand slides along the edge of his uniform's color to feel, sending tingles to his reflection.

He giggles, nuzzling him. And they found themselves kissing on the stage out of rhythm from their pole dance. Both Dexters are soon on the floor, making out and feeling each other up again. The real Dexter laments about how he misses him, all of them, like parted lovers. To be able to touch them and be touched by them, and to have others who aren't himself worship the very ground he walks on. Only Latex Lair can do that, while his home cannot fulfill the latter. With his reflection resting below him, he gives him an even deeper kiss, his hands tracing the chain along his suit, finding the zipper pointing upward at the end, and he yanks it down. Both their suits, revealing more of the white fur that travels down his chest. And it's hard to distinguish the rest of his body covered in pitch black fur. As are their shafts, glistening with sweat and pre oozing from their tips.

"One moment, handsome," Dexter tells his other self. He stands, parading himself through the crowd stepping aside as he goes for the bedside drawer where he left his drink earlier. With a longer swig, he cherishes this moment and the next in a warm haze coursing through him. He sighs, satisfied, and ready to return to him. "Get up," he says as he steps onto the stage, offering his hand, and pulling him up after he's grasped him. Their palms are warmer, and their musk much stronger. Liquid courage has done its part, and he wants to dance some more.

The drunken stupor he's in makes him a better dancer. There are less spins in this state's routine but it has more intimacy– their muzzles are locked into each other more often, and his touch and being touched has more affection. He knows his partner feels his excitable heart, tearing down this veil of unreality for just one night. Their dance ends with the doppelganger kneeling with his back against the pole, and the real Dexter standing beside him, his standing meat stick brushing against his shoulder.

He says to him, "You can touch it if you want. Thank you for the dance." Gentle fingers caress his shaft, oozing more pre to his partner's glistening body. The room that is once full of murmurs, moans, and flirtatious exchanges are now silent as they bear witness to a different show. Dexter always loves their lustful stares. From his struts around the imaginary forest, to him being serviced right now; his reflection gliding his fingers along the base of his cock, twirling itself underneath his tip, his most sensitive spot. Oozing more pre onto the floor.

His doppelganger gives it a good sniff, his warm breath brushing over Dexter's dick, rubbing his muzzle against it, kissing it with his lips. It's still touching, in a way that Dexter finds more enjoyable, and in response strokes his head for doing such a good job, scratching behind the ears because he loves that too. "Good boy," he tells him.

It's about time they continue on with the next step. Both he and his reflection put their suits on, the former leading his clone to the bed. The crowd gives them room as they walk by hand-in-hand, while they themselves have their hands on each other's bulges, squeezing them, the room filled with rubber squeaking and muffled wolf moans.

Dexter allows his clone to top him so that he may be pleased. He crosses his arms behind his head, relaxing himself against fluffy pillows. Almost like a dream to be lying down on them, a good one as his body is being inspected and complimented.

"I love your pecs, Alpha," his clone remarks, hands gliding through his chest. Plump, firm, and perking nipples bulging the fabric. "And your muscles, how'd you get them?" He clasps both hands around his arms, not enough to wrap the entire thing.

Dexter chuckles, everyone in the room knowing the full story. But he still brags about it; endless years of exercise, being a soldier, putting away bad guys in foreign countries, and besting any ne'er-do-well that dares harm him and his family. Been at it for a few decades too without burnouts, without straying off this path of self-righteousness, and self-indulgence. His dance is a prime example of his peak performance after all, and being able to do it with such confidence, and with his kinky uniform? That means he's made it, his physique helping him a lot along the way. He then adds, "And because of all that, all of you are just as sexy, but never sexier than me."

"Agreed," his clone is now massaging his waist going down. Massaging the massive black bulge that now points up, extending past his waist. And the surrounding crowd gets closer, their muzzles twitching under their masks as they take in his exotic and Alpha scent with the rubber. Everyone else follows suit, showing off their endowment through the latex, the musk in this room becomes the air itself, arousing everyone inside even more.

"You may touch it," Dexter says, and by his will several hands grasp his length and he feels all of it. Similar to the sensation at the stage earlier, but there is more want to their strokes, their caresses causing the squeaking noise, and in doing so smears pre inside his suit. The real Dexter moans under his breath as he closes his eyes, allowing the other doppelgangers to touch him all over. Hands massaging every crevice and inch of his suit below his shoulder, especially his nuts, and his tight glutes underneath. A few tugs on his tail also works him up, but it's the brush of fingers over his asshole that gets him going more.

They take off their masks soon after, and worship his cock with their salivating mouths. Dexter's body vibrates, tingling to the dozens of tongues licking his bulge all over. Several mouths kiss his nuts and one even suckling it, letting out a howl from the big Alpha himself.

His fans howl in excitement too, while those working on his shaft feel it throb against their lips with each kiss. Dexter exhales loud through his nose, easing the increasing tension in his body. He's almost reached his climax, and smirks to show that he's not there yet. The bottle of scotch on his drawer is not near empty enough to summon an 'old friend' of his. The real wolf sits up, fetches and drinks it until halfway. His room's AC no longer cools down the intense heat building up inside him, and a needy growl escapes his gritting teeth.

"Present yourselves to me," Dexter orders them. And his doppelgangers bend over to him, showing their rears. Assholes puckering and twitching against the black material in between toned glutes. "That's more like it!" He walks around arms swinging in a march of sexual frustration, the distance he's walked exceeds the room's length. The doppelgangers' reactions are similar to the finger earlier, except it will be the Alpha's shaft going into them, and it's an honor greater than dancing on a stripper pole.

There is no way he's not going to tease them too. One of his reflections gasps when he feels his unzipped big black cock wedged between his rear, rubbing against it, only for the Alpha to have moved on. Another feels the lower glans of his bulge rub against Dexter's longer and girthier one. And several more Dexter spanks, leaving imperfections on their suits.

He then decides to fuck one at random, zipping one of their zippers to flop their dick out, and expose their hole soon after. Fortunate that a sachet of rose-scented lube is available from the inside of his helmet. A dandy feature where he's hidden his keys and wallet too. It takes the entire sachet to slicken his dong, rubbing the cool substance all around before having his tip kiss his reflection's hole. Pre pools around it, and he swings his dick around to smear. Being generous, he says, "Stand up straight and have someone work you out from the front, shall we?"

His reflection stands, though his legs are wobbling from the excitement of being broken into, moaning as he feels such a length slide between his cheeks, and this time its tip barely enters him, pulling out before the rest would enter. The other selves to his side, and those in front turned around and suck him off at the real Dexter's orders. One even suckling on his balls that sends him in a pre-emptive climax.

"This is why you're the bottom, soldier," Dexter reminds him. "I'm going in," he says with a soldier's finesse, breaching his rear entrance and encountering little resistance. His partner's hole tightens around him, feeling his body shudder and writhe in ecstasy while having half his length inside. The once cool-lube is all but gone, while making it easy for his thighs to slap against the other Dexter's.

Like the real Dexter, he's trained to take in the full length. Gasping and suppressing moans while his backside has taken the greatest dick in the world, while being given the greatest blow he'll ever experience. He's still cumming, while simultaneously being sucked off too.

"Ready?" Dexter slowly slides out, spanking his ass to further stimulate and prepare him for the oncoming motions. He himself is not one to go easy, but he is passionate about it, rubbing his firm rear in between smacks.

"Yes, s-sir," his doppelganger's climax has ended, only when the fun is about to begin.

"Here we go," he mutters to himself, sliding back in a quick motion. Dexter does these long-winded humps, allowing his partner to feel his entire length with each inward thrust. He clings onto his soft fur, feeling the rapid beating heart in his chest as he gently nibbles against his neck. Those servicing him help keep him in place but they too feel the strength in Dexter's motions.

The others watch, stroking themselves and each other. If they aren't moaning, they're chanting his title. While a few others watch with envy, serving to feed the real Dexter's ego.

He smiles underneath his helmet, working up a sweat as he works his doppelganger's rear. Musk enters through his breather, hastening his pace with its narcissistic scent. In this display of stamina and discipline, he shows himself off for five minutes without climaxing, only stopping after his partner had cum three times, and his fourth is a dry orgasm. And he shouts, "Who's next?!"

Another reflection is pinned against the wall next to the bed, and several more pleasure him too. But this one is far more resilient than the last, yet not enough for Dexter's high standards. He still climaxes, a minute into Dexter's high intensity pounding, while the other reflections stroke him from behind. Now, though, they also massage Dexter's massive muscles as he works him up.

And Dexter feels as if he's ready to overcome a personal challenge of his. It all started when he tried this kink for the first time. Latex suits, his personal lair; the sensation of his outfit clinging onto him, and the sense of pride that he's done it all by himself. In his drunken state, there's this personal phantasm that indulged his particular interests, and he's been made a bitch because of it. Now, however, he's wiser and stronger. After having made his other self cum twice in a row, he grabs the bottle of scotch and finishes it all. A hot kick in his gut, and the haze that never came. His senses sharpen as his fantasies become far more vivid. All the other Dexters bow to him as they retreat back behind the mirrors, until one of them refuses to. This one dances by himself on the stage, in the same matching uniform, with the same matching hard-on. Everyone behind the glass acts like it's a cage, and they are about to have a playfight.

"You've been busy, Dexter," he returns, speaking first with a gruffed tone. But it melts to a soothing deep voice, matching his own, "Ready for round three?"

Dexter flexes his muscles once more, letting his dick stand bulging in his suit. He sits down on the edge of the bed, facing him. Tensions rise in the room as hot air circulates their cage. They meet eye to eye, almost like fate. Everyone behind the mirror holds their breaths because they truly feel like it's an even match now, and the battle for once will be more than just wits and will. The real wolf finally says, "Winner takes all, eh, Rubber Ranger?"

"I'll call you by your title if you win, Sub-Squeaker," he chides back, switching the tune of the room to something lively. The jazz procession has been replaced by rapid-fire drumming, just before they are joined by a rock guitar riff. It riles him up, assuming a charging stance already with arms spread wide enough to tackle Dexter's figure.

"Alright, say my fucking name then," Dexter smirks as he taunts him. Unbeknownst to the Rubber Ranger, this piece of music aggravates him further through the power of alcohol. He touts a simple gesture, an outstretched arm where his fingers invite him.

The crowds are silent, wondering if Dexter secedes and attacks first, or if the Rubber Ranger can see past what seems like an obvious trap. It's a sexual stand-off, they all thought, and such stakes are high; will the Latex Alpha truly live up to his name? And the other question: Who shall reign of rubber?

The Rubber Ranger makes the first move with a rapid dash forward. Closing in Dexter's reach within three seconds. Enough time for him to react because it catches the real wolf off-guard not with a tackle, but a sophisticated grapple that aims to put one arm behind.

Dexter counters it with a wider sidestep, dodging the initial tackle and the back-up grapple if he had been too confident with just a simple motion. The Rubber Ranger exposes his wrist which he immediately restrains, already pinning him down on the bed as he lands with one arm behind.

The Rubber Ranger tries to reach for his opponent's helmet with his free arm while his knelt posture is pinned down by Dexter's knees too. He's exposed his position, allowing a quick and unseen hand to brush over his nipples, while his ass cheeks feel the large bulge, their suits squeaking against each other.

Dexter's doppelgangers chant both their names, turning it to a shouting match between 'Rubber Ranger!' or 'Latex Alpha!', and neither has overlapped the other. Those who stand past the mirror are hitting their fists against their side of the glass. The hollow thumping goes along with the rhythm of the song.

Rubber Ranger commits to a dangerous move and thrusts his rear back towards Dexter, catching the latter off guard and further wedging his bulge between his cheeks. It plays to his favor, having freed himself from that hold, and Dexter stepping back further with his bulge much more prominent against the suit than his own, only starting to feel the excitement now. He smirks knowing he'll win the night because he has Dexter on defense.

Dexter knows that any provocation he causes results in an equal outcome, but letting him start it means he can assess and retaliate far greater. But the least he can do is pace side to side, goading him and it also calms him down. Gives him clarity of mind on how to humiliate him in front of his fans. Times at night he'll jerk himself off imagining his other self in compromising positions. He has a few in mind that he'll do right now because the Rubber Ranger charges at him again. A graceful motion, he spins to dodge the narrow tackle, tripping him with a low slide to his shin.

The Rubber Ranger lands on all fours, catching himself with his arms and knees, and in doing so he catches Dexter sitting on top of him followed by a sharp smack against his rubbery rear. He lets out a moan to the audible gasps of the audience. Each time he tries to turn around and snarl is met with a harsher palm on his rear, and three fingers pushing between his ass crack, and one brushing against his hole. He's already hard because of it.

Dexter gets off of him, allowing him to stand up as an act of mercy. Everything he's done so far is a show, and this is no different. Both of them walk around each other, the Rubber Ranger trying to reach over with his arm to elicit any reaction, any weakness from his real counterpart. But he does not relent.

The Rubber Ranger knows that he is summoned when Dexter is very intoxicated, and this peacock dance they are doing against each other may be the advantage he needs. Their audience can see the writing on the wall; he is going to win. They've started touching themselves, rubbing their own bulges. He can smell their invigorating desire, and hear their subtones of wanting to climax into the real deal.

*THUD*

A series of loud moos can be heard from the room next door despite the soundproofing on both, followed soon after with the snapping of wood. Their floor vibrates from the hard impact of six bovines falling down, enough to rattle the mirrors. The reflections within them look around in fear, worrying that they'll break and forever disappear. Though that may have been an exaggeration for Dexter's mind.

Even the Rubber Ranger looks to the opposite of the bed, worrying if the people in the room beside are alright. They are at least, later to be found out that the only person hurt are the cow's asses from being fucked too hard. Something that is about to happen to him.

Dexter tightens his locking embrace from behind, pinching his nipples tight causing him to howl. His reflections' confusion turn to disbelief as they see the Rubber Ranger being carried over and pinned down on the bed with barely any resistance left.

The Rubber Ranger tries to turn around but he is overpowered, and he tries to kick him with his heels but he only feels the warm air, the same musk permeating into his nose as he tires himself out from his efforts. Only for it to intensify as the warm air brushed his face, his helmet gone and put aside revealing his handsome face, second only to the man spanking him. With each smack against his rear, his 'resistance' became compliance, enjoying himself in this position. But he's not ready to say that name yet. He will make it a challenge for Dexter every step of the way. "What's next, Dexter?"

Dexter removes his helmet too, winking at him. "Making you mine." He grasps his chest underneath, brushing his hand through the Rubber Ranger's nipples before tugging on them, mistaking it for a zipper. He enjoys listening to him moaning and panting, feeling him thrust below his hips. "Eager, are we?" With a quick zipper, he tugs his collar away revealing his luscious fur glistening through his own sweat. Even though he gets off the bed, the Rubber Ranger remains obedient, standing on all fours with his tail raised and wagging. His reflection's suit so dark that it mimics his fur, and its material glistens as his fur does with sweat

He doesn't like to admit that he really is enjoying it, feigning it as a class act– a facade that he's just faking it. Rubber Ranger, lacking his rubber, shakes his ass for the real Dexter and the crowd to see. Proclaiming that this is what a tight and undefeated hole looks like. Pink, puckering, and smooth surrounded by black fur.

With two smacks, his hands gluing to his rear eliciting a howling moan, Dexter spreads those toned cheeks, and another set of cheeks turns red too. He meets with his reflection's embarrassed eyes, "You're enjoying it."

"Shut up, I'm not." He retorts with a submissive tone, muttering to himself to try and affirm his sentiments. The Rubber Ranger is not losing his e– his thought process melts into ecstasy, his upper body flumping on the bed while raising his rear as Dexter rims his tight hole.

In Dexter's fantasy, it has a whiskey-strawberry flavor that he can keep indulging himself in as much as he can. He laps at it, his eyes fixated on the twitching hole before loosening it slightly by pressing his tongue inside. The Rubber Ranger is not subtle anymore, pre oozing down onto the bed sheets, dribbling towards the sank cushion where his knee rested. He strokes him off, no different from the common bottom he's fucked tonight so far. The Rubber Ranger will finally be like the rest of them.

He is pressed down when Dexter deems him ready for their consummation, or his 'great surrender' as the crowd murmured. 'This is still part of the facade,' he insists to himself. Even as his cock oozes more pre, even as Dexter smears lube on his own cock, and even as his face is redder than the lighting.

The crowd chanting 'Latex! Alpha!' does not paint confidence for him either. Those who chant his name earlier have turn-tailed, gone along with the crowd. No matter, he will win this fight by himself. All he has to do is endure the massive doing being hot-dogged between his ass. It's not the bulge anymore from their little romp– no, it's a massive meat stick that throbs and twitches, still cool from the lube coating it. He can feel Dexter's hands reach around him, stimulating his nipple, and stroking him off as he pants for more. His body too submits to the whims of the dominant wolf, but as long as his willpower remains strong, he will still win the day.

"Ready to say my name, bitch?" Dexter riles the crowd up with that sentiment. He lifts his hand and gestures to them to come close and enjoy the show. The audience steps past their mirror and watches them close, enough to be in the splash zone that is to cum.

"N-never," Rubber Ranger tries to keep a straight face while two fingers prod him, testing him. And he feels that bump inside him, his mind suppressing the climax after Dexter has found his g-spot. "N-no!" He lashes out, defiant.

"I didn't think you were easy prey," Dexter smacks his hole with his tip, pressing it down with a finger. Huffing warm breath down onto him, holding onto his furry side as he enters.

Each second he feels Dexter enter him, that large black cock of his sliding inside, the harsher his mental gymnastics goes. He won't cum, he won't cum, he's not going to cum, not yet! The Rubber Ranger doesn't give up. Closing his eyes, that pleasure-pain surging through his thighs, arching his back that is trailed by playful fingers, he endures it long enough for it to stop, gasping for air after resisting all that he can.

"That's only halfway." Dexter whispers, grinning as he feels his doppelganger's surprise. His partner's asshole tightens up while his body shudders, and his legs tremble as he slides deeper inside.

"H-half–?!" He howls yet again, and the room overlaps it with cheers and whoops. They continue to chant his name but he will keep refusing to, even as his fortitude decreases with Dexter nearly smacking their balls together. But it hasn't come to that yet, and there's another gasp caused by something he can't see.

Dexter stops before his thighs touch his partner's rear, but it surprises the surrounding crowd when he starts chuckling. "Heh," he says, turning the Rubber Ranger around to face him. "Hey, handsome." They lock eyes, reaching over to caress his white furred chest.

"R-right back a-at, you…" He catches his breath, feeling him throb inside and purring because of it. That condescending stare puts him at his place with no retort, and he sees the same face among the surrounding Dexters too.

"Yeah?" Dexter tries to fish his words out, sliding himself into a jerk and making him moan but he still won't give it up. "Who am I?"

"Dex– ah!" He gets jerked off while being slid into but he's denied the full thing. His chest thumps harsh and fast, ill-satisfied and tries to motion himself whenever Dexter thrusts forward.

But he's quick to notice, matching his slide so he can never get the full thing. Dexter continues to stroke him off, pulling him to the brink of an incomplete climax. He reckons that the Rubber Ranger wants a kiss too like he does, but he won't give him that unless he is given something in return. They both want a spectacular moment that only he is coming out victorious out of this. Without expressing it, the least this bitch can do is accept the consolation prize.

The Rubber Ranger hungers for a satisfying fuck, inclusive of the loud plapping noise when two partners rawdog it harder. He's very close and Dexter's handiwork of pressing his fingers around the base of his shaft plunges his entire body into a high form of ecstasy. Fumes remain to try and suppress it, his climax is quite imminent.

Dexter leans forward, their muzzles inches away from each other. He gazes into his partner's red glow with bedroom eyes of his own against flustered needy ones. He feels the exasperated hot breath, and he returns it in kind. Tongue slipping out to lick his neck and nothing more, teasing by passing his muzzle against his with no kissing.

Rubber Ranger whines, leaning forward at each pass that Dexter evades by the hair. "Fuck you," he snaps.

"When I'm a power bottom, sure," Dexter replies. He distances his head and continues to fuck him half-inside-his-ass.

Rubber Ranger snarls out but no one is convinced, wincing at every thrust, and the same whine escaping between gritting teeth. He pants and snorts, the tension holding his body now melts into pleasure, collapsing himself onto the bed as Dexter continues to rut him.

He picks up the ante, deeper thrusts each pass with his thighs inches away from his buttocks, and he mimics the sensation with a harsh spanking hand. A loud plap with every move, leaving a reddening imprint against the black fur. It's just a matter of time before the Rubber Ranger realizes who is the true Alpha.

Dexter signals the crowd to chant his name again, waving his arm and fanning the space above him to hype them up. "I win," he says under his name. "Look at me," he orders him.

He complies with submissive eyes, bubbling and widening as he sees his own dick bouncing against the motion that Dexter's putting into him. Without realizing, he's been moaning loud enough to match the noise everyone else in the room is making. Strands of pre ooze side to side, and Dexter holds his twitching cock tight, seeing its glistening head point to his snout.

"How's about I add a bit of white fur on your face, mark you as my favorite. All you have to do is: Say. My. Name." He is subtle with it being a demand, wringing his index and thumb around the base of his cock. Tightening, changing his mind at the last moment to reject a climax he can only provide through mercy. The confident bravado in his eyes, shadowed by eager gazes upon the Rubber Ranger's fall, is met with impending defeat while being overwhelmed by a large cock.

"No…" his resistance is frail, weakening by the moment. He can almost feel the full length enveloping him, added onto by a powerful musk. All his senses are pushing him to say it. Closing his eyes, trying to imagine himself on top, except it's his alpha pinning him down while he moans out, and he imagines further the taste of cum in his gaping mouth which his painted nose could not get enough of. "Uh…" he tries to process the words with his climax not far off, while wanting a grand conclusion to this sex royale.

Dexter pulls himself out far enough that his tip is still buried inside the reddened rim of his partner's asshole. He grins and makes sure he sees it, that he wins with an overwhelming victory. Leaning in to make it really personal, drowning out all the other Dexter's and even the music of the room. They are cheek to cheek, close to his ears he whispers a simple demand, "Say my name."

"L-L…"

Dexter slides a tenth of his cock inside, entering as the Rubber Ranger slowly completes his name.

"Latex…"

He's halfway inside, and their snouts touch too with their hot breaths against each other, their lips no longer far apart. It's at the tip of his tongue now, and he'll lick it too.

"A– ah!" Dexter buries most of his shaft now, the Rubber Ranger is mere inches away from his climax too, clutching onto his alpha's sides. "Please…" he begs but is disregarded until properly addressing him. Everything in his body screams 'It's just a word, say it already!' His cock doesn't want to cum until he's met those needs. "Please, Latex Alpha–" and the Latex Alpha's muzzle interlocks with his. He tastes the strong dose of whiskey that even he himself cannot withstand. Rosey, hot, and sweet, intoxicating flavors that taste better knowing it's from him. He accepts him as the Latex Alpha, and thus he is given the full rod. Ten inches of black meat finally buried.

And when Dexter lowers the mute veil, all the Dexters cheer to the Rubber Ranger's submission. Globs upon globs of cum staining his own suit and the peeking white fur between the zipper's chains. "Fuck yeah," the Rubber Ranger admits. He thrusts into the air too as he continues to climax, yipping as he feels rubbery hands clasp his dick followed by warm sticky goo hitting his own chin. After Dexter has pulled back, he lets his mouth hang open so he can taste his own sticky essence, salty but not as warm as the scotch kiss they have had.

"We're just getting started." Dexter says to the wide-eyed Rubber Bitch. His cock's inside but he is yet to unleash his load. There is a malicious smile across his face, pulling out and the disbelief melts down to excitement. "Who are you?"

He replies, "I am your Rubber Bitch." The Rubber Bitch empowers his mind and body for the rough pounding he is about to take. His black latex suit will come in white soon enough.

Dexter leans in to kiss his cum-covered lips, tasting the essence of his subordinate. Sweeter than his own in his last defeat. This is him enacting his revenge; a rapid-firing motion the likes his peers haven't witnessed. The audible slaps are louder and in quicker succession, as are his moans inside his mouth. He works up a sweat, feeling it swelter inside his outfit, heating up his already hot and muscular bod, but by no means is he exhausted.

Having his honor seceded, the Rubber Bitch lets loose with his climaxes, firing strand after strand while his cock is pressed in between the rubber, and their abs. Whimpering into his Alpha's mouth until the hot pressure in his rear is so immense it has become a persistent feeling. An unending pain that becomes pleasure where his joints have no feeling other than that.

This continues for ten minutes in a valiant display for the Latex Alpha, and to truly seal the deal that no other can keep up with him no matter how hard they try. In his embrace of his newfound sub, he whispers, "Your ambition is futile."

"Y-yes, Latex A-ah!" He orgasms again, "Alpha…"

Dexter whispers in his ear, "I'm cumming." And his black-furred, and black-rubber-covered rear is painted with gush after gush of white Alpha cum as it seeps out with each thrust. His pace slows down, with each push being deeper than the last. Unleashing a ferocious howl as he buries his still-cumming cock inside him, twitching at every spurt. His back is arched, head raised and the other Dexters join in howling.

The Rubber Bitch can no longer feel his muscles, only that his insides are being filled with his Alpha's true essence. His vision is weak from the exhaustion, upon seeing his Alpha kneel up, still throbbing inside, his rubbered chest is coated in his spunk. His idea of a white latex suit turns out to be more on a shade of gray, from fifty climaxes.

"That's a good look on you, Rubber Bitch." Dexter commends, reaching over to rub his cheek. He's too exhausted to try anything, let alone say something snarky. He wins. As his internal body clock strikes midnight, his fans finally retreat back to the mirrors, with its own background reflecting his own room. They assume their positions on their beds, except they're kneeling atop of no one. He nods to them, and they nod back satisfied.

"Round four?" The Rubber Bitch whimpers out.

Dexter leans in and pecks his lips once more, "I've already won." And when their kiss stops, he lies down on his drenched bed alone, putting aside the flaps of his open suit to let the cold air in. He feels the venting of stored hot erotic air leave, and the fatigue catching up to him. A nap seems to be in fine order, for the next half-hour he has left on this room's rent.

[i]Half an hour later…[/i]

Considering all things, only the bed's been left in a messy state. Surely intact compared to his neighbor about an hour ago. His mask is on tight, the small compartment inside still has his essentials, and an empty bottle in hand that he'll have to return to the bar because he fancies himself as a gentleman. A kinky and classy gentleman. He turns the music off by the switch next to the door, exit, and steps out of it. The new tenants have already closed the door before he can get a good look at them, hoping that they won't break anything tonight.

In the next room, Miles and Alex, their hands on each other's ass, walk in sync towards the bed. Following behind is Alex and his favorite pet Joel moving about with his hands and knees.

"The bed's not gonna break on us, right?" Alex lifts his visor to review the handiwork of the replacement bed. Safe to say that Latex Lair does not skimp out on quality; it's a fine oakwood frame with luxury mattresses anew, and the splinters left behind by the last occupants have been swept away. He tries to use his training to see any discrepancies, or anywhere within the room for that matter to no avail.

"Relax, hun," Miles pats his head, sitting him down on the edge of the soft bed, and joining him beside. "I don't think we're going to be that rough, right guys?" He turns to the GerShep and his Bearded Dragon husband. The latter is pawing his mittens at the former's waist, trying to caress his bulge across the latex.

"Not tonight," only Adrian has the right to speak between them, but with Joel's consent of course. "I promised him a night of passion, with you guys too if you want." He crouches down and nuzzles his partner's dog-shaped mask with his motorcycle one, rubbing his neoprene cheeks. "Who's a good boy," he coaxes his chin.

"Woof!" Joel mimics his barking, and nods. He shakes his ass to wag the tail protruding from his butt plug.

"That's commitment alright," Alex remarks, taking the lead on laying his partner down. Snuggling first, mask to mask as he removes Miles' visor first, wanting to see his lover's ruby eyes. Always pretty, always makes him hard, his throbbing tool squeaks against Miles' growing erection too. They take off their masks for a moment, kissing one another while holding each other's cheeks. Closed eyes assuring the other's presence in that moment, and that they are still there by the time they open them. Azurian glints opposite of Ruby, to which they say 'I love you' to one another.

So have Adrian and Joel, though not as dramatic, kissing one another as the GerShep lays himself down with his partner on top of him. Both beside Adrian who pins Miles down. Their subs murr and whine in their own way, melody to their partner's ears. Miles looks aside for a moment, "Hun, can you turn on the music, please?"

"Sure," Alex nuzzles his mask with his own before standing up and walks towards the panel, hips swaying. He wants Miles to see his compressed glutes, tail raised. The tune for tonight will be a progressive jazz piece that incorporates the elements of techno in the mix. Fitting for Miles' taste as well as Adrian's who has been delving into different genres.

The GerShep's pace of caressing his pet matches the electronic drums, spanking his ass at every beat. While Alex looms over Miles with its matching saxophone, unzipping his outfit as the brass goes wild, and his cock unveiled at the peak of its chorus just before the silence.

Nothing; the sound-proofed room blocks any sounds from outside. All they hear is the beating of their hearts, and a single drum beat, between long intervals, returns. Alex strokes his partner's large dick in the process, while Adrian unzips himself, yanking at every hit of the electronic instrument. When the sound of jazz returns with a five-second free-style, their partner's hands are on each other, and while their outfits are still on them, their cocks have been out and frotting against their significant other.

"Nice cock," Adrian comments on Miles' and Alex's. The former's is more hung, but the latter's is girthier, and they jerk each other off one after another. "But this one's my favorite," Being the master of his partner, he's expecting to be jerked off.

Joel frots their cocks by squishing them together with his mittened hands, and sliding them up and down against their slick meat. He whines and pants, while Adrian tugs on his collar, demanding he does it faster despite the difficulty it presents. It's all in good fun, and he has the skill to make it work.

Adrian does want to try something though, glancing at his best friend and his boyfriend having their own fun. He taps the dragon's side, exchanging glances before sliding his eyes over to their large dicks. Alex lets go and his paw is stroking them together, slow at first and gaining speed.

Miles grunts louder, using his free hand to hold Alex's while his best friend jerks him. Not to discredit Alex but the GerShep's hand feels different and great in its own unique way. A shared-bond type of deal that he wishes he could've fooled around with him more during their cadet years. And he repays it in kind, gesturing to his partner to jerk him and his husband back together.

Joel laps the air as he enjoys two hands of great friends jerk him off, their paces in sync like their hearts are. It's romantic and hot too, and he thrusts to it while grinding against his hubby's. Yipping as Adrian's free hands spank both his ass cheeks one after the other.

After their song, the next one is a gentle brass hymn, calmer than the last. The four horny soldiers-in-disguise easing off of each other. They all glance at one another hungry for their metaphorical flesh.

"Great minds think alike," Miles remarks as they shuffle themselves off the bed, except for Joel who intends to be at the bottom of their mostly-furred pile. His eyes linger at his gaping asshole, beside a moist butt plug. He says to Alex and Adrian, resting his arms on both their shoulders. "How's about having your best friend in you, eh, Ad?"

"I'd be honored," Adrian snickers and fetches a sachet of lube from the bedside drawer. Its flavor, which is its scent, is a mix of lavender, rose, and petunias. Intoxicating and sweet, and its substance doesn't downplay the musk of two dogs and two dragons, even when it's smeared around their cocks and anuses, including Alex's who just wants to feel included. They pull their zipper past their legs, exposing their assholes to the cold air.

It sends a chill throughout Alex's body, and a shot of warmth as Miles hotdogs his dragon dick between his buns. He embraces him tightly, rubbing his fingers over the latex nipple bulges. "Love you," he whispers.

"Love you too."

Adrian moves in first, 'tackling' his partner and nuzzling him again. He leads his dick into him, very easy with Joel being very sensitive too.

The Bearded Dragon stifles a moan, immediately replacing it with a whine. His GerShep doesn't mind though, letting him sing as he starts pounding into him. Adrian goes on, in and out of him for half a minute before he pauses, almost a freeze.

"Easy now," Adrian says as Miles slides himself inside, much larger than Joel in the few times he powerbottoms for him, and longer than any of their toys. He moans out too, leaning back to feel the white wolf's warm and toned body against him. They nuzzle their helmets together, and it is Miles' turn to freeze.

"Fuck," he mutters as his rear is stretched out. There's that girth he loves, opening him up as arms closed in around their waists.

Alex rests his chin on Miles' shoulder, "Is this good?" He rubs Adrian's side as well, making sure they're all comfortable.

"Mhm," Miles nods, pushing himself into his boyfriend while pulling out of his best friend.

Adrian thrusts forward as Miles does the opposite, and thrusts outward and is met with that exciting push into him.

Alex goes along with his boyfriend, going into Miles whenever he pushes into Adrian, but pulling out faster and thrusting in as he pulls outward.

Joel, at the bottom, could feel the pressure and pleasure of three men on top of him, their motions creating a chain of force that adds more 'oomph' into his husband's thrust.

They all get a rhythm going, trying to match it with a sexual jazz beat consisting of several trumpets and a violin too. It's not bad for their first time as well, albeit somewhat awkward because their pacings don't match the longer they do it. In the end though, Adrian enjoys Miles' cock and they should have a heart-to-heart session of their own, which Joel and Alex are fine with.

Both tops have their bottoms pinned down on the bed, and it's a contest between Alex and Adrian to see who can make their partners cum last while rutting them in the fastest way possible. Despite the competition, Miles and Joel hold hands, moaning together as their lovers give them the passion they deserve. It's a close competition but alas, Miles came first to the cheers of Adrian and Joel whose helmet bumped with his mask and cum together too.

They agree that they'll have to clean up much much later, opting to lie down on the large bed that they can all lie on together. Enough space to get themselves comfy; Adrian and Joel cuddling under the soft and warm sheets, while Miles lays on Alex's shoulder as they sit up over them. Panting, they catch their breaths first, taking off their masks and helmets, exchanging kisses. Even Adrian and Miles kiss each other tenderly, followed by Joel and Alex after. It ends with a laugh, followed by a moment of song from the hidden speakers, an eloquent piano solo.

"Thank you guys," Miles says to them. "Great people I trust with all my heart, especially you Alex."

Miles doesn't see Alex's smile, or the gentle kiss on the back of his head. "Thank you for saving my life."

"Of course, Milesman," Adrian will never not find the opportunity to call him that. "We love you. And we will walk with you through hell and high water."

"Through hell and high water indeed," he repeats. Miles holds on to Alex's arm, looking up onto the soft red-lit ceiling. Closing his eyes, focusing on just his partner's scent and touch, he lets his consciousness rest and melt away into a slumber before the fatigue hits him. They still have another half-hour to the room before going home.

And they all have the rest of their lives to be with each other no matter what.

****