Rubber Dicky, I Love You
Lubrican
Rubber Dicky, I Love You
by Robert Lubrican
Bookapy Edition
Copyright 2005 Robert Lubrican
License Notes
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each recipient. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please go to Bookapy.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
Rights to use cover art purchased at istock.com
*******
Table of Contents
Chapters: One | Two | Three | Four | Five | Epilogue
*******
Foreword
This book is the alter ego of a book I wrote called How the Women Got Plastered and Bobby Got Busted. In that book, a boy made facsimile copies of the breasts of several generations of women in his family for a school project. It just seemed natural that the opposite story could be told, in which a girl made the copies. But not of breasts, of course. This is that story.
*******
Chapter One
Brandy Thurston's first year of college was more challenging than she'd thought it would be. The majority of that was because she was eighteen, and everybody else in her peer group was nineteen or older. Her brilliance, academically, let her fit right in, but while her grades were fine, she still felt like a little girl in a room full of adults. Most of that was because she had the social development and skills of an eighth grader.
Her mother was responsible for all of this, in differing ways. Her mother's home schooling was responsible for the fact that Brandy took the SAT at fifteen and passed all her State tests with flying colors when she was sixteen. Oklahoma University in Norman, just down the road from Shawnee, where she and her parents and younger brother lived, recognized an excellent mind and admitted her without regard to her age.
That Brandy was brilliant helped, but the primary reason she'd raced through her pre-college studies was because her mother was such a close-minded ice queen. Brandy remembered the almost atomic arguments her mother and father, Charles had gotten into over her; whether she should be allowed to date or not, whether she should have a curfew or not, what kind of clothing she should be allowed to wear, whether she should be exposed to sex education or not and even whether she should be allowed to go to college. There was a television in the house, but it was rarely turned on, and then only when her mother approved of the program. That was rare. Her mother came down on the negative side of every argument, while her father argued hard to "let the girl live a little". Her mother always won those arguments.
Linda Thurston had been drawn into, and ascribed to the religious doctrine that the only time a woman should engage in sex was when she was trying to conceive a baby. Since Brandy wasn't allowed to have a boyfriend, she had no need for sex education. Nor did she need "sinful" clothing and it was Linda's personal project to ensure her daughter stayed a virgin until she was married and the couple could afford to have children.
Brandy asked her mother one day how she was supposed to meet her future husband, and then how to know that he was her future husband, if she was never allowed to date.
Her mother's response was "You leave that to me. I'll tell you when it's time. There are several fine young men at church who would make good husbands, but not until you're older."
So Brandy had a lot of time to study, and she was much better educated than most of her peers in the public school system ... at least in terms of traditional academics. But because she wasn't allowed to socialize with those peers, either girls or boys, her social development was stunted and she was almost criminally unable to cope in social situations. Her father helped her apply for college, unknown to her mother, and when Brandy was offered a full scholarship in the biology program at OU, the argument was so ugly that her mother walked out, calling both her husband and her daughter "heathens". For some reason she thought that Bobby, Brandy's younger brother by a year, would go with her, instead of staying with his father. But Bobby, having endured the same rules as Brandy, told his mother to have a nice life and call him on his birthdays. Divorce papers had come in a registered package within two weeks, filed by lawyers known to be associated with a certain cult in Tulsa, demanding seventy-five percent of the family assets be "awarded" to Linda and deposited in a numbered account.
Charles fought it in court, and when Linda ranted about the "horrible, immoral things" her husband wanted the children to be able to do, like go to the mall, or to sleepovers, or to college, the judge granted the divorce awarding Linda her clothing and three books. She was ordered to return her $5000 wedding set to Charles, but was unable to do so because she had already "donated it to her pastor." Her plea for custody was denied, and the judge further ordered that she approach no further than one thousand feet to her former home without express written permission from Charles. When the judge questioned the children about what they wanted in terms of visitation, they asked that they be allowed to decline a visit if it interfered with plans they had made prior to her request. In the months to come, Brandy and Bobby both met with their mother once, but after that were almost always too busy to see her.
By the time the divorce was final, Brandy was ready to go off to college, so she still hadn't really had much of an opportunity to date. Once at college she was shy around all those "older" men, feeling she didn't know enough to navigate the dating world successfully. Besides, she still had to study, and dorm life made that more difficult than she'd thought it would. Bobby elected to go to public school and in his letters to her said it was both fun and amazing.
The rules of her scholarship said that she had to live in the dorm the first semester, but that if her GPA was 3.2 or higher, she could live off campus after that. She was pretty sure she'd decide to live at home if that happened, where she could control the distractions while she wanted to study. The commute wouldn't be that bad and the money she wouldn't have to spend on living expenses could be applied toward travel expenses. Her father had bought her a car for "graduation".
The winter break had been good. It had been wonderful to be with her father and brother, back home, without a raving mother to ruin every plan. She even got to spend some time with her Uncle Bob, who her brother was named after. He was her father's brother, and he'd become one of her favorite men by virtue of being so much fun to be around. It was fun going places with what she thought of as "the men in her life," at least the men in her life she was comfortable being around. She went skating with her brother, and to movies with Uncle Bob. Her father took her to museums and out for ice cream. And a lot of time was spent playing cards, or board games at home, or watching videos. She was almost sorry to have to go back to school.
In her second semester of college, she took the class that would change her life forever. It was called Genetics, Genomics and Development and it was the first class she'd taken that went deeply enough into things that she was mentally challenged. She had to do a term paper and while perusing the list of suggested topics she saw "Comparative Anatomy." She didn't understand what that meant, so she approached the graduate student who taught the class. Her name was Mary.
"Mary? Can I ask you a question?" began Brandy.
"Sure," said Mary.
"What exactly is "comparative anatomy"?" asked Brandy.
"Well, one example would be a comparison of muscle development between two cultures. Let's say you looked at muscle development for Appalachian coal miners, compared to Bantu warriors in Africa. What kind of muscle does each need for the culture and subculture in which they live and work? Is it different, or the same? I know one student last year did a comparison of breast sizes in the family, going back three generations, trying to see if breast size changed, and if that change could be attributed to the changing diet and culture in America. Something like that." Mary looked inquiringly at Brandy, to see if her question had been answered.
"She compared her breasts to her mother's and Grandmother's?" asked Brandy, amazed.
"Actually it was a guy who did the project. He compared his sister to his mother to his Grandmother."
"And that was okay?" asked Brandy in disbelief.
"Actually, the professor loved it. Said it was innovative and interesting. Of course I just think he liked looking at the pictures of the breasts, but the guy got an A."
"He took pictures of his sister's ... his mother's ... his grandmother's ... breasts!?" gasped Brandy.
"That he did," said Mary. "Does that give you any ideas?"
"Um, yeah, I'll figure something out," said Brandy, still shaken by the mental image in her mind of Bobby taking pictures of her naked breasts. That would be just too weird.
Over the next couple of weeks she thought about it, but couldn't come up with a firm plan. Then she went home for spring break and everything fell into place. It happened when she went to see her uncle at work. Uncle Bob was a dentist, and it was time for her annual teeth cleaning, so she made the appointment for when she'd be home. He chatted with her as she sat in the chair, commenting on what good shape her mouth was in and praising her for flossing regularly. An assistant brought in a mold she had just made of another patient's teeth. It was made of flesh colored rubbery stuff, and Uncle Bob bent it, peering to see if the details was perfect.
When she asked what it was, he explained this was a negative mold, which had been made by putting liquid silicone into a horseshoe shaped trough. Then it was pressed onto the patient's teeth and left there while the liquid cured. The result was a negative of the teeth. That could then be filled with plaster, and a perfect positive copy of the teeth could be produced. He showed her a plaster mold and Brandy would have sworn they were real teeth, except that the gums were white plaster too.
Brandy was fascinated. Here was a substance that was better than a photograph. It could be used to make exact copies of body parts. She could use this for her term project. Maybe she could compare teeth in her family. When she asked Uncle Bob if that would be possible he smiled.
"Sure sugar. You just tell me what you want to do and I'll help you. I have tons of the stuff. It's not all that expensive." That wasn't exactly true, but Uncle Bob loved his beautiful niece and she had him wrapped around her little finger. He was fully aware that she did not know that, but that was fine too.
They say things happen in threes. Being exposed to the latex molding process was the first thing that happened to her. The second was later that night. It was late, and everyone had gone to bed. Brandy had been reading, but got thirsty and got up to go get a drink of orange juice. On the way to the kitchen, she passed Bobby's room. His door wasn't completely closed and, as she glanced through it into the still lit room, she froze.
Bobby was masturbating. She'd never seen this behavior before, but her brilliant mind recognized it on an academic level. It is almost impossible, in America, for a young person to grow up completely insulated from sexuality.
He was lying on his side, naked, on top of the covers. He had a magazine spread open beside him and was peering at it as his hand moved on his cock. He wasn't going fast, which surprised her. She'd never seen a boy do anything like this, but she'd heard of it, and had always assumed it was a violent kind of thing, where the hand moved fast. Instead he was stroking himself slowly, almost lovingly. He reached to turn a page of the magazine, and she was able to see his penis completely. It was much longer than she thought a boy's penis would be and it was straight ... hard. It was also much bigger around than she expected.
It occurred to her that she hadn't really expected to actually see one of these things. Then his hand covered it as he began stroking again.
Brandy felt a tickle between her legs ... as if she needed to scratch herself. But she knew that was no tickle. She was reacting sexually to her own brother. She wasn't as much disgusted as she was surprised. There were boys at school who made her feel that way, but she was too shy to talk to them. She held her breath as he leaned over further, looking closely at something in the magazine. Now his hand did speed up. It kept speeding up until it suddenly did look violent, as if he just had to be hurting himself.
Then he groaned and a silvery-white string of something shot out of the end of his penis and landed on a T shirt that he had apparently spread out on the bed just for this purpose. There were more of those spurts and now Brandy felt tingles in her breasts too. Confused, she backed up and went back to her room.
She didn't feel thirsty any more.
That was the second thing in the string of three. The third was the next morning, when she walked into the bathroom to take a shower. The door wasn't latched, so she thought the room was empty. It was not, however. Her father was drying off after taking his own shower. In the shocked space of a few seconds, her eyes took in his penis, which was much shorter than she thought it should be. It was only two inches long, and had a narrow tip, but was much thicker where it met his wiry nest of pubic hairs. His balls were huge by comparison. In the time it took her to realize "Of course! He doesn't have an erection! Of course it would look smaller!"
Charles reacted exactly as she did. Both blushed, and he stammered an apology, for some reasons, and she backed out of the bathroom. She took refuge in her room.
The two penises had looked so completely different. The comparison was ... comparison ... hmmm.
Mary had said the boy had compared the women in his family to each other ... their breasts. Could she compare the men in her family? Could she compare their penises and arrive at some conclusion?
The thought brought her butterflies in her belly ... and a level of excitement that she found hard to believe. She could compare Bobby to her father. Her Grandfather was dead. The only other male "relative" she had was her father's brother, Uncle Bob. None of them were actually related to her, other than by the marriage of her mother. But then, that didn't really matter. The comparison she had in mind was in the male line, and the three men she was thinking of were related. She wondered what differences she might be able to notice, and what those differences might mean. Maybe Bobby's penis looked like a cross between Uncle Bob's and her father's.
Would they do it? Would they let her compare them? She thought about the latex molding material. Could molds be made of their penises? Then she could compare them side by side.
Hmmmmmm.
It was two more hours before she finally fell asleep.
Brandy chose her Uncle as the first person to approach about her idea. It was Saturday and he was home tying fishing flies when she found him after coming in the front door.
"Hey Uncle Bob" she said cheerily.
"Hi good looking" said Bob. It was an honest greeting. As far as Bob was concerned, she was the best looking girl he knew. He got enough pussy from the assistants at his practice to make up for never meeting the right woman to marry and settle down with. She'd been a skinny little runt when he first met her, but nowadays he sometimes fantasized that it was Brandy he was fucking as he sprayed one of the girls full of his love offering. After all, he wasn't actually her uncle.
"Can I talk to you about something?" she asked.
He looked up at the sound of her voice. She sounded nervous.
"You know you can talk to me about anything," he said. "Always could, still can, and always will be able to."
"This is different," she said, still nervous. "It's about my Biology term project and its ... well it's kind of ... racy I guess."
"Racy" he repeated.
So she launched into the explanation, starting with what Mary had told her about the guy who photographed breasts and compared them, and then working up to how she saw Bobby with his dick in his hand, and then her father's soft, smallish cock, and finally to how she wanted to make molds of all three, including his own.
During the explanation Bob tried to concentrate on tying a Red-faced spinner. It came out looking more like a wasp, and his dick was coming alive when she finally went silent. He darted a look at her, but she was looking at the floor, her face sort of brick colored.
"So that's what you want to make molds of," he said.
"I think so," she confirmed, breathing again after realizing he wasn't going to get mad ... or laugh. "Do you think it would work?"
Bob put his tools down. He decided to take the subject seriously.
"Well, we'd have to make something to hold the silicone in place while it set up. You say you want the testicles too?"
"Uh huh," said Brandy meekly. "Is that okay?"
"Well it makes it a little more of a challenge. The easiest way to do this, I think, is to take something like a two liter soda bottle and cut the top off of it. If you fill it with the silicone, and submerge the erect penis and balls down into it. By the time it had set up, the erection would have softened. It will have to, because that's the only way we'll be able to get the mold off of the ... ah ... model. The hard part will be getting the balls out, because the silicone will be wrapped all the way around them, and they don't shrink like an erection does. But I think I might have the answer to that too. We can glue a small sheet of plastic to the underside of the balls and that will make a separation point. We can pull the mold apart there, and the testicles should pop free.
"It sounds complicated," said Brandy. "What do you think?"
Bob looked at her. "Were you planning on being involved in making the mold?"
"You mean be right there?" she asked. "Right there with a naked penis ... a naked hard penis?" It sounded like she had never thought about that part.
"Yes. You would have to touch the model, and the other thing is that we need the erection to be firm for five or six minutes after the process starts. Otherwise the silicone will sag inward before it cures enough to hold its shape and you won't get a true negative."
"How do we do that?" Brandy had already talked herself into believing that she would be there when all this happened.
"I have some ideas. Do you trust me?"
"Of course I trust you," she said. "Why?"
"Why don't we do a trial run with me, and we'll see how things work. What do you think about that?" Uncle Bob looked at her expectantly. He was already feeling things in his groin, and the idea he had in mind to keep it nice and hard while the silicone set up made his balls tingle. He hoped she'd go along with it.
"Oh!" she yipped. "Could we really? Oh yes please. That would be so cool!"
Brandy jumped up and down. Her luscious breasts bobbed and her Uncle's cock twitched in his pants.
"I'm game if you are," he said. "I have some silicone out in the garage. It's past its expiration date for dental work, but I think it will work fine for this."
He went and got it, bringing back an empty two liter soda bottle at the same time. He got a pair of scissors and handed the bottle to her.
"Why don't you cut that top off while I get ready," he suggested.
Brandy tried to start cutting the bottle about halfway through but Bob stopped her. "Sweetheart, we need more depth than that," he said.
Brandy looked at him, and at the six inches of bottle she had been trying to cut off. Was he longer than that? She moved up two inches and looked at him with a raised eyebrow.
"Give it another inch," he suggested.
Brandy made an "O" with her mouth, but did as he said, ending up with a bottle that was about nine inches deep.
"Okay, now the only problem is that for the silicone to stay in the bottle, we have to leave it upright. That means I'll have to lie down on something and ... let it all hang out ... so to speak."
He got three dining room chairs and set them side by side, moving one about ten inches apart from the others. He lay down on his stomach across the chairs, with his crotch in the ten inch gap.
"I think that might work" he said. "Now, find some books or something to put the bottle on so the top will be up next to my skin."
Brandy ran around gathering the thickest and largest books she could find, stacking them up until they looked the right height. She turned around to tell her uncle it was ready and was shocked to find him standing there naked. Her eyes were drawn automatically to his penis, which was about half hard and already six inches long. It lay lightly on his balls, which were hair covered and egg sized.
She was embarrassed, but curiosity overrode that and she peered at his organ. He was circumcised, and the head was large and pointed. After that the neck narrowed down, but then surged back out as the shaft got larger.
It all looked very interesting to Brandy. This was the closest she had ever come to one. At least one that was naked. She stared at it longer, trying to figure out why it she thought it looked different than Bobby's and Charles'. But she couldn't decide.
Bob unscrewed the caps of three bottles of dental silicone, which were about the size of a pickle jar. Thinking of pickles made Brandy laugh.
"What's so funny?" asked Uncle Bob. He looked at his cock. "What's wrong with it?"
Brandy laughed harder, feeling much better now. "Nothing is wrong with it!" she giggled. "It's a perfectly fine penis. I was just thinking of pickles and it just seemed funny."
"You think it looks like a pickle?!" said her uncle, trying to sound hurt.
"Nope!" laughed Brandy. "Most pickles I've seen are bigger than that!" She howled with laughter.
"Well little miss pickle breath, come on over here and play with it a little and get it hard and you'll see just what kind of pickle I can produce!"
Brandy stopped laughing. "Play with it?" she asked, weakly.
"Either that or you can take off your clothes. That would make me hard in a jiffy," he said, smiling.
"Take off my clothes?" she said, her voice trembling.
"Sweetie, you're the sexiest woman I know. If you were to get naked, or play with my cock, I'd have the hardest erection of my life. Isn't that what we're trying to do here?"
"Sexiest woman you know?" stammered Brandy.
"Are you deaf woman?" said Bob in a snarling voice. "Get Naked!"
Brandy was so shocked at the whole idea of being naked with her uncle ... while he was naked too ... that she just did as she was told. Her hands flew to the buttons of her blouse, and when that dropped on the floor she wiggled her hips to get her jeans over them. Suddenly she was standing in front of her uncle in just bra and panties. She got shy.
"I feel so funny" she moaned.
"You look delicious," said Bob. "See, progress already!"
Brandy looked up and her eyes widened. Now his penis was seven inches long and standing almost straight out. It pointed at her, now, directly at her panties. Her mind working overtime on images, she contemplated the image of his penis pointing at what was under her panties. She found that image very erotic, to her surprise, and she felt a twinge of delightful ... something ... between her legs.
"I think if you took off your bra, we might achieve a workable erection," said Bob.
Brandy started to say "My bra?" but caught herself. Impetuously she reached behind her and the bra snapped apart in the back. She caught it with her left hand, holding it to her breasts, but let it slip ... lower ... and lower ... and lower ... until she got the courage to just let it fall to the floor. She couldn't make herself look at her Uncle.
He whistled. Her eyes darted up then, easily, her fear of rejection gone. Somehow she had been afraid that he would think she was too small, or too big, or that her breasts were ugly in some way. She'd lived with them most of her life, and they were no big deal to her.
"Man!" he said in a husky voice. "Those are the most beautiful tits I've seen in years and years and years."
Brandy thought "Tits ... he called them tits." It was a nasty word, a word her mother would have slapped her face for it she'd ever have uttered it. But it sounded ... sexy ... coming from Uncle Bob's mouth.
"Thank you," she whispered, embarrassed at his praise.
"No, thank you," he said. She looked at him and he was doing the same thing Bobby had been doing last night. He was sliding his hand up and down his penis. And now it was hard. It was probably eight inches or a little longer. When he let go of it, it stood upward, like a cannon or something, pointing up into the sky. It looked ... sexual ... and for the first time in her life, Brandy thought about what that thing was made to do ... in a woman's body.
She was a woman.
A shudder went through her as she tried to imagine that thing, stuffed inside her pussy. That tingle in the very pussy she was thinking of got stronger and she felt an urge to rub between her legs.
"Shall we get started?" asked Bob. "We don't want it to get soft."
"What do I do?" asked the turned on girl.
"I'll lie down and you slide the bottle up onto my penis," said Bob. "Then I'll have to lie still for about ten minutes until it sets up." Bob mixed a second tube of something into the silicone in the bottle.
"This is the hardener." He stopped, and then laughed. "But I'm already hard, so I guess you're actually the hardener." He stirred the mixture thoroughly and then handed her the bottle and lay down on the chairs. His erect phallus hung down in the gap between the chairs, above the stack of books she had prepared. It still pointed toward his head a little.
Brandy got to her knees, staring at the erect penis in front of her. Taking a breath she tried to put the bottle under his prick. The stack of books was in the way. She moved it and got the bottle of stuff right below him.
"Here goes" she said, her breath tight in her lungs.
His penis was at the wrong angle. Had it been pointing straight down it would have been fine. So Brandy had to tip the bottle a little.
She moved the bottle up, fascinated as it contacted the sexual thing in front of her. It looked like he was forcing his organ into the liquid, rather than what was actually happening. With a convulsive movement she brought the bottle up quickly and it enveloped his cock and balls. She scrabbled for the stack of books, and then her blouse, making a nest for the bottle so it would stay tilted. She ended up having to lean it against a couple of books before carefully pulling her hands away. As the bottle settled into the nest of cloth, the liquid pulled away from his body she saw some of his hairs, coated with silicone, become exposed. She grimaced.
"Uh ... Uncle Bob?" she said. She was thinking about Marjorie Tomkins, at school, who had helped her remove some of her body hair with a hot wax procedure. She remembered how painful that was.
"Yeah?" his voice was tight too.
"What about your hair?" She let the question hang.
It was very silent for a few seconds.
"Shit," was his short reply. "I forgot about that."
"You want me to take it off?" She reached for the bottle.
"It's already too late for that," he said. "We may as well let it go. The silicone is pretty slippery. Maybe the hairs will pull free. Uh oh," he finished.
"What's wrong?" she asked.
"I'm starting to go limp. It's too soon. Get up here where I can see you princess."
"What?" she asked, confused.
"I need to see you Sweetie. I need to see those sweet tits of yours."
"Oh!" she said, embarrassed. She'd completely forgotten she was wearing only panties. She stood up and moved around to his head. Her panties were just about at his eye level and he craned his neck.
"Man! You're such a babe, Brandy!" he groaned. "Could you take your panties off baby? I wish I could touch you."
"Uncle Bob!" she said, reproach in her voice. "I don't think you're supposed to feel that way about me!"
"I can't help it baby" he said, an impetuous smile on his face. "You're a stone fox and if I wasn't your uncle I'd be trying to get in your panties anyway. Come on, it's for the project. I need to stay hard for this to work."
Brandy felt that tremor in her pussy again. Her thumbs hooked in the waistband of her panties almost of their own volition. She pushed downward, exposing the top of her light brown pubes.
"Oh yes," sighed Bob. "Just a little further."
Feeling wild, Brandy pushed the panties a lot more than "just a little further" and lifted one foot to step out of them. She stepped sideways with that foot, and her pussy was exposed to her uncle.
"Oh fuck," said Bob. "That's doing the trick. That's the prettiest pussy I've ever seen."
"Uncle Bob!" complained Brandy. Somehow her voice didn't sound like she was complaining a lot, though.
"You don't have to worry about the mold, honey," he said. "I'm as hard as I've ever been again. Do something else for me. Play with that pussy a little bit."
"Uncle Bob!!" she squealed again. "I don't do that!"
"Why on earth not?" he asked.
Brandy was quiet for a few seconds. Then she spoke.
"I was taking a bath one night right when I was little. I was washing my ... down there. I remember it felt good, so I was washing it a lot. I guess I didn't notice when Mom came in to check on me and I guess she saw me washing too much. She got all upset and yelled at me and said I should never touch myself there or I'd get warts all over and go insane. She said only nasty girls touch themselves there. I mean she just had a shit fit about it!"
Her mouth snapped shut as she uttered that four letter word. She'd never said it out loud before. She turned crimson again, the reddish tint going clear down to the tops of her breasts. She spoke again.
"I was so scared that I never did it again. And then, when I grew up, and found out lots of girls did it, I thought it was nasty. I mean I pee down there, and my periods –" She blushed furiously. She'd never discussed her period with any male. "I've just never done that."
Bob sighed.
"That's why there's soap and water, Brandy. And let me tell you something. Even before there was soap and water, men loved tasting women's skin. The human body isn't dirty, Brandy. It can get dirty, of course, but generally speaking, plain water will remove the bacteria that cause odors and all that. Trust me, baby, if I had the chance, I'd love to touch your pussy. And taste it too."
"Uncle Bob!" she yipped, as she stepped back two steps. "That's terrible!"
"I know," he sighed. "I'm just being honest with you. Don't worry. You don't have to be afraid of me."
"I'm not afraid of you," she said. "It's just that nobody has ever said anything like that to me."
"I think we're done," he said, raising his chest off the chairs. He pushed himself up and Brandy leaned to one side to see the soda bottle lift off the books. "Shit that's heavy," said Bob as the weight transferred to his cock and balls. "Fuck!" he grunted.
"What's wrong?" asked Brandy anxiously.
"We forgot the thing to get it off my balls too," he groaned. He reached down and took the weight of the bottle in his hands. He looked funny walking around with a soda bottle sticking out where his penis should be and Brandy giggled.
"This isn't funny!" he groused.
"I know. I'm sorry. It just looks funny."
"Well, you're going to have to help me get this thing off. Come with me," he ordered.
Brandy followed him to his fly tying workshop, where he rooted around in a tool box and came up with a scalpel. "You're going to have to make a cut, to split the mold. Obviously you need to be very careful. I think if you split it about to here...," he pointed to a place on the side of the bottle, "we can pull it apart and my balls will come free. My cock's already shrunk down, so that part shouldn't be any problem."
"What if I cut you?" she asked anxiously.
"Don't," he said simply. "If you cut in far enough and leave just a thin layer next to my skin, I think it will tear. Just be careful," he said.
Bob went back into the living room and sat down on the couch, leaning back with his legs spread. He pulled the bottle up toward his face, exposing the bottom side to Brandy, who knelt between his legs. First she cut the plastic, and peeled that off, leaving the bottle shaped mold. Then, carefully, she began slicing into that, in the area he had showed her. Bob reached down and, with both hands, tried to pull the latex apart as she cut it, exposing new material for her to slice into.
"This is so strange" said Brandy, mostly to herself.
"I don't even think Penthouse Forum would print this story," chuckled Bob.
Brandy frowned as she got deeper and deeper into the latex. "I don't know how close I'm getting," she said. "I'm afraid I'll cut you."
"Try poking the tip of the scalpel into the cut. Go very slowly and I'll tell you when I feel something," he said.
For lack of any better plan, Brandy did that. The first time she went halfway up the length of the blade, and when he didn't say anything, she sliced into the latex that deeply. He was able to pull it apart and she did that again. Soon she could see they had gotten almost two inches deep. The next time, as the scalpel blade got to the halfway point he jerked.
"I think you're almost there," he said, a little breathlessly.
Brandy cut in only a quarter of the length of the blade and told him to pull. She saw a tear open up, and could see flesh through it.
"Oooo you're doing it!" she yipped. "Keep pulling!"
Now she helped him, pulling the split apart. She told him to hold still and reached in to flicked with the scalpel in a couple of places and then it happened. She could see his balls, or at least part of them.