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|Storycodes: M/m; F/m; D/s; latex; catsuit; bond; steel; cuffs; collar; gag; club; display; bdsm; paddle; gasmask; strapon; anal; climax; cons; X||
|From Top to Bottom 9: I Go Clubbing and A Mistress Is Born rbbral M/m; F/m; D/s; latex; catsuit; bond; steel; cuffs; collar; gag; club; display; bdsm; paddle; gasmask; strapon; anal; climax; cons; X|
|story continued from part 8
After many stories relating to rubber fetish and associated themes I have decided that, at least for now, this is my last, and for that I wanted to write something very different, and challenging for me So this is a gay rubber story, something I have never tried before. Whether or not it “works” and has credibility is entirely up to the reader, although I have to say I did quite enjoy writing it.
Chapter 9: I Go Clubbing and A Mistress Is Born
And now to return to Pat, and her test run at being a mistress, with me as her poor (not) slave. And I have to say that I was a bit nervous, as it was now very clear to us that Pat, once she had made up her mind to do something, leapt into it with both feet. She had certainly embraced the role of sub, so why not dom? She was talented, assertive, and she ran her own very successful business. So why would I be surprised if she took the role of mistress seriously?
For the evening Ryan helped me dress in my favourite gunmetal grey catsuit, brutally skin-tight and with attached gloves and feet, no creases at all, a double zip from front collar through crotch to above my arse. As she was to be my mistress for the evening and we were to be at the fetish ball all evening I wanted to be masked. I thought this would allow her greater freedom to be mistress over an anonymous slave rather than with her friend, and anyway, I love masks. Ryan would drive us to the event, but not join us, and we agreed he would pick us up at 1am sharp, which certainly allowed Pat lots of time to off show her mistress’ talents.
We went down to her apartment by the stairs, and I nearly gasped when I saw that she had certainly spent some time in choosing to dress the part. She wore black latex jodhpurs tight at the waist and loose at the thigh, tucked into knee high leather boots with 5 inch heels; a black tight blouse, with a high collar - and her bust almost bursting out, with loose sleeves tightening at the wrists. Black latex gloves completed the ensemble. She needed no corset, her figure was voluptuous without any augmentation. Her luscious black hair was pulled back in a tight pony tail. She was the perfect vision of the stern dominatrix.
“Oh, you look tasty, slave.” She laughed, very confidently, with no hint of awkwardness and right then I knew I was in for a torrid evening. She had a large shoulder bag with her and as we left, said with a giggle.
“I have all my gear here, I have been spending lots of money and I have a few interesting ideas for the night.” She placed a hand round my waist. “Want to back out?”
And of course my male pride got the better of me.
“No, of course not, and by the way, if your talents as a mistress match your dress sense, then I think you may be in for a career change.” She liked the compliment, grinning.
“Well we’ll see, I’m nervous but I think it should be fun.”
Quickly, we were at the event, Pat and I in the back seat hidden by the smoked glass of the car windows, and after Ryan drew up I pulled on the mask I had been carrying. Again it was metal grey, with black circles around the eyes and mouth.
“Hhmm, I like that, makes you all mysterious. And I have a couple of things for you too.” She delved into her bag and pulled out a pair of steel cuffs 1 inch wide, and a two inch wide steel collar, all with four rings welded into them. Telling me to turn my back to her she deftly placed the two cuffs round my wrists then locked them together with a self-locking D ring. Round my neck she placed the heavy steel collar, placed the tongue through the opposite hole and ratcheted it closed. She gave the key – a single key for all of them – to Ryan.
“Don’t lose that now. Otherwise we will have some explaining to do to the police or firemen.” And Ryan chuckled, pecking her on the cheek. “Okay, you’re mine for the evening, slave.” She said confidently and we exited the car. She placed her large bag over my shoulder, chuckling.
“Good to have slaves around, mistresses don’t carry luggage.” Then she clipped a thin four foot chain to the front of my collar and led me to the fetish event.
And I was not really surprised to discover that she proved to be an extraordinarily inventive, adept and attentive mistress! She had clearly taken her “role” very seriously; she had obviously spent a lot of time on the internet, studying the experienced mistress’ websites for she exhibited enormous self-confidence in handling her slave, me that is.
She moved through the throng with poise, seeming to revel in the attention, a mistress with her slave obediently trotting on behind her. We quickly found the play area she required and she set it up. The alcove was not large, it had black curtains to three sides and an open front which could be curtained off. But she didn’t want this, she was going to show off her talents for all, this was a type of job interview, a public test, and she was going to find out if she was made for this, and if so then she would now be touting for business. The room held a whipping horse, a St. Andrew’s cross and a sturdy steel chair, all with attached leather straps.
For the next two hours, she put her slave through his paces, taking breaks for a couple of glasses of wine and informal chats with any of the onlookers that stuck around. For an audience there was, some came, watched and left, others just passed by and others stayed, but at any time there might have been 10 or 15 lookers-on. It was clear the word had got around and I was happy that I was masked.
I won’t articulate my tribulations in detail but she moved with unerring assurance throughout the session, passing from one piece of equipment to the next, taking her time, standing back, hands on hips, revelling in her power over her slave. She never shouted or raised her voice, just calmly telling me, ordering me to the next piece of equipment, or advising me what she had planned for me next. I said nothing during the session, I was a mute slave, and an authoritarian command from her for me to obey was quite enough.
As I said, I won’t detail every minute of the session. Quickly however, she had me on the whipping horse, pulling the straps tight till I was secure and then, with great drama produced a thick rubber paddle, and began whacking me from the backs of my knees to my buttocks. It wasn’t terribly painful, the rubber suit I had on helped alleviate the pain, but she took her time, picking her spots and running her hands over my thighs and buttocks. After a wine break (for her) and a chat with some of her audience she had me on the St Andrew’s cross. As my wrists were permanently cuffed behind me, she satisfied herself by strapping my thighs, ankles, waist, chest and even neck to the cross, thus I became absolutely immobile she unzipped my suit at the chest, carefully pulling the zip under the straps and started to rub my exposed nipples. Then she began to twist them, painfully, and I began grunt and whimper – I certainly had not expected this, but she was undeterred.
“Naughty, naughty slave, now I’ll have to silence you.” And she did, with a butterfly gag. With a confident smile she shoved it into my mouth and pumped it quickly, pushing out my cheeks. As I gulped in air, she checked my nostrils through the rubber mask, smiled again and gave me three more pumps. Then she went back to stroking my rubber clad body, forcing an erection from me, which surprised me. Then she was back onto my tender nipples again.
Later on after another break for her, I was strapped to the steel chair, again at the neck, chest, waist, and legs, my hard cock was withdrawn from the suit and she placed a penis enlarger tube and vacuum over it. At that point she delved into her bag again and drew out a small TENS unit with two sets of cables. Calmly she placed the apparatus on the floor, attached the rubber pads over each of my nipples and plugged the unit into the mains socket in the wall. She took little notice of my reaction, which was a low moan, for to her I was now simply her slave to play with.
For the next half hour she played with me. There was a look of real appreciation when she unzipped my crotch zip and saw the thick steel ring around the base of my scrotum. She inspected it calmly and nodded, as if to say, well Ryan really has you sorted!
“Well well, I do like the look of that. I will have to get some of these for my slaves, keep them in order. Is it uncomfortable?” I shook my head and she laughed.
“Well, we’ll take care of that.” And soon she was fondling my steel ringed balls, pinching them, while vacuuming my cock. Meanwhile the rubber pads burned my nipples as the electric pulsed through the cables. It was a powerful, addictive mix of pain and pleasure, but not excruciating, and all I could do was groan and whimper into my butterfly gag. After a while she left me for a trip to the bar. She was very confident now, allowing me to be exhibited in front of everyone like this. I was very happy I was masked as I shuddered under the onslaught of the TENS cables and suction tube over my cock.
For the piece de resistance she had me returned, face down and tightly strapped, to the whipping horse, my wrists still cuffed behind my back. She left me there for a while and I felt horribly vulnerable as she nonchalantly talked with some observers. I thought I was going to get another whipping, but no, she had other plans. After what seemed like an eternity she produced a gas mask from her bag, advised me very quietly to say nothing, lightly stroking my head, she deflated the butterfly gag and withdrew it from my aching mouth. I took a couple of deep breaths as she adjusted the gas mask and pulled it down over my masked head, then pulled hard on the rubber straps, so that it pressed firmly on my rubber-masked head it now embraced.
She then unzipped my crotch zip further, exposing not only my cock and balls, but my arse, for all to see. From the corner of my eye I saw her buckle on a strap-on dildo around her upper hips and between her legs. She adjusted the buckles until she was comfortable as I stared at the rampant rubber cock - not huge but a good size, through the portals of the gas mask. She took a short length of chain and attached it to my cuffed wrists which she arranged in a back prayer. She then jerked it back until she could connect it to a small ring at the back of my gas mask. Tugging the chain until it was taut, my head was now pulled back and I stared straight ahead, while my wrists were nearly touching my collar. She rolled on a condom, and placed a finger under my chin, smiling down at me. I said nothing, I had a pretty good idea where all this was going.
“Good slave.” She said, more to the audience than me. “Now, lots of saliva, make it nice and wet.” She pushed it through the hole in the gas mask and into my mouth, and I began to suck and lick the familiar shape. This continued for a while as he tenderly caressed my head. Then she withdrew, and immediately replaced her strap-on with a stubby rubber cock-shaped gag which she unceremoniously crammed through the front of my gas mask and into my mouth, then locked it to the front of the mask with a half twist. I could now only breathe through my nose and again the powerful aroma of the rubber mask assailed my senses.
She moved behind me. I took a deep breath and tried to relax. My arse was now used to intruders, Ryan of course and some butt plugs, and so I tried to imagine Ryan behind me. I felt the head at my entrance and then moderate pressure, then more. I heard her say, calmly, encouragingly, “come on slave, easy now, relaaaax, good slave.” And I heard a murmur of approval from the on-lookers as I felt her rubber gloved hand now on my cock and balls, gently massaging them, and perhaps to no surprise I became hard. The head of the rubber cock was now past my sphincter muscle and she pushed forward again, finally thrusting to the hilt. I bit down on the gag and gasped and groaned as now she took up an easy and seemingly practised rhythm.
Of course now I was in my sub role, and in my heart of hearts this was exactly what I wanted, being royally fucked, even by a rubber cock wielded by a woman, and she must have known this as well. She was clearly getting off on this too, and I had a feeling that on the inside of the strap-on base plate there were some rubber spikes that were pleasuring her through her rubber jodhpurs.
She took her time, playing with me – and playing to the audience. But finally I heard her shudder behind me and as she thrust deep into me a final time. We were both spent and after a few seconds she withdrew, and there was a smattering of appreciative applause. Then she closed the curtain.
We said nothing for a good 2 or 3 minutes, well I couldn’t as I was very efficiently gagged. The show was over and we were both a bit spent. She disposed of the condom, returned the strap-on, my gas mask and cock gag to her bag and zipped me up, gingerly tucking my now flaccid cock behind the rubber. She released me and as I stood – a little wobbly, she embraced me, in a body-hugging clinch.
“All over, ohhh, that was fantas….. look I hope it was all right, I suppose I kind of shocked….”
“Pat.” I said leaning into her, feeling her relax. “As with all role play, you have to stay in the moment, don’t break the spell, you were….well, amazing. My bum hurts a bit, and that was a surprise I tell you, but it’s a nice hurt. Look I need a drink, I’m parched. We have maybe half an hour till Ryan comes so let’s go to the bar and enjoy the show.”
“In the role Pat, I’m your slave, remember. They’ll be more impressed if they see that you still have complete control over me, yes?” She acknowledged with a nod then attached the chain to my collar and placing her bag over my shoulder, led me to the dance floor and bar area. We didn’t have long before Ryan’s pick-up but this allowed us to get a drink at the bar, with Pat perched on a stool and me dutifully kneeling at her feet. During that time as she placed a glass of wine to my lips we were approached by at least a dozen admirers. I couldn’t believe it, but Pat played the cool commanding mistress to the hilt, fondling my rubber head affectionately while fielding questions. She took phone numbers and names, whether true or made up, saying she would be taking clients, but it would be a while before she found “new” premises. I was hugely impressed by her cool, but said nothing, just resting my head on her thigh as she stroked me tenderly. Despite being gay, I had really liked being topped by a beautiful dom.
Ryan soon arrived and we entered the back seat of his car. I was exhausted and still cuffed. Pat unzipped the rubber mask off my head, my face and short hair saturated with sweat. Through the rear view mirror Ryan raised an eyebrow.
“Good evening?” And Pat and I replied in unison, laughing.
“Fantastic.” She grinned and I continued, looking at Pat, actually very proud of her, a bit in awe really. My, she was full of surprises.
“Ryan I can’t tell you how skilled, how….professional Pat was. We had an audience all night, she didn’t miss a beat, I was stunned. Look, she can really make a thing of this if she wants to, and…”
“Oh I do, oh yes, it was so much fun, it was like I planned every move and yet I didn’t, you know it just came so naturally, you get in the role and it just takes over.”
“I can vouch for that, she’s a natural. So Pat, what now?”
She thought on this for a few seconds. “Well I have to find a place to set up, might take a while,” and she laid a hand on my rubber thigh, “but I’m set on it.”
It’s funny how things sometimes work out, how things just fall into place, as if destiny had an invisible hand guiding events. A week after our amazing evening at the fetish ball Pat came up for dinner. She was still excited about the evening, and was more excited about the news she had. The dear old lady who had the two bedroom apartment next to hers had decided to move out, and was to put her place on the market. Pat told her she would be happy to buy it, and a deal was quickly struck, both parties saving on the substantial commissions. It was a quick closing, Pat would pay cash, no mortgage, and she would have possession within 3 weeks.
I was wondering where this was going, when of course Pat stated what should have been the obvious. This flat would be her “mistress” apartment! It would be perfect, one large living/dining area, one bathroom, a decent bedroom, a smaller bedroom and a kitchen. Already Pat was ahead of us, the living/dining area would be her playroom, dungeon or whatever you like to call it. The large bedroom could be used for changing, or more mistress/slave action, the smaller bedroom she could use as a study/office and the bathroom would serve…as a bathroom. It had its own separate entrance, no client would know that Pat lived next door, all that was needed was to knock through a door from her own living room to the one next door, cover it with a curtain and she had her own private entrance. But, she then said.
“Well, you see I need some help with the, erm reno’s. I have some ideas already and I need two hulking guys to help me. And, here’s the big favour, I’d like you to help me set up my mistress website.” She said with an engaging smile. Ryan chuckled.
“Well no problem there, here we are, not sure about the hulking, but the website will be a cinch, but all this on one proviso.” He looked at me with a devious smile “We get to use your playroom when you’re not disciplining a client, yeah?” And she nodded enthusiastically.
“Of course, but on one other proviso - that I get to sit in on your sessions, when you feel comfortable with that. Maybe try out a few things?” Ryan, speaking for me, it appeared, replied.
“We wouldn’t have it any other way.”
And so it came about. Over the next month, the place was stripped, a door bashed through, and a thick curtain placed both sides, easily hiding it from view. Then we set about fitting out her “office”. It’s amazing what you can get on Craig’s list and other sites on the net. Within a very short time we had a St Andrew’s cross, whipping bench, a very solid wood chair with a cut-out in the seat and well placed leather straps, a hospital gurney and - a real treat, a gyn/ob chair, which we quickly adapted with an array of leather straps. During this Pat and I found that Ryan was very good with his hands, which I knew already really. Money did not seem to be an issue with Pat, I knew she had a very successful fashion retail business, but she advised us later that a few years earlier her dear old gran had left some to her as well.
In any event, it crossed my mind that now that I had seen, and experienced Pat’s skills as a dom, she would pay off all these expenses in no time at all with, I was sure, a solid list of clients.
We had a lot of fun going to a few rubber shops, gay and straight, where the staff was very helpful in accommodating Pat’s requests. It was, again, very clear that she had done a lot of homework, and knew exactly what she wanted. Her experience in our apartment had obviously made an impression. She really went to town on buying inflatables – jackets, body bags and helmets. In addition the ubiquitous selection of masks, with and without eye or mouth holes, and gags – cock, inflatable, ring, ball etc were a necessity.
We hung very thick rubber drapes to all four walls in the playroom, the smell was wonderful, and they also served to dampen the sound. Over the floor we laid interlocking rubber tiles. From a grid of steel rods suspended from the ceiling, a series of spot lights were set up, and chains and ropes suspended. Glass fronted closets along half of one wall would contain her extensive wardrobe, together on display with a frightening array of gags, helmets, paddles and whips, butt plugs and vibrators, and to one side large enema bags, tubes and pumps. Within what seemed no time at all, she was ready.
Then we had to set up her website, which for Ryan was a breeze, as he did this for a job, amongst other things. As with all dom websites pictures were a must - of her wardrobe, equipment and playroom, and Ryan suggested that pictures with a slave in training would be a real boon too. For this, yes you guessed it, I was happy to volunteer. So over a few evenings we set up a number of scenarios and photographed them. During these, in my various catsuits and masks, I was strapped to the whipping horse and the cross and whipped, gagged, pinched, paddled, pumped, plugged, and more.
It was all good fun, Pat holding back on the whipping, but really getting into the role play. Perhaps my personal favourite was being suspended in an inflatable body bag, unable to move an inch, with my head in a separate inflatable helmet with inflatable gag. The only exposed areas were 4 inch diameter holes, opposite my arse and cock and balls, and these Pat, in full rubber gear, played with, while I could hear in the dim distance Ryan laughing and encouraging her. It was wonderful being so utterly powerless, in the hands of a playful, cruel mistress.
She also had me strapped to the gyn/ob chair with legs spread wide, while she, dressed in a drum tight rubber nurse’s uniform, complete with rubber face mask hooked my poor cock and balls up to a TENS unit and gave me a (fairly weak) series of shocks - just enough for the camera. I meanwhile had a full head gas mask adapted with a cock to suck on and a re-breather bag limiting my air to heavily scented rubber. If truth be told, I was in rubber heaven.
Once the website was finished, and I think Ryan did a great, very professional job, we launched it, with champagne in Pat’s playroom. My goodness, who could have ever believed that we would end up like this, after a chance meeting in an elevator only a few months earlier? Very soon, potential clients began contacting her, and Pat, Ryan and I began vetting them. She also got in touch with the men who had contacted her at the fetish ball. It seemed that Pat had found a very lucrative second career, and one she was quickly growing to love.
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