Gromet's Plaza Latex Stories
The Doll Hotel
by AmyAmy
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© Copyright 2010 - AmyAmy - Used by permission
Storycodes: Solo-m; latex; clothing; corset; boots; hotel; fem; mast; cons; X
de fr nl it es jp
The Doll Hotel 1: The Road Less Travelled AmyAmy Solo-m; latex; clothing; corset; boots; hotel; fem; mast; cons; X

While this story is new to the Plaza it is a revision of a story that started being serialised in 2005. It has been updated by the original author to better fit with the continuity of the Doll Factory and Little Shop of Rubber stories. The name has also been changed to reduce possible confusion with a certain TV series, with which it has nothing in common.

Prologue

It was the summer of 2001 in Germany.

Clouds of swirling insects boiled around the floodlights illuminating the deforested building site on the Polish border. Bright yellow construction vehicles with CAT logos had smashed a broad clearing amongst the trees. Workers shouted to each other as they toiled into the hot summer night completing a major concrete pour.

In the shadows at the edge of the site, on a mound of hard-packed earth, rutted with deep tyre tracks and butted against a temporary wall of pre-formed interlocking concrete sections the two women were talking quietly in German, the roar of the engines concealing their voices from unwanted listeners.

Her long hair was floating loose in the warm evening breeze, the smaller of the two women was young, blonde, dressed in a gray business suit and a pair of green rubber wellington boots about two sizes too big for her. The taller, dark-haired woman supported herself on crutches, dressed casually in a soft leather jacket, t-shirt, loose fitting jeans and hiking boots. Her face was lined with pain and her jeans had been cut open to accommodate the blue plastic cast immobilizing her injured leg. Even discounting the drawn gray colour of her face she looked the older of the two and yet it was obvious that she deferred to the younger woman.

“I’m sorry, are you suffering? I thought your leg wasn’t giving you trouble any longer?” Said the blonde, idly pushing her hair back behind her ear.

“Don’t worry about me Mistress, it is the speed of the healing, not the wound that pains me. My own stubbornness... No pain-killers. I prefer to keep my head clear,” responded the injured woman.

“You asked that we meet here for security reasons?” Said the blonde.

“Yes Mistress. I am uncomfortable back at the house. I suspect we are being watched by those who orchestrated the attack. Also, I think it likely that there is a traitor still among us.”

“You still think the attack was intended to give them access to Sam?”

“Yes Mistress. I believe he predicted it and arranged for Eleven to take him away just in time. The attackers probably believe we are hiding him somewhere and are waiting for him to reappear.”

“You still think it was Amy don’t you?”

“Who else could do so much damage Mistress? Everything points to the mercenaries showing up after the explosions went off. Besides, she had already expressed her unhappiness in clear terms.”

“I’ve known her for years now and her vicious destructive streak has never been associated with pre-meditation before. It would have been more like her to confront me, lose her temper and then destroy everything. Still...”

“Mistress, I don’t believe the Association would orchestrate an attack to destroy what they would see as valuable assets.”

“There are so many factions within the Association, who can say? Some would be happy simply to see us suffer.”

“Will you wait until the new facility is complete before you re-open recruiting Mistress?”

“There won’t be any more recruitment. I’m not going to drag more defenceless maids into a war with Amy or shadow factions within the Association.”

“Mistress, we already turn away so many and if we don’t replenish our numbers we will lose standing with the Association, along with influence and income.”

“I don’t care about the Association. They’re nothing but jackals. I might have helped in founding it, but I no longer have anything in common with those people. If they were involved in the attack, doubly so. I won’t attend any more of their meetings. If there’s something essential Eight can go, or whatever her number is now ... Six I think?”

“Yes, Six Mistress.”

“Always an unlucky number; I wish things had gone differently with Eleven; she should have been the new Five. If I gave her an ounce of power she’d wrap Three and the entire Association around her little finger.”

“The others are baying for her blood Mistress.”

“I wish I could say sorry to her for the things that happened, but at least she’s probably still alive. Who is making the most noise?”

“It’s hard to tell for sure Mistress, as people are careful what they say around me, but I think perhaps Number Two. There’s even a rumour that you should take responsibility for what happened and step down. The obvious sources would be Two or Three.”

“Yes, it’s a problem when I can’t trust her. I don’t think she had anything to do with what happened though I can’t rule it out. It’s just that she’s made herself useless: she’s become an addict, and that the addiction is to something acceptable within our circle makes it no better. She might as well be on Crystal Meth for all the coherence and self-control she has left.”

“Mistress, she will not take well to any reduction in our prestige within the Association. How are you going to announce that on top of all that’s happened?”

“I’m not going to announce it at all, but if she can’t manage without an army of maids to puff her up, she should go and found a house of her own. I’d just as well be rid of her. It would probably be better if she did, but unfortunately it’s me that she’s addicted to. I wonder if she’s worked that out yet.”

“The incident with Sam must have given her a clue Mistress.”

“I wonder how she and Three would propose organising my step down then? Perhaps they think they can turn me into some kind of axolotl tank.”

“The nectar must flow Mistress,” said the taller woman with a dry smirk.

“Don’t worry about the income from the Association. I’ll top up any shortfall from my own money. It continues to accumulate and I have no way to spend any significant amount of it without attacking unwanted attention.”

“Mistress, there are still a few maids from the annexe en route to join us. No doubt they are badly trained and poor quality material but it’s likely that they are untainted by Two or Three.”

“How many?”

“Five I think Mistress; they should bring our number up to twenty one, not including the ex-Twelve.”

“Once the remaining maids are trained to their full potential, whether they are dominants, subs, or something in-between it will be the end. I don’t want any more.”

“Mistress, you’re certain. This is the end of your house?”

“Not the end, just the beginning of the end. We will continue to host guests but the only circumstance I can imagine taking a new maid is if it’s someone like Sam. If we can find a genuine candidate I still might reconcile my differences with Amy.”

“Mistress, what are the chances of a candidate just offering themselves? Especially if we aren’t accepting new members?”

“You’d do better asking Sam that, but my guess is that it’s either completely certain or impossible. That’s just how it is with the things that really matter.”

Chapter One: The Road Less Travelled

It was winter of 2006 and I was lost somewhere in Germany, or perhaps by then I had crossed into Poland by some farm track. I'd been driving through featureless forest for hours. Somewhere in here was my uncle's house, but the network of tracks and rough roads that I'd been following since I left the highway had led me astray. I could tell by the darkening sky that I was a long way off course. The petrol gauge was heading towards empty and I was becoming nervous. It was still only the start of winter, and just a light covering of snow hid the tracks, but there was no telling how cold it could get, and I wasn't prepared for a night spent in the car.

As the last of the daylight faded I spotted a track, the opening barely visible amongst the camouflage of the featureless trees. It was only because it looked flat and recently maintained that I noticed it. I pulled to a stop and considered my options. I decided to take the chance that this new track would soon end in a house. I hoped it would be inhabited, and that the people would be friendly. It seemed that I had gambled wisely, for at the end of a two-mile trail was a fancy wrought-iron gate in a tall brick wall. It opened automatically as I approached. Beyond lay a wide open car-parking area in front of a large, modern and rather expensive looking hotel complex.

I had passed an illuminated sign at the gate, in English, French and German that announced 'Country House Hotel'. By the small number of cars parked here, I inferred that there would certainly be vacancies. I parked as close to the main entrance as I could. I grabbed my overnight bag from the passenger seat and dashed for the entrance. The heavy front doors opened automatically for me and I passed into a small entrance chamber that ended in a pair of double-glazed doors in a heavy stainless steel frame. The doors were frosted glass with an insignia cut into them. They also opened as I approached and I found myself in a typical hotel lobby.

The doors clicked closed behind me, shutting out the cold of the entrance chamber, and I took a moment to glance about me. All the usual trimmings were in place: potted plants, sofas with coffee tables, hard-wearing carpet, occasional harsh little halogen spotlights, and in front of me a deeply polished reception desk of dark mahogany. The receptionist greeted me with a smile. She was almost hidden in darkness, and the concealed lights above her desk were all extinguished, if there were in fact any such lights. The overspill from a tiny dim desk light was barely enough to illuminate her face. I spoke first, in my awful German.

"Do you have a room available? I'm sorry. I am lost. My car ... needs petrol. Sorry, I am English. I do not speak much German. "

She answered only half understanding. "Are you English? American?" Her voice was soft, but I thought her accent was German.

"Yes, English," I said quickly, nervously. She was pretty. Her make up was dramatic, her hair dark and cut in a short bob. The skin of her hand seemed very pale and very smooth where the light caught it. She moved it away from the light as she reached under the desktop for something.

"Please, you may speak English. I understand it well, though I do not speak it so perfect. Do not worry," she explained.

"I need a room. I got lost in the forest and am running out of petrol. Tomorrow I can phone for someone to pick me up. I just need to stay the night," I said, struggling to keep my English simple and not doing very well at it.

"That is no problem, we have rooms. Normally, we take only special bookings. Now is the quiet time for us. You can stay as long as you like. Do you need help with your car or instructions of navigation?"

"Just a room for tonight for now. I'll worry about the rest in the morning."

"You're welcome," she said. "Here sign these forms. You will need a credit card. Do you have it?"

"Yes, I do," I said fumbling one of my cards onto the desktop as she passed me some forms to sign.

After the basic formalities, she handed back my card, made some notes on the forms and then shuffled them aside.

I looked around the room again as she prepared my key. There wasn't much else to see; just more dark wood panelling, all beautifully clean and polished, with spotlights illuminating the plants. I looked back at the receptionist. I was nervous that I might seem to be staring at her and looked away again. I couldn't help noticing her breasts were very prominent. I tried not to look, but my eyes were drawn back. I couldn't see anything, it was too dark but my imagination made up for the lack of light. Before I had time to get carried away, she handed me a key card.

"Your key. You are 1F. Take the door to the left and go up one floor. Take the left door. You will need the key to open the hall. Your room is at the end of the hallway. Put your key in the slot by the door for electrical power. Please call if you need anything. The restaurant is closed for the winter, but you may order room service."

I thought that possibly her accent was Dutch, not German after all. I nodded, thanked her and headed to my room. The door to the left opened onto a stairwell, and at the top were four doors, the stairs continued upwards. I was thankful for her directions. Each of the doors had a card lock. I opened my assigned door to see a hallway, filled with similar doors, each with a letter. I checked my key in case I had remembered my room identification wrong. It was a typical hotel key card with no markings: no help there.

I thought she had said '1F', so I went to try that door first: the lock and handle were heavy brass, polished to a mirror finish, and green light illuminated when I inserted my key, followed by a soft click. I pulled down on the handle and it moved easily, but the door itself was harder to push; like everything else in the hotel it was strong and heavy. Once I had it moving it swung open easily: the spring was very gently pushing it back. I clicked my key card into the wall slot and concealed lights came on, illuminating the room with a diffuse and subtle glow.

My room was generously sized and extremely tidy. One wall was filled with a large triple glazed window that looked out onto the snow-strewn forest. There were no curtains, but there were blinds. I stared at my reflection in the dark glass. The usual hotel paraphernalia was all hidden away. The bed was clean and white, and made with hospital precision. One door opened onto a spacious, pristine white tiled bathroom, another onto a walk-in closet. The closet smelled oddly of chocolate and demanded a second look because there was an untidy pile of bedding on the floor. This was decidedly out of character with the rest of the room, but ultimately not very interesting.

The third and final door opened onto a large cupboard where the various hotel extras were hiding, along with a remote control. I picked up the remote and looked around for the television. There was no sign of it. Pressing the power button caused the large, built in, wall-mirror to light up. It was also a television. The default channel was some kind of cooking channel in German. The sight of food reminded me that I was pretty hungry. I muted the sound and dropped the remote on the bed, looking for the phone. A few moments later, without having to resort to my bad German, I had ordered a light meal with spicy soup and crispy dumplings with a slice of New York cheesecake to follow. Hopefully, if the rest of the hotel was anything to go by, they would both be excellent.

While waiting for my food I decided to take a shower. The hot water would be just the thing to take the kinks out of my back that the long hours of driving had created. I stripped off and dumped my clothes on the bed. The bathroom contained a huge walk-in shower and I turned it on to be surprised with almost instant hot water. It was perfect. I must have drifted into a dreamland because it could have been an age later when I was startled by a noise from my room. I quickly finished up in the shower, wrapped myself in a towel and headed out. Room service had been and gone, and they had left my food. Without dressing I sat down to eat.

When I turned back from my food to look for my clothes, I was distracted by the television. The cooking had been replaced with some kind of strange pornography. I was sure I hadn't changed the channel. I checked, and it was the same number as before. Had this been on when room service entered?

In the video, women encased in skin-tight transparent rubber were indulging in bondage play and lesbian sex. It looked so strange that I wanted to look away but I couldn't do it. I'd never seen anything like this before, but the women looked very erotic with the transparent rubber clinging tightly to their skin while they rubbed lube all over their breasts. It was unreal, but completely seized my attention.

I sat down on the bed to watch and was soon extremely erect. It wasn't until I had masturbated watching the video that I could look away. The sound was still muted, and I left it that way. I felt oddly guilty. It felt wrong to enjoy masturbating to such a perverted sight. Sure, I'd seen the occasional Internet image of that kind of thing before, but I'd never studied one properly and the video was something different: something much more powerful.

I spent the rest of the evening watching more of the videos before falling into an uneasy sleep; I had never been comfortable in hotel beds.

* * * * *

The next morning I tried to call my uncle on the hotel phone. There was no mobile reception so there was no alternative. There was no answer from his number, and no answering machine. I decided to call the car rental company and see if they could offer me any advice. Their number seemed to be continually busy and I couldn't get through. When I finally got an answer it was just a machine. I left a message in my stumbling German. I gave up, determined to try later and went down to reception to see if they had a map or some other solution that might help me.

Reception was still very dark. The only map the receptionist was able to give me wasn't very helpful: one of those simplified diagrams that showed how to reach somewhere from the nearest major road. It suggested distances to the major towns that would be impossible without more petrol. I asked the receptionist if there was any other solution.

"Is there a place nearby that I could get petrol?" I asked.

"Sorry, one hundred forty kilometres to nearest auto gasoline."

"Is there any petrol here? What do you suggest?"

"We have benz... gasoline cans here, someone will find it soon. I will call you in your room. Please wait: let us look after you."

"OK. Thanks," I said, relieved that it seemed the problem was solved. I headed back to my room to wait.

I was bored, so I looked around the room for something to do. There didn't seem to be anything interesting on the hotel television, it seemed to have nothing but dull domestic programs in German that I couldn't follow. Usually in a hotel, there would be movies in English with subtitles, but I couldn't find any. It seemed peculiar that they put the porn channel on for free and then locked out the ordinary movies.

I was opening and closing the cupboard like an idiot, trying to work out if I had missed some instructions for the television somewhere, when it occurred to me to look in the closet again. There was nothing in there but a pile of sheets as far as I could remember, but I hadn't looked properly. It wasn't as if I had anything better to do, so I took another look. There was the heap of bedding I remembered, but on closer inspection it was hiding some boxes, and behind them was a suitcase. The odd smell of chocolate grew stronger.

I knew this stuff wasn't mine, but I decided to take a look at it anyway. I expected the suitcase to be empty, or locked, but it wasn't. I pulled it out and opened it. It was filled with a man's clothes, travel guides, the usual tourist accessories. None of it was of any interest, and I didn't want to rifle through the case too obtrusively in case it made my tampering obvious.

I had no intent to steal, I was just curious. The only thing of interest was a brochure for the hotel. I couldn't make out the German too well, but it seemed to say something about special services that were tailored or customised somehow for the executive or elite customer. I was soon speculating as to what those services might be, but the brochure itself seemed very evasive on the subject, or perhaps I simply didn't understand its turn of phrase properly. I put it back in the case and stuffed it back in the closet.

I pulled out one of the boxes. It was a parcel, as might be sent through the mail, and still had a label addressed to the housekeeper of the hotel attached. It had been opened already, so I pulled off the lid. Inside was a mess of tissue paper wrapping. The chocolate smell was intense. Was this box full of sweets?

At first I didn't find anything. For an instant I imagined this was an empty box that china or glass had been sent in, but when I poked deeper into the wrapping, I found there was something else in there. My fingers found something smooth, cool, and soft to the touch. I pulled the paper aside and found a pile of dusty black rubber material. Lifting it out of the box I found it was a garment of some sort. I shook it out. It seemed to be a sort of rubber leotard. It looked very different from the material in the video: this was opaque matte black and dusty. The smell was rubber, not chocolate after all. I had never imagined it would smell like this.

The rubber was so soft and cool, pouring through my hands like water. My fingers made marks in the dust as I straightened  out the garment. There was a short black nylon zip at each shoulder, and some sort of shaped arrangement at the bottom that looked like an obscenely large pair of labia. I had never before seen anything like the rubber garment in the box, or the outfits the women wore on the porno channel. I had never imagined I could be attracted to women who seemed to have no hair - though that was just an illusion the tight rubber hoods created. As for some of the other things I'd seen, I didn't know what to think.

I was coming to the realisation that the strange looking rubber outfits were the most erotic things I'd ever seen. They went far beyond the allure of any plain naked woman, however beautiful she might be. It wasn't easy to cope with: all my life I'd been told things like this were wrong. I knew the right thing to do was to put the rubber thing straight back in the box, clean my finger marks off as best as possible and hide it away in the closet where it came from. Of course, I couldn't do it. The evening of videos had made me very curious to experience the rubber for myself. I'd never imagined it would be so soft.

I had been imagining myself feeling that smooth slippery looking stuff on my skin. I had time to kill. I would try on the leotard, then wash it and cover with talc from the bathroom. Nobody would be any the wiser. Sure, it looked like it was designed for a woman, but there ought to be plenty of stretch in it. I gave it a few test pulls to be sure. Soon I had slipped out of my clothes and had pulled the thing up around my legs up to my crotch. There seemed to be a pouch for my balls to fit into, each cupped and held separately. It hurt a little getting them in there, but once in place it was comfortable. Similarly, there seemed to be a pocket for my penis, though it had to be bent back. Apparently, this garment was made for a man after all.

It didn't seem slippery at all, and the way it snagged the hairs on my skin was painful. With some serious struggling I was able to pull it up tight around my body. It gripped my waist very tightly but came over the chest more easily, seeming loose at the front. At last I was able to zip the shoulder zips closed. The feeling of confinement was extraordinary, even though my arms and legs were uncovered.

My penis was trying to get hard in its pouch. In fact, it was as hard as it could get with it bent backwards under me. I was longing for release and reached my hand down to try and find my penis head beneath the giant moulded 'labia'. I could feel my hand touching it through the rubber, so I lay back on the bed and did my best to rub myself to orgasm. Though I could stimulate it somewhat through the rubber covering, I had cum too many times the night before to climax with this limited sensation. On the other hand, the rubber was exciting me; it felt good to be in its grip.

I struggled for release for some time before giving up. I got up to take a look at myself in the mirror. I thought I looked rather silly, dressed as I was in a black rubber leotard with grotesque over-sized labia, and pubic hair sprouting out at the sides. My waist looked somewhat feminine - squeezed in as it was - but my pasty white arms and legs looking very sad compared to the smooth black surface and destroyed any possible illusion. Also, with the dust all over it, it looked like I was wearing an outfit made from a grubby inner tube. I looked at myself in the mirror and felt idiotic, but when I looked away I felt excited, and somewhat erotic.

Then the phone rang. It was reception: they were ready to help me fill up my car. I said I would be down in a minute. As I put down the phone I was filled with panic. Quickly, I went to pull off the outfit. Somehow I'd managed to trap the rubber flap into one of the shoulder zips and I couldn't get it open. I wrenched at it in panic and the tab snapped off the zip. There was no way I could get the thing off with only one shoulder undone, not without tearing it, if I was even strong enough. The only thing to do was to do up the zip on the other shoulder and put my clothes on over it.

I would invent some story later, maybe offer to pay for the loss over the phone once I was gone. Or perhaps the loss wouldn't be noticed until long after other occupants had been through the room. Whatever the solution, I would work it out once I was out of the hotel. I got dressed and hoped that my normal clothes would mask the squeaking of the leotard. This seemed to be the case, as long as I was careful how I moved.

"Please move your car into the underground employee parking. I will open the parking door for you," said the receptionist.

I stood well away from her so it would be harder for her to hear me squeaking. Hopefully, my heavy outdoor coat would cover most of it. As I stepped out into the freezing air, I realised it was snowing heavily, and had been for some time. The snow in the high walled car park was already deep, and it would be difficult to move my car, even with the chains on. There was no way I could drive anywhere today. I would have to wait for the snow to stop, and the road to be cleared, or packed down by a heavy vehicle with enough ground clearance.

It was with difficulty that I moved my car the few hundred meters around the corner and down into the 'employee parking' area. This was an underground garage that contained almost two dozen cars. Most of them were much more luxurious than my basic rental Passat; executive BMW and Mercedes surrounded me. There were a couple of Porches, and some sports cars I couldn't name. Whatever was going on, the staff here were well paid.

I waited a while in the car, but nobody arrived to show me where the petrol cans were. The garage door had already closed, and I wandered around the garage looking for petrol, or the way out. I found the way out first. Behind a curtain of clear plastic strips was (the by now obligatory) heavy door leading to a stairwell. Unlike elsewhere, these were steel steps with non-slip rubber coverings. A hallway at the top took me past anonymous locked doors and eventually emerged in the lobby. The receptionist turned to me with that smile.

"Did you get gasoline?" She asked.

"Uh no. Was somebody supposed to come down and meet me?"

"Yes. There should have been," she said.

"Anyway, it's snowing really hard. I can't leave," I said weakly.

"That's bad. You will stay another night?"

"I think so. Not much alternative," I said.

"That is true," she said.

I was wincing at my terrible conversation as I headed back to my room. If I intended to chat up the receptionist I'd need to do a bit better than that.

The squeaking beneath my clothes reminded me that at least I'd have some more time to work on the stuck zip. Maybe I could get some scissors or tools to release it. I cursed myself for not looking for something while I was down in the garage. I doubted I could even find my way back there now, never mind deal with all the locks. Perhaps there was something useful in the room I'd missed. I hadn't been looking for that kind of thing before.

There was nothing. I'd probably have to wait until lunch and I could try my cutlery. In desperation, I looked properly through the suitcase in the hope of finding something, but it was devoid of sharp metal objects. Frustrated, I decided to see what was in the other boxes.

They all contained rubber clothing, if you could call it that. By the time I'd checked most of them, I'd found a pair of tights (crotchless of course), a skirt, some kind of laced and buckled garment I supposed must be a corset, long sleeved gloves, an open faced hood with shoulders and arm holes that zipped in the back, another hood with a mix of clear and black rubber and a pair of insanely high heeled rubber boots with endless lacing.

There were some other items I'd rejected, and some smaller boxes I hadn't looked in. After my mishap with the leotard I decided that if I were to try them on I would leave it until late at night, when there was no chance of being disturbed. It did occur to me that it was probably pretty stupid to try them on at all, particularly as they were women's clothes, but I was just so curious. This would probably be my only chance to do such a thing, and I might as well make the best of my misfortune with the snow.

For lunch I ordered a steak, to be sure of a decent knife, and then added some innocent stationary to my request. The restaurant would be closed all winter and I would be eating alone. I wondered if I was currently the only guest. I hadn't seen anyone else, but then again, I hadn't really had the chance to meet anyone. Room service delivered lunch, and the stationary with exact timing and perfect efficiency. I heard a knock on the door, and by the time I had it open, the tray was waiting there for me. Clearly, they didn't seem to need a tip.

I ate my steak, and then set about the troublesome zip. I managed to free it after inflicting just a few small cuts on myself. Afterwards, I fashioned a replacement tag out of a paper clip. It wasn't perfect, but it would do. Without something to lift it, the zip head would lock in place, so I needed to do this to open the zip properly.

With great relief I got the rubber thing off me. It made a terrible noise. It had been comparatively easy to get it on, but now it was stuck to me with sweat, and every time I pulled it free it made a loud noise. I was sure someone would hear. If they heard me they didn't come running in to accuse me of perversions, or theft, or vandalism, or all the things I was irrationally afraid of. Instead, after I endured the terrible pain of removing my balls from the little compartments, I was left with a sweaty wet mess of black rubber. I was equally covered in a mess of sweat and talc. A shower was essential, and I brought the leotard into the shower and washed that too.

I now had nothing to do until my next meal. I was so bored that I found myself watching a program I could barely understand that seemed to be the most boring thing on earth. It seemed to be an instructional video for hotel staff, showing how to collect laundry and make up beds. An even more tedious program on the care, use and maintenance of floor polishing machines replaced it.

By the time I'd ordered dinner and eaten it, the programming had improved a little. It looked like an old, lesbian vampire film from the seventies. It was in Italian, which I didn't speak at all, and was subtitled in German, which I couldn't read at that speed. It didn't matter because the dialogue was clearly a secondary concern. By the time the film was over, I figured it was safe enough to get the boxes out of the closet. Lesbian, rubber porn had resumed on the television. This seemed even stranger than before, with shiny black clad ladies playing with gas masks and all kinds of things that pumped up. I didn't follow it properly, as I had my own toys to play with.

First I put on the crotchless tights, which were already talc covered inside, and had no hazardous zips. They were easy enough to get on, and felt very strange. The most peculiar feeling was in my feet, which were not used to being hugged so tightly by clothing.

The leotard had dried and stuck to itself, but I peeled it apart. Covering myself in talc I was able to slide into it once again. The hardest part was probably getting my now erect penis into place. It didn't want to fit in its special pouch, and it wouldn't go down, so eventually I had to resort to my preferred method of getting it soft. When I was done masturbating, I was eventually able to get it properly positioned, and the slippery semen on it helped lubricate it on its way in.

Sorting through the clothes, I decided that the next thing I should put on was the boots. I was quite surprised when my feet slid into them, but I was only a size 40, so that wasn't inconceivable. They forced my already compressed toes out in a point. I imagined standing in them would be impossible, but I didn't have to stand. I leaned down and fastened the laces. Fortunately, once the old fashioned eyelets were laced tightly around the foot, there were speed-lacing hooks for most of the way up my thigh. I pulled them nice and tight and tied them off with a bow.

Just as an experiment, I tried standing in the boots. The toe points were slightly flattened, and with the support of the lacing, all the weight wasn't pressed directly onto my toes. I could stand, but it wasn't comfortable, it was very tiring, and hard to balance. The spiked heels didn't help at all. I felt idiotic because I had to stick my bottom out, bend my knees a little and lean forward to stay upright without holding on to something.

I sat back on the bed. My plan suggested that the next thing should be the black rubber mask with the transparent face. It had no zipper, and was made of very thin rubber. I was able to stretch it over my head without much effort. The face was clear rubber with eyeholes and breathing holes for the nostrils. The mouth didn't open, but instead had bright red lips that formed an enigmatic smile. They were probably plastic, and covered my mouth, concealing it. The rest of the mask was opaque black. I couldn't see what I looked like, but I felt hot and enclosed, already slightly claustrophobic. I was restricted to breathing through my nose, and with the mask clinging tightly to my head I could barely open my mouth anyway.

I still had the hood to go. I slipped my arms through the holes and pulled it up over my face. Reaching back behind my head I pulled down the zip and the pressure on my head, jaw and neck increased. I now felt really enclosed. My breath hissed so noisily through my nostrils that I was afraid that people in the corridor could hear it.

I now had to choose between the corset and skirt as the next item. The skirt seemed like it would be the easiest. I couldn't stand up to step into it, so I lay down on the bed and pulled it carefully over my feet and the sharp spiked heels, and then up to my hips. It took me a while to work it into place as it tended to stick to the tights.

Eventually, I was able to begin tugging the zip up. It flared slightly from the knees down, which was not far above where the zip began. As the zip pulled up, my knees were squeezed tight together, followed by my thighs. It zipped all the way up to the base of my rib cage, squeezing in my waist. My knees had just an inch or two of movement, and my ankles considerably more, perhaps just short of a foot.

The corset would be next. I carefully swung my legs over and sat on the edge of the bed. I opened it out, unhooked it and pulled it around my back so that the metal closures met in front of me. I held it closed with one hand and hooked the shoulder straps over my shoulders with the other. Then I hooked the top closure together. Once I had the first in place the rest followed easily and it sat loosely on my hips. There was a nylon zip to pull up that closed a flap over the hooks in front, concealing any metal.

I now had to tighten the laces. I had neither the desire nor the patience to pull the laces tight, but I got the slack out of them and then pulled, and to my surprise the corset closed up quite easily. I could feel more pressure on my waist and stomach, but it wasn't as uncomfortable as I had expected. I pulled a little more as it was still easy to tighten, and it began to dig into my sides unpleasantly. That seemed a good place to stop. I tied off the laces with a single knot. There was a lot of lace left. I wound it around my waist and tied a bow in the front.

I went to take a deep breath and found I couldn't. It didn't hurt, there was just the firm pressure pressing against my diaphragm muscles. I could make it stretch if I tried really hard and tensed up, which produced a pleasant feeling of stretching against pressure. It was too tiring to breathe like that so I had to resort to upper chest breathing, which felt strange. Already short of breath as a result of only breathing through my nose, and from my exertions I felt light-headed. I lay back and the spots before my eyes began to fade. I wanted to sigh with relief, but I had to concentrate on my breathing.

I still had the shoulder straps to tighten. They cinched up easily with a kind of roller buckle made of tough black plastic. The corset had a sort of built-in breast enhancement at the front, creating the impression of small but perky breasts. I squeezed one of the small mounds. It felt soft and padded between my fingers, like a gel pad sandwiched in the rubber layers. It was quite subtle and unobtrusive. I couldn't really tell if it looked realistic, but it was quite peculiar looking down at the little breasts. They even seemed to have nipples, poking hard at the rubber. I rubbed at them, but felt nothing.

My finishing touch would be the gloves. They were far harder to get on than I expected. I tried rolling them up, but that made them too hard to get over my hands. Eventually I came up with a sort of compromise where I turned only the sleeve part of the glove inside out. I then donned the glove and then slowly inched the rubber sleeve up my arm. There was actually a little suspender and catch at the end of the sleeve that hooked up into the shoulder of the hood to stop it falling down. The next glove was more difficult because I had to grip it with rubber covered fingers. Finally I hooked the second suspender into place and at last I was dressed.

I sat very still, concentrating on the sensation. Tight rubber was pressing on me from every direction. My every breath smelled of rubber. My chest heaved awkwardly as I struggled to learn a new way of breathing. My legs were deliciously tight at the thighs. My penis was straining painfully in its pocket, already hard again. I went to touch it, but the multiple layers of rubber denied any satisfactory sensation. I seemed to have miscalculated in that respect. Denied that gratification I wondered if I could stand up and inspect myself in the mirror.

I ended up crawling slowly, crouched, leaning forward but not leaning on my knees. It was the fastest way to move safely. I used my hands for balance, but the movement of my feet for motion. Supporting myself with the wall I stood up in front of the mirror and edged ever so slowly backwards.

I was astonished at what I saw. Concealed under the rubber could have been a figure of either gender, but with the small waist, pert, tightly squeezed breasts and pouting red lips, the outward appearance was all female. My hips were a little narrow, but apart from that, it was hard to tell anything amiss. I was standing with my bottom thrust back, bent slightly at the knees and my hands waving around weakly for balance as my chest heaved out of the corset. I not only looked female; I looked wanton and lustful. I was a total rubber slut. I couldn't help thinking of the women in the videos.

I crawled back to the bed and spent hours watching the shiny black clad women in their masks inserting huge inflatable dildos into every orifice. I wanted to cum even more desperately than they did. I wanted to be them. Eventually I came, even though I couldn't touch myself: I was so excited. Exhausted, I lay there for a long time, unable to even feel where the semen had dribbled. I couldn't separate it from the sweat.

It took a long time to get all the clothes off again, but at least they came off without any disasters, and nothing got stuck. I now felt more confident. I washed everything in the shower, towelled it dry and covered it in talc before restoring it all carefully to the correct boxes. Finally, I showered and collapsed into bed. I slept in late.

The next day it was still snowing. Again I had no luck with the phones. I arranged to stay another night, and then spent the whole day waiting. I watched some more tedious instructional videos on and off to relieve the boredom.

At last, when it was late enough I repeated the whole dressing up game. Tonight the porno women were sealing people into inflatable rubber coffins and balls, tying each other up with ropes and using metal bars and straps to spread and restrain. I came twice without being able to properly touch myself, just by rubbing my thighs against my crotch as best I could. I wanted more.

 

 

15.05.10

story continues in part 2: Be Careful What You Wish For

o0o

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