Gromet's Plaza Latex Stories
Cathy's Delivery
by Kim Manners
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© Copyright 2008 - Kim Manners - Used by permission
Storycodes: FF; latex; catsuits; hood; gasmasks; encase; tease; leather; dollsuit; mulitlayers; box; packaged; toys; mast; climax; cons; X
Cathy's Delivery Part 2 by Kim Manners FFF; latex; catsuits; hood; gasmasks; encase; tease; leather; dollsuit; mulitlayers; box; packaged; toys; mast; climax; cons; X
This is the conclusion to "Cathy's Delivery: Part 1"

Cathy's Delivery: Part 2
© 2008. Not to be reposted without permission.

Cathy left Emily in the bedroom to finish undressing, leaving her a bath towel and some clothes to change into. She stripped off her catsuit, donned a t-shirt and sweats, and went into the kitchen and put the kettle on. She needed some time to think.

She was still lost in thought when Emily padded in almost an hour later wearing a man's-size football jersey. She was freshly showered and refreshed, but still blotchy and reddish from her enclosure. She sat down across the small table from Cathy and poured herself a cup of tea.

"Thank you, Miss Salazar."

Cathy looked up, breaking out of her fugue. "Oh, no problem, Emily. How do you feel?"

"Still a bit stiff, but not bad at all."

"Emily, how long were you…" She gestured to the crate. "…In there?"

"I’m not certain. What time was it when you released me?"

Cathy thought for a second. "Let’s see… I got home about six-thirty, and… It’s just past ten now. I think you took that inner mask off about nine."

"The suits and the equipment arrived from Germany Wednesday night, and I put the inner suit on just after noon. I sort of lost track of time after the inner mask was strapped on."

Cathy said, "Noon… Thursday?

"Yes."

"Emily, it’s Friday night!"

Emily’s usual calm and controlled demeanor gave way to naked amazement. "Really? THIRTY-THREE HOURS?"

Cathy was amused by her reaction. "That sounds about right. Might I add, I’m extraordinarily impressed."

Emily caught herself overreacting and gave up a shy smile. "Thank you. First time."

Cathy sipped her tea and set the mug down with a flourish. "Well, if you can do it so can I. I’ve decided to accept Mark’s proposal."

Emily raised her mug. "Let me be the first to congratulate you. Especially because I’m not the one returning the ring."

Cathy opened her mouth to say something, but Emily interrupted her. "Oh yes, Miss Salazar. The suits and the crate are the vessel: we are the message. When the crate returns Mr. DeSouza will unseal it and free the encased woman inside. If he discovers it’s me, he’ll know that answer was no; if it’s you, that means ‘I do.’

"I have no problem re-entering the confines of his ensemble, for I trust him completely-- Even with my life. But I must admit I am very glad you accepted, because that means you trust him as much as I, and nothing but good can come from such devotion."

Cathy blushed. "Thanks, Emily. That means a lot."

"Certainly. Now we should start preparing your message. There’s much to do."

***

Everything timed out pretty much to Emily’s satisfaction. The crate arrived when Cathy got home, and in her excitement she skipped dinner, which meant she hadn’t eaten anything solid in almost twelve hours. Emily fished out of another cabinet in the crate a package containing a folded red latex package and several small items. The first was a three-stage kit of medicines, a prep kit for those undergoing surgery or proctoscopic exam. Cathy took two pills, and then drank a bottle of nasty-sweet liquid.

"You’re going to be… indisposed for a while, Miss Salazar," said Emily matter-of-factly. "Drink lots of water."

Cathy was doing just that, to wash the vile taste out of her mouth. "Tell me again why this is necessary, Emily, because I… Uh…" She was suddenly seized by a huge stomach cramp, and ran to the master bathroom.

Emily followed her to the bathroom door. "Your bowels need to be completely empty, to minimize the chances of… unfortunate accidents. You’ll probably be returning to the bathroom a few more times before dawn."

Cathy’s voice came weakly through the door. "Okay, but what happens if I have to pee?"

Emily started sorting through the pile of latex and leather left on the bedroom floor. "Trust Mr. DeSouza-- Everything has been thought of. While you’re occupied in there, I’m going to get started by cleaning the silicone doll-suit."

Cathy laughed, groaned, then laughed some more. "Oh, so thats what she’s called!"

"Indeed. Actually, that’s the translation from German." Emily picked up the doll-suit, turning it methodically inside out. "And she’s not just a pretty face. The foam surface on the inside absorbs moisture. The red inner suit isn’t ordinary latex―it’s been laser-cut with thousands of tiny holes. You can sweat right through it, into the inside of the doll-suit. Quite comfortable, take my word for it."

"I will. Are you going to clean the inner suit too?"

"You have a fresh one ready to go. I’m going to have to rinse the doll-suit out thoroughly and let it hang in the shower overnight to completely dry, which should take about ten to twelve hours―which, coincidentally, is about when you’ll be fully cleaned out and ready for shipment."

"Good enough, I guess," said Cathy through the door. "Oh, and Emily: As long as I'm stuck in here for a while please help yourself to anything in the fridge. You must be famished."

About an hour later, on about midnight, Cathy shakily emerged from the bathroom and found Emily washing items in the kitchen sink. The plastic globes, the facemask, the breastplate, the tubing and other small stuff were arranged incongruously in the dish rack. The heavy leather outer suit, opened up and ready to don, was hanging up in the crate.

Emily looked up, a small smile betraying a bit of pride in her own efficiency. "All done. Everything is ready to go for tomorrow. There's just one extra thing you need to do before we can retire for the evening."

Cathy put her hands on her hips. "And that would be?"

"Mr. DeSouza has assured me that you, over the last few months, have developed the capability to endure long periods of total enclosure and breath control. I completely believe him, but I have never seen it for myself. It is essential you are delivered in good health and comfort, both physically and mentally."

Emily walked back to the crate and reached into a cabinet built into the upper-right corner, over and behind the shoulder of the leather suit. She produced a shrink-wrapped package containing a black latex suit. Offset with yellow detailing, the suit included gloves, feet and an gasmask hood. A breathing bag was attached to the bottom of the mask.

"You must spend the night in this suit. If you can endure being fully enclosed until noon tomorrow we can proceed with the larger plan. I also believe it will be a good warm-up exercise for the real thing, as it were. The zipper on the bottom opens up front to back, so when nature calls, and it will, you can answer."

Cathy took the suit, looked it over. "No problem, Emily. This is your idea, isn't it?"

"Yes. Mr. DeSouza approved it, but it's for my own peace of mind."

Cathy grinned. "Good enough. Wait here." She ran back to her bedroom and emerged with another latex suit identical to the one Emily gave her, but with blue detailing. "Mark gave me this one back in January, but I didn't have a chance to wear it yet. If I'm going to be totally enclosed in tight latex to satisfy your curiosity, I insist you join me."

Emily's jaw dropped imperceptibly. She narrowed her gaze at Cathy. "But! I just spent thirty-three hours completely immobile, under three layers, in the tightest suspension probably possible. Certainly I have nothing further to prove!"

Cathy reached out, stroked Emily's flush cheek. "No, you don't. Let's just say it would be the fair thing to do."

***

An unsuspecting observer, say a peeping Tom or just a passer-by who casually glanced in through a break in the curtains in Cathy's townhouse in the moments following would see something inexplicably strange. And if this dispassionate voyeur was graced with a certain special sort of mental organization they would see something so powerfully erotic the remembered images would haunt and titillate them for the rest of their lives.  For in the apartment were two women encased in skin-tight black latex, identities obliterated by the built-in gasmasks they wore, identical but for contrast panels in yellow and blue. And the two anonymous figures are more than identically dressed: same height, girth, and within a few pounds of each other in weight. One would have to look into the round eyepieces to ascertain a difference, and all that would reveal is a pair of warm brown eyes, and another pair of lovely blue ones.

Cathy was just finishing securing the zipper on Emily's total enclosure suit, standing over her as Emily sat on the dressing bench at the foot of the bed. Cathy's body language was clearly pleased, her fingers darting in their happy work; Emily looked a bit drained, leaning over slightly. The breathing bags also told the wearer's story as they filled with exhalation and slowly deflated through the bottom holes with a quiet flup-flup sound. Cathy's filled vigorously, inflating to near its maximum normal range, while Emily's limply pulsed.

Cathy moved around to the front of Emily and took her by the hands, bringing her to her feet. They stood hand in hand for a moment, still but for the pulsing of their breathing bags.

"How’s that?" asked Cathy.

"Mmmmc" flup-flup. "It's fine. Feels good. Quite comfortable."

"Really? Because you seem a bit… Unenthusiastic."

"Well, I am a bit tired. I was in that crate for thirty hours... "

Cathy let go of her hands. "I have just the thing to get those spirits up a bit!" She went to her bed stand and grabbed a bottle of latex polish and a terry washcloth. "Now just stand still, and I'll do the work."

Starting with Emily's tightly encased head Cathy made small circles with the cloth, watching the latex gain brilliant mirror sheen. She worked her way down, taking care to carefully polish Emily's modest breasts, firm, well-defined ass and in particular between her legs. By the time Cathy, on her hands and knees, was burnishing the feet Emily's breathing bag had gained considerable tempo.

Under the interior breathing cup of her mask Cathy was smiling slyly. "So how's that, Emily? A bit better?"

Emily's eyes were closed. "Um-hmm! better. Ohhhh, yes, much better." She slowly opened them, then reached down and grabbed the cloth and bottle from Cathy. "Now it's your turn."

***

Soon afterward the two latex-covered women, gleaming with polish, lay down to sleep on the bed, covered with a latex sheet (which was there not as an erotic accessory but more to protect the mattress from all that polish). They mutually decided to sleep in the same bed, rather than Emily sleep on the couch, primarily for safety reasons. The lights out, they both lay on their backs, their breathing bags rhythmically rising and falling. Flup-flup, flup-flup. Emily turned on her side and soon felt Cathy spooning up behind her, her breathing bag perching on Emily’s shoulder like a little pet.

"Emily?"

"Yes?"

"Just to be clear: Having me wear this suit was your idea, right?"

"Yes, as it was yours for me to wear this one."

"You bet your perfect ass it was. But, that wasn't your only contribution to Mark's scheme, was it?"

Flup-flup. Flup flup. "No."

"That strap-on rubber cock!"

Cathy could feel Emily's body tense up. "Miss Salaz! Cathy, please don't mention that to Mark! I... I packed it in the case, but I didn't think I'd... I mean, I didn't think you'd..."

Emily curled up slightly, quiet but for her breathing. Cathy draped an arm around her waist and curled in as well, her kneecaps behind Emily’s knees.

"Well, if that’s what it would take for you to start calling me ‘Cathy,’ it was worth it." She chuckled, but Emily remained impassive. "Look, Emily: Your personal life might be a mystery to Mark, but I think I just figured you out." Cathy’s hand started stroking Emily’s belly, the slick polish making delightfully warm friction. "One time, I was pretty sure I was not into women. But in the last few months I’ve discovered a lot of things about myself-- capabilities I didn’t know I had, desires I never knew existed. I’ve changed, and I love what I’ve become. I love this life. And more than anything, I love Mark. I love everything about him."

Cathy’s slick latex-gloved hand started moving down Emily’s belly, down to that magical place below, down where Cathy could feel the heat through two layers of rubber. Cathy moved her head next to Emily’s, mask to mask, their two breathing bags pulsing side-by-side. "And that means I also love you, Emily."

***

The late morning light filtered through the blinds of Cathy’s small kitchen, illuminating two women going through the process of making breakfast. Emily was finishing some coffee, while Cathy was pouring a nutritional drink into a sports bottle. It was not yet noon and both women―tired yet buzzed―were still enclosed in their suits. Emily was sipping her morning brew a tube inserted through the intake valve of her gasmask, and Cathy was about to do the same. Cathy sat down and caught Emily’s eyes through the glassed eyeholes in her otherwise unreadable masked face. There was new warmth there, almost giddiness, the way one feels when they’re about to embark on some sort of adventure. Cathy returned the gaze in kind.

The appointed hour came and the two stripped off their suits and showered―Together. They did this to save time and hot water, but there were, of course, other compensations.

Cathy’s dressing began with an unusual pair of latex panties (Emily was already dressed: Cathy let her borrow her favorite catsuit. Emily appreciated the gesture, not to mention the great fit!). They were like bicycle shorts; molded to fit very tightly, complete with a deep cleft behind. A hard flat plastic shield covered her pussy, slightly raised to leave a space beneath. A tube fitting sat on top of the vaginal shield. Just before Emily pulled the panties into place on Cathy’s crotch she peeled off an adhesive backing ringing the shield. Her vagina was effectively sealed shut, and nothing was getting out except through the tube.

There was also a strange little corrugated tail attached to the back, and Cathy got another surprise when Emily reached between her butt-cheeks and inserted it into her anus.

"That’s your emergency pouch, Cathy," She explained. "If nature calls."

Soon afterward, Cathy stood dressed in the transparent red full-coverage inner suit, the attached hood still dangling in front. To Cathy it felt a little strange for a latex outfit, almost chilly: she realized the microscopic holes in the latex were indeed drawing away her sweat, which evaporated on the surface.

Emily began to attach the rest of the inner components to Cathy. The rubber waist cincher was zipped on and drawn very tightly. A non-collapsible tube was screwed to the fitting poking through the small hole in suit’s crotch and fed up through a hard conduit built into the cincher.

The breastplate, its precious gold-and-diamond cargo nestled within, was strapped to Cathy’s torso. It was made to mold to her chest perfectly, her breasts nestled behind hard plastic. The globes were added to the breastplate, attached with rubber mounts that allowed them to move and bounce in a surprisingly lifelike way. 

As the tubes were attached Emily explained their purpose. Inside each hard globe was a bag of fresh water. The urinary relief tube ran up the torso and teed into each globe, outside the bags. All the tubes ran through tiny battery-powered pumps attached to the plate between the globes. The facemask had a built-in mouthpiece with two tongue-activated valves, one for each water bag. When Cathy is secured inside the suits she’ll have access to a water supply, enough to offset losses by perspiration for quite a while (at least thirty-three hours: there was still a small amount left when Emily was freed). Urine would be drawn upward through the lower tube to fill the globes as the bags emptied.

Cathy bounced the globes, listening to them slosh. "What happens if the globes totally fill with pee?"

Emily started attaching the upper hoses to the facemask. "It won’t come to that. You’ll sweat away most of the water you take in. There is an emergency feature, in case that happens: just suck real hard on the tubes in your mouth. It should pierce the bag. You’ll have to drink off enough urine to relieve the pressure, though. Like I said, it won’t come to that."

Cathy grimaced, than smiled. "You’re right, it won’t. I trust Mark."

Emily now had the facemask hooked up and ready to strap on. "Cathy, I’m about to put the headgear on you. This includes baffled earplugs, which means you’ll be deaf until you’re freed. So before we do this, I need to show you something." She walked Emily to the hanging leather outer suit, raised one of the mittens at the end of the arms, and offered it to Cathy.

"Feel that hard piece inside, right between where the thumb and forefinger goes? That’s the built-in panic button. Squeeze it three times rapidly, it sends out an RF alert. The courier will know you’re in trouble, and take quick action."

Cathy looked relieved. She was still calm as Emily inserted the anatomically fitted rubber plugs into her ears, gathered her brown and gold streaked hair under a nylon wig cap, and zipped the tight rubber hood over her head.

The facemask had a few features Cathy hadn’t noticed before: two fifteen-centimeter long, one-centimeter wide soft tubes made from medical-grade plastic were attached inside the nostril holes. Cathy saw the logic of these features― if she developed sinusitis or a runny nose her airflow couldn’t be blocked―but it looked pretty uncomfortable. Below the hard nosepiece was the mouthpiece. It looked like a mouth guard but bigger, with two triangular wedges pointing in. These were the water valves: she saw how she could flip them up with her tongue, which opened each water tube.

Emily nodded to the now-deafened Cathy with questioning affirmation: "Ready?" Cathy looked down at the mask; it’s nostril tubes pointing up to her face. She looked up with a look of slight trepidation. Emily answered with a long, hard stare. Just when Cathy thought she was going to get slapped or something, Emily drew close and gave her a long, hard, passionate kiss. When she drew back, they regarded each other with big, blissful, almost dopey smiles on their faces. Cathy nodded her readiness.

Emily fed the wetted nose tubes up Cathy’s nostrils. Inserting them was as uncomfortable as she thought it would be, but once in place it wasn’t that bad. Cathy opened her mouth to accept the mouthpiece, and the facemask was tightened to her face with the straps. The hard mask was lined in the back with fine porous foam latex for added comfort. The hard nosepiece squished her nose a little, which flared her nostrils and eased breathing somewhat.

Cathy took inventory of her senses. She couldn’t hear a thing, except the faint rush of her own breath. Her sense of smell was gone, her olfactory receptors bypassed by the air tubes. The hard mask clamped her jaw firmly on her custom-fitted mouthpiece, a small hole flat hole in it allowing her some extra air . She ran her tongue over the rubber wedges and experimentally pushed one up to the roof of her mouth. A small amount of water dribbled out of the tube; when she sucked, more splashed out. She opened her eyes and peered out behind convex plastic lenses. Emily came into her view flashing her the OK sign. Cathy responded with a thumbs-up.

Emily left the room and reappeared with the silicone doll-suit, now right side out and ready to be worn. Cathy, even by now very intimately familiar with the garment, nonetheless reacted with mild shock. It was so realistic it appeared to be a woman’s flayed skin. Emily reversed the skin again, down to the ankles. Cathy sat on her couch as Emily worked it over her feet. Cathy felt hardness under the heels: there were lifts built right into the suit. And that’s why, Cathy thought, I believed Mark was inside. Just two inches was enough to come within a half-inch of his height.

The thick suit was snaked up her legs. It fit tight on her latex-covered legs but the inner foam rubber surface was soft and seemed to draw the heat and damp away from her, creating the odd sensation of cool tightness. The globes over her chest disappeared under the well-padded skin; Emily fed Cathy’s arms one at a time into the lifelike silicone appendages, helped along by the sweat slickness coating her inner suit.

A generous handful of latex dressing lube was applied to Cathy’s tightly encased and strapped head, then Emily had her bow down her head as she pulled the head of the suit over hers. There were a few frightening moments for Cathy as the neck slithered over her face, blocking her air. Her head suddenly popped into place, and she could (sort of) breathe again and see faint light. She could feel Emily pulling and adjusting the face and she was breathing freely, peering out from behind the pupils of the doll-suit’s green eyes.

Cathy could feel the suit tightening around the shoulders as Emily zipped it closed. What she couldn’t feel was Emily applying a line of spirit gum along the seam, then joining the edges carefully, leaving only the faint welt.

Emily led the suited Cathy into the bedroom and gestured her to put on the filmy underwear she had laid out on the bed. She then moved the floor-length mirror so Cathy could see herself, and left the room. Cathy figured she was going to prep the outer suit, but was soon distracted by the vision in the mirror.

It was uncanny. She posed for herself as she donned the old-fashioned, vanilla undergarments to her voluptuous new body. She looked like a Playboy model, she thought, one from the early days, back when the standards of feminine beauty were a little different and a little meat on the bones was considered  ideally sexy. She was Gina Lollobrigida, Jayne Mansfield brought back to life.

She sashayed up close to the mirror, running her slightly thick fingers finished with French-manicured fake nails over her expressionless, startlingly real face. She felt the big red lips, parted them to see the glossy fake teeth just behind. Cathy felt disconnected from her reflection: she thought, it must be like those motion-capture rigs where a computer-generated character follows your motions exactly. Even stranger to her that trapped inside behind the natural-looking silicone features, deafened, gagged, almost blind and encased in tight latex, was a completely different woman. When Emily came for her it was difficult to tear herself away from her own exotic, alluring image.

The outer suit lay waiting for filling in the living room, top inverted and draped around the stiff legs, looking like a standing leather crinoline. Cathy, taking in the arrangement through her occluded vision, nodded her understanding and with assistance stepped into the suit's legs. There was plenty of room. She had to struggle to keep her balance as the heavy top half of the suit was brought up and behind her. She slid her arms in; Emily heaved the suit onto her shoulders. Pretty easy, thought Cathy: it felt like wearing motorcycle leathers, albeit very heavy. She felt a hard wedge in each mitten, the panic buttons.

Emily started the long process of cinching the laces, starting at the side of her booted foot and working up the top of the hip. By the time she was done with both legs, Cathy was amazed by the sensation of total tightness over her lower limbs. Her arms were next: when Emily tied the bow at her shoulder she could only slightly wave them at the shoulder, and there was just enough room inside the mitten to move her thumbs the few millimeters needed in case of emergency.

The moment Cathy was semi-dreading came as Emily worked the zipper up the crotch, over her belly, and sealed in her humongous water-filled breasts. Emily stopped, vanished for a few long moments, and then reappeared holding a remote box. She held up a post-it note to the doll-suit's eyes: TEST THE PANIC BUTTONS. Cathy nodded, and, with the only appendage she could easily move, clicked the button on one of them three times rapidly with her thumb. Even through the pinhole openings she could see strobes inset on the crate and an LED on the remote box flash. God knows how loud it was, Cathy thought, because I can't hear a thing.

Emily reset the panic button with her remote, then came close to her, filling her limited field of vision. She smiled, gave a kiss to the doll-suit's luscious mouth, and then strapped the respirator to its face. She fed the inlet and exhaust tubes through the opening on top of the hood and slowly pulled it into place. As Emily started pulling the zipper upwards, she mouthed a short phrase to the enclosed woman before touching her index fingers to the glassy doll eyes, pulled the spring-loaded rubber eyelids down, and zipped the suit all the way to the top: "I love you too, Cathy."

If she could have moved her mouth in any way, Cathy would have beamed.

She stood in the complete isolation of her three-layer rubber and leather confinement; feeling her waist, then her chest, draw tighter and tighter. The tightness moved up her neck, then her face. When sensations ebbed, she was transfixed by the tightest bondage she had ever felt before. Every single inch of her was under tension: she could feel the foam rubber of the doll-suit was flattened against every part of her body. The pressure on her head crushed the doll-suit's face into hers.

She regained enough composure to take some stock of her situation. She could still breathe comfortably: The hard respirator allowed air to pass, the valves snapping open to bring in fresh air and expel her stale air. The hard nose in the facemask also resisted the crushing pressure. She could still open and close her eyes behind the facemask's goggles, but there was nothing to see. She opened a mouth valve with her tongue and water reliably flowed out. Cathy summarized: This is definitely not dangerous: just very, very tight!

She suddenly felt a strange vertigo, followed by more pressure under her arms and around her waist. Cathy surmised: she was just lifted into the crate and hung by the shoulder hooks, and the built-in straps in the outer suit are distributing the load throughout her torso. Her hands, then her legs were immobilized, and the turnbuckles were tightened. Her suit was already tight, and now it felt even tighter―the pressure was unbelievable. Finally, she felt the click of the chain being attached to her head. It was tightened just enough to make it impossible to move. Then all was still.

Cathy felt a distant thump: the door to the crate was closed.

She floated in the void, alone with her thoughts, which were never far from the unadorned thrill of reveling in pure physical sensation. She was adrift in a self-contained erotic world. The pressure of the leather over silicone over latex over her sweaty flesh was total: she imagined she could feel every layer, each transforming her, individually and in concert, into a different fetish persona. She could feel the wetness of arousal between her legs, under the hard plastic covering her sex, an arousal she would be unable to satisfy in her current state. She replayed the recent memory of Emily’s passionate kiss, which she could still slightly taste in her gagged mouth, and grew wetter still.

Almost swooning from her bound desire, Cathy thought of Mark, the mastermind of her elaborate enclosure. She could see his ring in her mind’s eye, emanating beams of the purest light, right over her softly beating heart. She recalled Emily’s words: The suit is a vessel and we are the message. Well, she thought, Mark is sending me a message right now, sending it inescapably through every single inch of my body.

Such a lovely message.

 

The End

22.06.08

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