© Copyright 2008 - Cdpx - Used by permission
Storycodes: Solo-f; mc; latex; catsuit; toys; insert; hood; gag; boots; corset; cuffs; mast; toys; denial; cons; X
You are at home. You've just had a long, hot shower. You are wearing your dressing gown. You are lounging on your sofa, watching the television. The telephone rings. You pick up the receiver. A voice speaks slowly on the other end. You listen, carefully. You put the phone down gently but you haven't hung up, yet. You switch the television off. The dressing gown slips to the floor in a heap by your feet. You walk to your bedroom and open your wardrobe and remove some packages from within the darkness.
You pull out a limp, shiny, black object which resembles the shape of a boneless, bloodless human being. You liberally sprinkle the interior of the object with talcum powder. The white of the powder contrasts starkly with the black sheen of the latex.
You put your right leg into the right leg of the catsuit. It slips easily into the cold darkness of the suit. You do the same with the left one. A faint tingle stirs in your loins. You wriggle your bottom in order to make sure there are no air pockets or wrinkles in the rubber clinging to your calves and thighs. You feel the pressure of the rubber on the skin of your legs. It excites you.
You pull the suit up to your waist, slowly, carefully, feeling the vaginal and anal dildoes slidding up into your lower bodily orifices. You inch the suit up until you are fully penetrated by the cold, hard obdurators.
You squeeze each arm into the sleeves until your fingernails reach the end of the suit. The rubber clings to your nails and abuts smoothly into the gaps between each finger. Your breasts experience the smooth cold rubber enclosing them, slowly. Your nipples respond in kind by turning hard and protruding so that they are distinctly outlined by the glossy black latex. You reach behind you and pull the zip up to your neck. You look in the mirror. You cannot see your body. All you see is a slinky, shiny black object.
You run your rubber shod hands over your smooth, flawless exterior. The tingle has grown to a slight throb.
You pull out a mask. It has holes for your eyes and mouth, a zip which starts at the crown of your head and laces in the back, threaded through 'D' rings. You put it on, carefully. It fits snugly. You pull the zip down to your neck and pull the laces, tight, tying them off neatly. You notice that the sounds from the outside world have receded into the distance. You only hear the sound of your own breathing. You do up the two straps at the bottom of the mask, which fit round your neck.
Your excited eyes look at your enclosed body in the mirror. You admire the shape of your bottom, the way your breasts are outlined by the tight fit of the rubber, the curve of your rubber clad thighs. Your black silhouette appears menacing in the mirror.
You sit down on the edge of your bed. You take the boots out of the bag. You slip into the right boot. It shines and glistens, it's patent surface distorts the reflection of your hooded face as you tie up the laces and then snap the padlock, shut. You put on the left one. You stand up in your six inch stiletto heeled ankle boots. You feel haughty and powerful as you pace your room.
You pick up a shiny black corset. It is laced up at the back. It fits under breasts and extends down to cover your stomach. You place it around your torso and fit the front fastening together. You gasp as it pulls your stomach in, straightens your spine thrusting your round, rubber enclosed breasts upward and outward. The throb has increased to a raging fire in your loins.
You put your hands around your small waist. You stare at your body sideways in the mirror and admire the straight line running from the tip of your heel to the top of your head. You pick up the gag and fasten it around your head. You pump the bulb which hangs limply from the front of the gag, the gag expands in your mouth, pushing your checks against the cold material of the mask.
Your breathing becomes more laboured, your heart rate has picked up slightly. You feel excited. Anticipation makes the adrenaline pump around your body. You tremble with trepidation. You sit on the floor. Your body is covered in sweat. You feel moist between your legs. A dampness on your breasts. You detect just the faintest of aromas in your nostrils as the smell of the sweat and the lubrication from your moist vagina mingle and waft up the holes in your mask.
You reach for a pair of handcuffs and snap them closed around your ankles, drawing your legs together and squeezing the dildoes higher up your anal and vaginal orifices.
Your excitement increases.
You put another pair of handcuffs on, your hands are behind your back. You snap them shut. You can't find the key to open them or the padlocks on your boots. You stare at yourself in the mirror. A pair of ravenously hungry eyes stares back and absorbs the sight burned on your retinas.
You stand up very slowly, unsteadily and hobble around the flat, cocooned in your own world. Cut off from the sounds of the universe. There is an intense feeling in your loins. An inferno. Your clitoris is screaming to be touched or even better rubbed vigoursly. You stumble over to a table. You lower yourself, inelegantly, so that your groin is level with the edge of the table. You attempt to rub your clitoris against the edge.
The excitement mounts as blood rushes around your body, engorging your vagina and labia. Your clitoris stands proud and firm. You can feel it rubbing on the rubber of your shiny, clinging catsuit. Your whole body is bathed in sweat. You find it difficult to breathe with the corset constricting your lungs and stomach, the gag filling your mouth, making it taste of rubber, spittle driping into your mask. You moan and groan and scream.
Your body moves to its own internal rhythmn. your eyes stare into space, the pupils dilate. Oh no! Your stiletto heeled boots aren't firmly on the ground and you slip to the floor. You are on the edge of the abyss of your orgasm, the descent into a blissful other world. Your body aches for the final push and your mouth screams in sympathy with your body's frustration.
The door bell rings. You stare at the door in horror.