Palace in the Clouds

Chapter 1 - Cut Loose

The separation was final. She left for Asia in one final explosion of rancor. Divorce was out of the question but she told me that she would never return. The marriage of over 20 years seemed to crumble before my eyes. Well, the marriage had been crumbling for more than 10 years…my hobby just never quite fit into her idea of what normal people did. She never took any fancy for it. She never wanted to try any of the small items I obtained to introduce her to my hobby. She never did more than look inside the suitcase once and wrinkle her nose and brow in disgust.

She accused me of being gay. She wanted to know how such things could enhance my life. She often thought she had failed me in some perverse way. She kept the feeling to herself for all those year and as the kids left home she slowly pulled away from me…in subtle ways at first but ever increasingly until she finally decided to end it. Now she was gone.

I went to the empty house and wept a bit but then I went to the comfort of the hobby that had driven the wedge between us. I took the suitcase to my room and methodically prepared to lose myself in the shiny layers of rubber that had for years been my refuge from the world. I admit that I am a rubberist. I know I am a rare being in the world though I have met many people through the Internet that share the same deep feelings to rubber clothing as I.

She was gone and I could lose myself in my hobby for hours, perhaps days, something I had never really done before. Linked to my fellow rubberists I could chat away on line, enjoy a fantasy or three, just let my body sweat inside the latex layers and read some heavy rubber fetish story or another or maybe just surf the Net for pictures. It was just I now was alone, but with some help I wouldn’t be lonely.

On a thought, I went to a pharmacy near our house and found some hair removal cream. I decided that I’d take my interests just that little bit further now that I didn’t have to worry about wife. I was back home in a few minutes and started the preparations for my rubbery encounter. Stripped and showered, I shaved off my crotch hair and what little hair remained on my head. I applied the removal cream to my body and waited the required minutes before stepping into the shower again. I rubbed my skin as the water pelted it and felt how smooth it seemed. I looked down at my slick crotch in wonder at seeing myself hairless since puberty.

I dried myself vigorously and went about dressing into my latex costume. I went for the tight, layered look. First on was the sheath brief. That was followed by earplugs and three full hoods with eye openings, nose and mouth openings. One hood had only a small hole for the mouth and tubes extended from the outer hood into mouth and nostrils. The turtleneck latex tee shirt went on next. I was already feeling the warmth spreading from the rubber.

I pulled on my wrestling suit over the brief and tee shirt. Next I rolled on a pair of latex stockings and tucked the tops under the wrestling suit.

I slid the first catsuit legs over my feet. I worked the suit up each leg and squeezed air from between my skin and the rubber. I watched in my usual awe as the black rubber slowly covered my whiteness and filled my insides with such lust. I added gloves before pulling the sleeves up my arms. I closed the front zipper and spread a thin layer of rubber cement to the edges of the zipper run. I took a strip of latex that I put cement on and applied it to the suit, sealing the zipper closed. I knew that I could remove the strip after my session but the idea of being completely sealed up just raised the heat that extra notch. I shuddered.

I took my medium weight back zip catsuit and slipped its legs over my rubbery feet. I pulled it quickly up to the waist and worked the air out from between this second suit and the first. I pulled on another pair of gloves and again used rubber cement to seal the gloves to the sleeve of the first suit. I pulled up the sleeves of the second suit and reached behind my back for a lanyard. I tugged the zip closed and felt the tight rubber suit add its measure to the tight embrace of rubber.

Another pair of gloves over the hands and I pulled the third suit, a shoulder entry suit, on. This finished quickly. I deferred adding the heavy wader suit I owned. That suit might just be right for later but for the moment three tight catsuits seemed more than enough. I admired my form in the mirror, shiny black rubber smoothing out my body, hiding the developing bulge of my surging cock in its tight embrace. I stroked the outer skin and felt the touch amplified by the rubber layers transmitted to my slick skin. Again I shuddered from the impact of the smooth massaging latex. The building heat was already causing the inner suit to slide easily along my hairless skin. The new sensation from that was enough to make me shudder, as my arousal grew more urgent. I took the latex collar from my bag and locked it around my neck, knowing that the keys to the lock were at least two days away since I had dropped them into a mail slot at the airport after seeing the ex on her way.

The shudder from the thought of being locked at least two days and maybe longer drove my surging lust to the brink. I exploded beneath the layers in one of the first spontaneous cums in years. God, the explosion was amazing and here I was thinking about the times past that such a release usually meant time to shower. Now the enormity of my locked in condition struck and another surge went through me.

I sat down to the computer and logged on. I went to the FLL site and logged into the chat as “sealedinrbrbill”. Everyone knew me and I was warming to the chat. While chatting away, I surfed through a few of my favorite sites. It wasn’t long before I was lost in chat. The time flew as it often does when on line and rubberized. Most of the conversation centered on wear, ASL, current fantasy or wanting to play. I tired of the chat, though and logged off. I read some rubber magazines and looked at a few of my favorite rubber fantasy pictures. As I melted into the photo of two girls in complete rubber and gas masks with breathing tubes. The fascinating part was how the exhaust tube from one of the girl’s masks was attached to the inlet port of the other girl’s mask. The first girl’s inlet tube was attached to a re-breather bag that was being closely monitored by a very stern looking rubberized nurse/mistress. The two gas masked girls were further bound by restraints holding them firmly to medical examination chairs. Other tubing and bags hung from medical trees and snaked into the most private spots of the girl’s rubber suits. Mistress/nurse was adjusting the flow of air into the first girl’s mask. Close examination of the tubes protruding from the nether regions indicated that the tube from each girl terminated at a drinking tube on the other girl’s mask. This picture was way too much and I exploded again with only a little help from my gloved hands on my crotch.

I pulled on my own gas mask with its liquid latex coated eye lenses and in the darkness tried to sleep some. I only dozed lightly. I sucked down some juice and Gatorade through a tube and slept a little more. I peed into my suit and realized that now that I could indulge in more extreme enclosure I should modify my sheath and suits to include a relief tube. I mused over the thought of maybe trying a hollow plug with some sort of relief system for the ass but for now I decided that most of my excursions into rubber would be short enough not to require that level of plumbing.

Two days later I heard the plunk of a letter through the mail slot in my door. Not too soon, I ripped the key from the envelope and unlocked my collar. I stripped and showered. I felt how sensitive my skin was to touch. I looked at the wrinkled skin that had been covered by rubber for two days. One of my fantasies to find a mistress that would seal me 24/7 in rubber and make me her rubber toy/slave certainly gave me pause as I looked at the abused skin from just two days encased in rubber.

Oh, well. It was still one of those fantasies that a rubberist has.

I went about working on building a relief tube system the next several days. Plumbing the sheath was easy. I was at a quandary to decide how to get the tube from the sheath to the outside without cutting holes in suits. The outer suit had a convenience zip so I figured that part would be easy. Then I came on the idea of using the trusty rubber cement to build reinforced openings for the tube to pass through. I could just glue the tubing to these openings. I added a small plastic connector to the end of the tube and pushed a rubber cap over it. That done I knew that I could now piss without having the stuff sloshing inside my suits. That had been one of the real down sides to the two-day excursion into my dark side, the smelly pee residue that provided a pungent addition to the normal DWS.

Truth be what it is, I discovered that dressing out in heavy rubber for days at a time soon lost its luster. I still got that thrill when pulling the gear on and I still loved that tight caress the rubber provided but it just got boring. Surfing the net and chatting with regulars also got tedious, as there were seldom many new topics of discussion. After some weeks, I began to think about having a real experience with a true dominant rubberist rather than having a virtual fantasy. There were a few sites run by professionals who, for a price, were available. I had never really thought of buying a rubber session before but now that I was free, the thought popped into my head more frequently.

I sent e-mail to the site of a mistress in San Francisco. She soon got back to me with an e-mail that asked several detailed questions. Primary of these were what was my experience, what was my desire, what were my expectations, and how much time did I want to have in my fantasy? I had no trouble with that last question, I wanted the session to last as long as she allowed. My experience answer had to appropriately point out that, except for one occasion, my experience was limited to solo pleasure. My desire was that I loved layering and being totally enclosed and that meant totally enclosed for long periods of time and bondage in latex, either sleep sacks or other means was one of my most passionate desires. My expectations were to achieve my desire with another rubber loving person who understood what I was experiencing and having equal enjoyment in providing my desires.

She sent another e-mail asking me to be more detailed about my one experience.

I wrote her about that night two years before when I got together with the Fish and Wildlife employee that was working on the earthquake disaster. I explained how we discovered our mutual lust for latex during her last week at the field office. We had actually been chatting for a few days on line, not knowing that I was just two floors below in the same hotel, all sealed up inside my rubber layers while she was above me in much the same condition.

I explained that through the on-line chats I knew that she favored women to men though she seemed intrigued by the idea of having a man so sealed in rubber that the only way for him to provide any satisfaction would be through a strap-on or orally. She especially liked the idea of having someone locked inside a sleep sack and forced to attend her, something she had never seen before outside of pictures.

By the third night of chats, she gave away that she was on travel status in the Northwest and working with a disaster. Taken aback, I felt that funny twist in the belly when confronted with a potentially arousing situation. I asked the crucial question, “Was she working in Olympia on the earthquake?”

“Yes, how did you know?” was her reply.

“I’m working that same disaster and am in Olympia as well,” I typed in as my heart pounded. I waited to see if she would respond. I knew that confronted with such an immediate possibility often changed otherwise chatty and outgoing Internet friends into total strangers, especially someone just met and now exposed.

“I’m leaving Friday. Maybe you should wander over to the ESF-10 area tomorrow about lunchtime. Maybe we can have lunch together and chat a bit.”

Well, she had made her move, just as I expected from the personality I had learned about in the past three days. I was confronted with a dilemma. I decided that lunch was fine. I typed back that I’d be by about 11:30, the next day.

I skipped the details of lunch but suffice to say that lunch led to a meeting at my hotel room that night. I was fully dressed in three catsuits, hoods and gloves when the F&W girl arrived. She had her bag of things and told me to wait for her to change. It took an hour and I was hot the entire time. She emerged from the bathroom in a vision of a rubberist’s most desired fantasy. She was covered head-to-toe in tight latex with a tight dominatrix dress over the catsuit, thigh high boots, corset, hoods and gloves. She carried a huge strap-on that she wrapped around my waist. The wide base of the thing pressed against my throbbing bulge that showed beneath the layers. She noted my excitement as she pulled the straps tight and commented that she liked that bulge right where it was, safely sealed behind rubber.

I went on to detail the next three hours as the F&W rubberist made me get into my body bag and closed it around me before opening the convenience zip that released the strap-on. She rode me until she was exhausted then just collapsed on my chest, the dildo still impaling her. She rubbed my chest lightly through the layers and I reveled in her touch and warmth. I know I came three times that night, once while she was closing the bag up over me and twice as she straddled me while rocking and romping on that wicked strap-on. I had no idea how many times she came since I only heard the muffled shouts of two, though I’m certain she must have had two or more slowly building “moaners”.

I finished my tale of my one experience with the final moments as she got off me and left me zipped in the bag until some time later I heard the zipper as she pulled it about half way and left me to struggle the rest of the way out. As I just got my head clear of the bag, she waved from the door saying, “Gotta go. I trust you to an extent but I’m not sure what would happen if I let you free before I get out the door. You just might turn the tables on me and put me in that bag. Bye, sweetie. It was fun.” She was out the door before I could finish getting from the clingy bag. I fell back exhausted and looked at that strap-on still attached to me, my souvenir of the night. That next night, I got an e-mail from the F&W rubberist, “Dear rbrbill, last night was sweet. I loved it. The strap-on is yours. I have another. Catch you at the next disaster. Keep in touch. Rubbery hugs.” Well there wasn’t another disaster that she was on and that was my one taste of rubberized sex with a partner.

The mistress sent me a reply to my tale, “Come on down next week. It’ll be $1,000 for the night and bring all your gear, including that delicious sounding strap-on.”

Paid for sex is still paid for sex, regardless of how wonderful the fantasy, I felt that the emotions were contrived. The session proved fun but it was not anything near as satisfying as that chance meeting in 2001 when I discovered passion driven rubber sex.

Now I searched the net for a more meaningful relationship. This was a more difficult task than one would imagine. I placed notices on rubberist site bulletin boards. I chatted with folks. I searched any number of sites that might offer some opportunity for meeting someone who had a fancy for heavy rubbering.

I came across a couple of mistress sites in Europe. They were mostly in the UK and Germany. I always knew that those two countries seemed to have the largest concentration of latex lovers. I never really pondered the reason for that but had always wanted to actually visit and see some of the shops firsthand. And maybe find a notice posted on a board in one of the shops by someone looking for fun or even a long-term relationship.

Nine months after the separation I made my decision to sell the house and go to Europe for a vacation/exploratory trip. If I found something interesting, I could always stay. if not, I had plenty of money to come back to the US, buy a nice place in the country with a stream, pond or bog and spend the rest of my life rubberizing, wading and chatting on-line.

I did make some inquiries with some of the on-line mistresses in both England and Germany. Three of them actually seemed interested in interviewing me. I always told them my age, 46, my fascination with total enclosure and rubber bondage, and the fact that I wasn’t really that well endowed physically and that at my age, my performance during normal sexual activities was somewhat diminished. The three responses actually were quite positive. They indicated that: 1) age had little bearing when a slave was head-to-toe in rubber though one of the Germans indicated that a complete physical was needed to determine if I might be fit enough to be trained properly, 2) physical endowment had even less bearing since a sheathed cock buried under rubber might be fun for the slave but provided little satisfaction to the mistress so attentive oral ability and the willingness to wear strap-ons were more valuable assets, and 3) no “normal” sexual activity was expected from any perspective candidate.

Again I felt that flutter in the belly each time I read one of those responses. One mistress was in England; the other two were in Germany. Obviously, I leaned toward the English mistress because I would be in an English speaking country. I really didn’t give the German mistress’s much thought other than my plan to visit all three and see if any of them might make me a more permanent offer of employment/service.

I made flight arrangement and sent copies of my travel itinerary to all three mistresses. That way they all knew my schedule and could arrange appointments. That set in motion, I gave notice to my work of my intent to retire at the end of the month. Since my money was already direct deposit, I figured there was no problem with funds. Since Congress had so graciously changed the rules for collecting reserve military retirement, I had two income sources for my retirement and was comfortable.

The fateful day of my journey arrived. I took Shuttle Express to Sea-Tac to catch the flight to England. I carried two bags with me, one with my street clothing, one with the majority of my rubber gear. I left my gas mask at home since I didn’t want to arouse too much attention during the X-ray search of the bags. Having traveled several times since the increased security, I knew that Sea-Tac didn’t open bags very often. I figured that the London end and customs would be a bit more understanding if they decided to look inside my bags. After all, I reasoned, they had several latex clothing stores right in the center of the city.

Chapter 2 - Discovery

I stood in the line to clear Customs. The immigration official stamped my passport and visa without comments and waved me into this line. I look at my two bags and the first doubt entered my mind.

"I'm only here for one week though it is a three week vacation to both England and Germany. I wonder if two large bags might be considered excessive for vacation," I thought as the line moved slowly toward the Customs Control Point.

I look at the bags...the BAG. It shows no sign of the items inside. I hold the Declaration Form in my hand and I rehearse my story in my head. On the form I labored over the words as we were approaching Heathrow.

"Personal items - NCV (No Commercial Value) Personal Clothing - NCV."

My passport reflects my business as "Emergency Management Consultant" but I am here on vacation. I decide to use this information should anyone question the contents of the bag, I use protective clothing in my work and, while it might seem queer, I developed a fetish for latex clothing like this. An honest response should work in England, the land that brought us rubber clothes.

Since my decision to take the trip, I looked forward to it. I am visiting England for the first time. I plan to see the all I can of the country that brought us modern government, the Beatles, golf, and latex clothes. This thought makes me look at the BAG again and I think of the interview in two days with Mistress Irene. The bag holds most of my personal latex clothing collection. I plan to visit some of the nightspots that cater to latex lovers while I am here. I think fondly of the older items in the bag, the catsuits that I have repaired many times over the years. I also think of my new catsuit that is in perfect condition and the one I will wear when I go out. In addition to the catsuits in the bag, I have hoods, briefs, a sleep sack, a gas mask and my bungee cord collar.

I am at the counter. A lady Customs Officer looks me in the eye and says, "Put your bags on the counter."

I lift them onto the counter and hand over the form.

"Hmm," she mumbles as she glances at the form. "May I see your passport, sir?"

I pass it to her and she thumbs through the pages. "This is your first trip to London?"

"Yes. I really am looking forward to my visit."

"And you have nothing to declare besides what is on the form?"

"No. It's all there."

"Can you elaborate on the your ‘Clothing'?"

"Actually most of my items are made in England. You have some of the best clothes makers in the world here." I touch my brow and wipe away some imagined sweat.

The Customs Agent notices my gesture, "Really? Then you won't mind if I take a quick look inside one of your bags?"

"What can I say?" I think as my stomach suddenly lurches into my throat.

"Be my guest," I say and hope I'm casual enough to sway her from pursuing the search.

She looks at me for a long ten seconds then waves airily, "I guess I don't need to look inside just now."

She stamps my Customs Declaration, "Enjoy your stay in the UK."

I pick up my bags and begin to move forward toward the exit.

I feel a presence near me and as I turn, an arm links mine and a voice utters quietly, "Please come with me, sir."

I am steered into a room off the concourse and find the Customs Agent there. I obviously look puzzled and she takes note.

"We need to look inside the bag, sir. I felt it would be better to do so in a private setting," she explains. "Please set it on the table and open it."

I hesitate and her helper pulls the bag from my hand and hoists it to the table.

"Keys please," he says.

I dig into the pocket and reluctantly pull my keys from it. The agent grabs them impatiently and works on the lock of the bag. He unzips the bag and reveals the plastic garbage bags inside.

"What have we here? Garbage bags of contraband?" asks the woman agent.

"As I told you, most of my things are made in England and I assure you they are legal items," I reply anxiously.

The woman opens the bag and the scent of latex fills the room. She pulls the top piece in the bag and watches one of my black latex catsuits unfold. She holds the suit up and looks it over appraisingly. She places it on the table and draws out the next item, another catsuit.

"How many of these do you have?" she asks.

"There are four different suits," I reply quietly. My eyes are to the ground and I feel my face getting hot from a blush.

"Why do you have four of them?" she asks.

"I enjoy wearing more than one at a time," I say flatly.

"There isn't any reason to be ashamed, sir. I have seen the stores in Soho. However, four of the suits could be considered importation unless you can prove otherwise."

"How do I do that? I mean they are my personal suits and you only have my word."

"Yes, well, you could put them on and demonstrate to me what you wear when you're doing this. Of course, you will put everything on that is your usual attire when you wear your latex and then I will know that they are not new and for resale."

She points toward a curtained area. "You can dress behind the curtain. It's where we conduct strip searches normally."

I take my bag of gear and head for the area. I am embarrassed by the situation and not certain how I will handle modeling my fetish gear for the Customs Agent. I decide that I will put everything on. At least my face will be hidden behind the hoods and I will feel a little better since she won't see my blush.

"Sir, what is this bungee strap and lock for?" the Agent asks.

I forgot that my "collar" is in the bag still.

"I use it to lock my clothes on me when I want to lose control of the situation," I reply.

"How do you do that?"

"I freeze the key of the collar lock in a jug and lock the jug with a chain collar to a closet rail or some other place where it can’t be thawed quickly. The key to the jug chain is in the jug too. That way I am forced to wear my clothes for a much longer period than I might otherwise do."

"I see. I suppose you had better show me that too." She hands the collar with the lock open to me from the other side of the curtain. The key is missing.

"Where's the key?" I ask.

"I'll hold it for now, sir."

I sense a note of repressed humor in her voice and become a little angry.

I bend to the task of dressing. I pull on the sheath brief and begin to pull the hoods with the long neck skirts on. I pull on the first hood and feel the latex loosely against my face. The second hood is much tighter and now I fell the rubber pressing tightly to the face. I push the nose tubes extending from the first hood through the nose openings of the second hood. I fit my mouth tube/gag into place and place the nose tubes into the nose openings of the third hood. I pull it to the face and fit the mouth tube from the gag through the cigarette hole of the hood. I then close the zipper and luxuriate in the tight clinging of three layers of rubber on the head.

I pull the tee shirt on and make sure the neck skirts are locked under the shirt collar. I hold my first catsuit before me and powder the inside generously. I pull both legs up my body and begin to feel my body surrender to the latex. Slowly I feel the latex covering my legs and then my body. I feed the arms into the sleeves and plant my hands and fingers into the attached gloves. I finish by closing the front zip, sealing me into my first this layers of rubber.

The second suit is a heavy molded suit of black latex. I have even painted it with liquid latex to strengthen and reinforce it at stress points. This suit is shoulder entry and will fit me very tightly when I have it on. Before I start to put it on I ask the Agent, "How long will I have to wear my gear for you?"

"Just a few minutes for me to check out your story, however, you must put everything on just as you usually do. Oh, what is this electrical tape for?"

"I use it to seal the zippers of the inner suits. It keeps my sweat inside the suits when I'm wearing for long periods."

"I see. Here, tape your zippers as you usually do." She handed me the role of tape.

I have no idea why I need to use the tape. I mean I will be inside the suits only a few minutes at most and it's just a waste of tape. I decide it's an authority trip and resign myself to the task. At least electrical tape is relatively cheap.

I tape the zipper of the first suit. I begin to pull the second suit on. I feel the very tight grip of the legs clamp the first suit to my skin. I work the suit slowly up my legs and squeeze excess air from it. As I pull it up I feel trapped air escaping from the neck of the first suit. I work the suit to my crotch and tug the torso part over my hips. I feel the tight waist give way to the slightly wider hips and the suit presses my body inside its grip. I feed the arms into the sleeves and make sure the fingers seat in the attached gloves. Now I wriggle the suit into position around my body and I pull the shoulder back toward the front to close the left side shoulder zip. I repeat the process for the right side zip and I am closed inside the tight second layer. This suit's high collar squeezes my neck and I feel myself completely engulfed in latex.

I think, "The clock has started," noting that when I complete the second suit is when I start my stop watch to track the length if time I am dressed in layers. "Oh, well, not this time...such a waste to dress only to undress so quickly," I mumble to myself.

"I beg your pardon, sir?"

"Nothing, Ma'am, just thinking out loud."

I bend to the next suit...a back zip full suit without gloves. I pull it on quickly and make certain that it is properly on for ease in closing the zipper. I work the sleeves fully up. I make sure the back isn't folded over and I begin to pull the lanyard attached to the zip.

Since I expect to be in the latex a short time, I pull on a third pair of gloves before the final suit. I usually don't wear the third pair of gloves since they cut off the circulation to my fingers and I cannot type on-line after about three hours. I pull on the final suit. It is the same weight as the back zip suit, 23 mils. It is shoulder entry and has key ring loops attached to the zipper runners. I finish pulling the suit on and close the zippers, sealing me in four glorious catsuits with the brief and shirt beneath. I am encased in four and five layers of rubber and as usual I am feeling very comfortable and cozy inside the material. I even feel good about my little modeling job before me. I figure I will shock her appropriately and give her a great story for the night then I can get on with my business, which is looking more like a trip to one of the fetish lounges tonight. I smile at that thought and feed the bungee collar through the key ring loops. I snap the lock with an audible click.

"All locked in and at my mercy now?" I hear the voice from the other side of the curtain. The voice seems to be very coy as the Agent speaks.

"Yes, Ma'am. I am your slave since you control the key," I say rather shocking myself and knowing it's my rubber alter ego speaking. I held the drinking tube and outer hood out of the mouth slightly to be intelligible.

I step from behind the curtain and my mouth tries to open in surprise, only the hoods keeping it closed. The Agent is dressed almost identically to me! She is head to toe in latex...and layers of it!

"I always wear my catsuits under my uniform," she says. "It is easy to add the hoods. We are always looking for new recruits for Mistress Esoterica."

"Hmmm, uh, wat er you doin’ doonigh?" I ask as best I can through the tube.

"A nice gag will silence you better than that tube you have,” she said.

She comes to me and lifts the neck of the outer hood from my chin and pulls the tube. She pushes a flanged tube in its place and begins to squeeze the attached pump. The sides of the tube swell and fill my mouth completely.

“Uuummmph,” I grunt.

“That’s much better,” the agent says. “Now I think I'll just put this key in a nice safe place."

My locks are quite small and the key fits nicely into a small plastic capsule. She approaches my gagged mouth and pushes the capsule through the mouth tube. It is a snug fit but it passes. She takes up another tube and fits it to the mouth opening and turns a valve. I feel the pressure of fluid push the capsule completely through to the mouth and fluid fills the small space between mouth and gag. I choke and swallow and feel the capsule pass through my throat.

"That's a good rubber slave. Now when you excrete that in a day or two, someone will let you swallow it again, unless they have a better plan for you by then. Follow me like a good obedient slave." She hooks a leash onto my bungee collar and I have no choice but to follow.

Chapter 3 - A Trip

I am sitting in a large room deep in the airport complex. My feet are cuffed to the chair legs and my arms are in cuffs behind my back. In front of me, the catsuit-clad customs official is rifling through the rest of my personal belongings. She places all of my clothing into a separate cardboard box and turns her attention to my wallet and passport.

"Nice family picture. All of the children are grown?" She queries.

I nod affirmative.

"Excellent. You still live with your wife?"

I shake my head, “No.”

She’s passed on?”

Again, “No.”

“Divorced?”

Again, “No.”

“Separated?

I give an affirmative nod.

"Did she know about your little kink?"... A nod affirmative.

"Did she play with you in rubber?"... A negative nod.

"And the rubber drove her from you?”

The affirmative nod.

“Well, I think Mistress Esoterica will understand what you need.”

She locks a rigid band around my neck and a rigid band across my forehead. Now I cannot move my head and I have a restricted view of the shadowy space immediately in front of me.

She walks out of my vision. I cannot see much beyond the lighted spot that I am in. I feel I am in a large room, maybe a warehouse or some sort of storage room. I dimly see shadows of crates and boxes in the gloom beyond the light. I test my restraints and recognize how secure they are. The chair is heavy steel. It must be bolted to the floor since I cannot move it. My ankles are cuffed to the steel legs and my arms are cuffed and chained to the back.

Now she returns and there are three strong looking men with her. The men are wearing cotton coveralls and one is pushing a crate before him. Two of the men approach the chair while the third man busies himself with the crate. One goes to my back and releases the cuffs from the chair. He stands me up and with my calves still cuffed to the chair. The other man wraps a wide leather belt around my waist. Chains and shackles dangle from the belt and he quickly cuffs my arms and wrists to my side. He then hooks a spreader bar to my ankles and attaches a chain from the belt to a steel ring on the center of the bar. He hooks a leash to the front loop of the belt and unlocks the cuffs holding my legs to the chair.

As I am being shackled, the rubber vixen watches silently. She is smiling easily as the process progresses without any hitch. I am rigid with fear and desperate to find a chance to escape, but the workers are professionals and leave no chance for me to get away. I find the whole situation strangely erotic and cannot help a carnal response that must be visible under the layers of latex I wear.

The man with the leash tugs me toward the crate and I have to follow. The crate is in the light and I can see marking on its outside. A stenciled message admonishes:

"Fragile. Art Objects. Handle With Care."

Another message states, "This Side Up."

An unusual thing I note about these messages is they are upside down.

I look inside the crate and see a foam rubber interior with a cutout shape of a human body. A green air bottle like the ones used in self-contained breathing apparatus is nestled into a cutout above the human cutout. There is a modified Israeli gas mask with a short hose going from the inlet port to the bottle regulator. I take in this sight and go weak in the knees. One of the men catches me under the arms as I start to collapse and a second grabs my feet. The third lifts me by the waist and they easily hoist me over the lip of the crate and set me into the cutout. The chains of the cuffs are attached to eyebolts set in small cutouts of the foam. I can lift my arms and legs slightly but they do not go outside of the shaped space.

The men add some foam padding here and there to make sure I am snug inside the shaped cutout. My chest and face are slightly below the top edge of the crate. One of them lifts my head enough to slip the gas mask over my head. He pulls the four harness straps snug and I am sealed inside the mask. My breath is rapid as I breathe the cold compressed air from the cylinder.

"Relax, William. If you breathe too fast, you might run out of air before you get to your final destination," says the rubber woman. She looks into my eyes and puts her hand on my crotch. "My, my. You are hard aren't you? No wonder you can't relax. Just this once, I'll give you a free sample."

She starts to stroke my rigid member with her palm and I am soon grunting audibly inside the gag and mask as I reach rubbery heaven and shoot cum into the sheath. She bends over my masked face and gives the snout a light kiss.

"Alright boys, close him up."

I see a fitted lid with thick foam rubber come into view. Except for the cutout for the gas mask snout and the hose to the bottle, the foam has no other pattern in it.

"Enjoy your flight to Germany." I hear the woman say as the lid cuts off all outside light and sound.

The foam rubber presses tightly against me and I cannot move even a fraction of an inch. I hear the distant pounding of nails being driven home as the workers seal the lid. The pounding stops and I am flipped on my side and finally face down. Now I understand why the stencils on the outside were upside down when I saw them. I have a very strong urge to piss now and am aroused again despite the recent relief. I cannot help letting go. Hot piss streams into my brief and into the surrounding suit. I feel the stuff spreading thinly around my body and I cannot do anything about it. I feel the press of the rubber all around me and I hear the sound of my breathing carried through my head to the ears. I hear the thumping of my heart in my ears, that curious phenomena caused by the blood pulsing through the ear canals. The constancy of my sensory input or lack of it brings on an easy feeling that can best be described as a trancelike state. I feel the crate moving and resign myself to my fate. I remember Mistress Esoterica was one of the three respondents to my e-mails. I guess she really wanted to have me.

Chapter 4 - A day in the Life of a Slave

The incessant buzz of the wake up signal penetrates the darkness of the sleep capsule. Slave 32, I no longer think as an "I", stirs and awakens. Slave 32 waits in the darkness for the click signaling the release of the time lock. Slave 32 has been good the past night; no piss is in the collection bag though his bladder is full and his cock throbbing. Slave 32 receives the reward, the electro-stimulator kicks in and he finds himself milked quickly to orgasm. Slave 32 pants inside his cocoon as he cums into the attached sheath. The locks click and the capsule door swings open. The rubber-lined steel shell fits Slave 32 perfectly when it's closed. He marvels at the expense of such precise equipment as he has at every new surprise he encounters since arriving.

"Begin relief cycle," the speaker announces.

Slave 32 walks to the station and, like others beside him, pulls the tube from its wall housing and attaches it to the relief tube on his suit. He also removes the stopper of the excretion tube and attaches the appropriate waste tube. By now he is used to the clear latex walls of the tubes that let everyone see exactly what is wasting from the body. As the piss rushes from his bladder the milky color tells all around him of the morning pleasure reward. He grunts as the sharp contractions of his colon accompany the waste extraction from his bowels. He removes the rear tube and flushes his rectal plumbing with warm water before replacing the stopper and closing the entry zipper. He pulls off the frontal tube, stuffs the stopper into the tube on his suit and fits it inside its receptacle before closing the front zipper. The final task to the toilet is to tape seal the two zippers with latex contact tape.

"Feeding Station," is the curt announcement.

The pasty honey-sweet gruel Slave 32 eats is as nourishing as it is monotonous. Its formula includes a light laxative assuring very regular and often unplanned movements. Slave 32 attaches the feeding tube to his mouth tubing and waits for the forced entry of the sweet stuff. It flows through his gag tube to the back of the throat where he must swallow it or mess the inside of the hood.

"Feeding cycle complete. Prepare for drink cycle."

He removes the feeding tube from his hood and fits the fluid replenishment tube to the gag tube and takes a swallow of electrolyte-laced water, Gatorade from a previous lost life, he thinks as he swallows the fluid.

"Watering complete. Work Stations."

He moves off to his Mistress for tasking. Mistress Esoterica is a rubberist’s fantasy comes true. Slave 32 relishes his good fortune that she intercepted him in England. She is strict but also very fair. Like this morning, his immediate reward for having made it through the night in bladder discomfort.

He has lost count of the number of sleep cycles he has been through since arriving in Germany. By the cycle gauge on the wall he knows that today is a recreation and clean-up day. The gauge is the only “timepiece” he sees. He understands that it’s the only timepiece he needs now anyway. Divided into five equal segments, the hand clicks to the center of a segment each day. There is no other reference as to what time of day it is. He only knows that when the hand is in the blue segment, it is his recreation day. Other slaves in Esoterica’s household are assigned other days by color. Besides the blue section, the face of the cycle gauge has red, orange, green and pink. Every five days the slaves must remove the all-enclosing latex suits and have proper showers for hygiene and health reasons. The color system assures that only a few slaves are out of their suits at one time. They are given two hours to enjoy the luxury of freedom from the strict discipline of latex bondage. After months of conditioning, many of the older slaves tend to want to get back inside the suits as soon as possible. But the rules are very strict. Slaves will be naked for two hours. Even Slave 32 thinks like an old timer and knows he will miss the tight feel of the latex suit when it is removed. Of course Slave 32 is a true prize. He was a rubberist long before arriving and this new life is his most desired fantasy.

Slave 32 enters the Mistress's quarters and kneels before her.

"I am pleased with your progress, Slave 32. You are adapting to life in my home admirably," Mistress Esoterica says softly.

Today Mistress has decided to be a nun. She wears a heavy flowing nun's habit and long skirts made of the purest white latex over her black catsuit covered body. Her gas mask is tightly cinched to her face and the white cowl lining of the habit tightly fits over the edges of the mask. Rumors are that Mistress Esoterica never wears anything but latex. Some of her slaves also say that her pussy hasn't seen anything but latex inside of it for over five years. Slave 32 doesn't fully believe the rumor as he admires the angelic beauty of the flowing nun's attire over the sleek figure of his Mistress. Occasionally other Mistresses visit the house, estate would be a better description, for friendly chat and occasional games. The other Mistresses defer to her whenever they visit. She seems to be the best known and most totally rubber oriented mistress in Europe. They reverently call her the "Queen of Latex" behind her back. Slave 32 doesn't have to worry about addressing anyone. He is gagged at all times and bound to silence by the rules of the household.

"Today you will bathe and rest for your two hours. I may even allow you more time to relax as reward, if you desire?"

Slave 32 shakes his head negative.

"You are all I expected. You love the latex so much; you want to be out of it as short a time as possible. I thought as much when you arrived. That is why I chose to train you personally, Slave 32. It's almost time for cleansing so off to the preparation room with yourself." Mistress Esoterica waves her hand toward the door.

The preparation area is well lighted. The first task is to remove the skintight suit. He remembers his first cycle, months (?) ago now, when he had the reception area suits on as well. These were the suits he has worn for five days as a Reception Slave. First off were the hip waders and the outer exposure suit and respiration system. Under these, his body waste had settled in the lower half of the double lined suit that serves as the collection bag. The double suit was removed and taken to another room for proper cleaning and sterilizing. It was Slave 32's personal long-term enclosure suit and he expected to have to wear it again. But today he was wearing only his standard 24/5 suit. Scissors are provided for cutting away the tight latex suit Slave 32 wears. He slits open the taped seals that hide the zippers of the suit and opens them. The suit peels from his wrinkled skin and air strikes the skin for the first time in five days. It is cold air. Slave 32 already is missing the tight feeling of the suit. The next task is removing the plumbing from the body. The butt plug is deflated and the thick hollow shaft pulled from the sphincter. Slave 32 places the waste latex on the moving belt. It disappears through a door for recycling.

Slave 32 pulls the hood from his face and sees the beginning of hair growth on his face and head. Part of the cleaning cycle includes hair dilapidation but the roots remain and the hair returns after a few days.

He steps to the shower area and gives himself a thorough washing. The liquid soap is a mixture of dilapidation fluid, skin moisturizer and soap. It makes Slave 32's skin feel very smooth and he enjoys the rush of hot water even though he wants to get back into the protective latex as soon as possible. He remembers those first days and especially the first five so long ago and wonders to himself how he had progressed into latex servitude so quickly...

The arrival of the crate from England was expected. William Goodwin, an American rubberist, was inside it. The word was the fellow was into very heavy latex enclosure and liked to wear lots of latex. Mistress Esoterica was at the reception area to see this new member of the clan for herself. Most new members with previous rubber exposure were not already into heavy rubber bondage before arriving. The notes on this fellow were exceptional. The London team reported that he was dressed in four fairly heavy suits and several hoods. He had told them that he often wore his gear for up to 20 hours at a time and loved it. He would be tested for stamina and rubber submission severely under her guidance. Mistress Esoterica would make certain of that.

"We will leave him in his own gear for now. I want him properly plumbed, though. If he pissed in the crate, hang him from his ankles and drain the stuff out. I'm watching so no screw ups or I'll have your sorry slave asses for dinner," she threatened.

Two fully enclosed slaves work in reception. They wore the 24/5 suits that all slaves wore but in addition to these regular suits they had additional protection, heavy latex one-piece overall suits with feet, gloves and open hood attached. They had on self-contained breathing masks strapped to their heads and air cylinders on their backs. Heavy hip waders held up by straps attached to tight belts and long thick gauntlets completed their ensemble. They were prepared for the most disgusting circumstances in all of the protective clothes. They were also streaming sweat from their exertions and were completely exhausted by the end of the day.

Reception duty was punishment duty for slaves. It consisted of long days with no sexual relief and usually left the slave so exhausted all he wanted to do was sleep when he finished the shift. Mistress Esoterica would sometimes place stimulators on the outside of a slave's 24/5 suit over the crotch area before making him suit up. Then she made sure the slave worked constantly through the day while remotely turning the unit on and off. The frustration added to exhaustion and left a slave so punished in a complete state of agitation. And more wickedly, the air bottles were remotely throttled as well. If a Mistress thought a slave was wasting time, she would cut his flow of air and watch him squirm and writhe as he struggled for breath.

The Goodwin crate was opened and the stench of stale piss filled the room. The reception slaves didn't smell a thing in their protective gear. The good news was that he had not excreted on himself. Mistress Esoterica caught the odor of the urine and pointed to the ankle stirrups on the A-frame.

"He peed on himself. Hang him up to drain and dry."

The slaves detached the air cylinder from his gas mask hose and carried the new recruit to the A-frame. One held each of his legs to the stirrups while the third snapped the padded cuffs shut. Piss immediately began to run to his head and shoulders while they finished the task.

Slave 32 remembered vividly being turned upside down and feeling the rush of his own piss as it flowed past his bungee collar and filled his hoods. The tight gas mask kept any of the stuff from his face but the smell was unmistakable. The thought of the pee around his head and so near his nose and mouth was disgusting yet surprisingly erotic. He had no control of the situation and his piss could be just as easily fed to him and he would have to accept it. He was glad to have held his shit inside despite the developing desire to dump during the trip. That might have been just a bit too much for him to take.

He hung for several minutes while the liquid drained from his suits. His own love of multiple layers now conspired to retain the smelly pee and the draining was a slow process. While he hung, a vision of white flowed into his view. He saw the white smooth folds of heavy rubber near his eyes. Shiny black latex toes peaked out from beneath the flowing robes. A toe lifted from beneath the curtain of white latex and he saw the shiny black smoothness of the encased foot and the long stiletto heel. The foot nudged the snout of his gas mask. He lifted his eyes as much as he could but the vision only reached to the waist. The white gown was tightly cinched at the waist with a tied latex belt.

"Disgusting habit to urinate on yourself, even in rubber. I will see if we can break you of that, Slave 32. That's your name from now on."

Slave 32 replayed those first words from the mouth of his Mistress in his head. The angelic harmony of her voice had melted his heart and will.

"Let him hang and meditate on his indiscretion for one hour then take him down and clean him up. Put the lamp on him. I want him nice and hot and the pee nice and dry by the time he's finished. Give him water and watch him closely. If he pees again, page me and I'll decide additional punishments. On second thought I have a better idea. Cut his suits at the crotch, we're removing them later anyway, and put tubing onto his sheath. Run it through the breathing tube of the mask. If he pees, he'll have to drink it or drown in it."

The reception slaves did as she bid and Slave 32 was plumbed for self-punishment in minutes. They moved heat lamps into place and turned them on, baking Slave 32 inside his rubber prison. Sweat rolled from his hot body and the urge to pee built inside his bladder. His desire to shit subsided from his new distress. He writhed in pain as the bladder pushed to explode and he held the pressing urges back. Stale piss remained in the tops of his hoods. His torment was exquisitely planned; his reward was simple and immediate...

Slave 32 thinks of that first test and remembers how triumphant he felt when the reception slaves took him down at the end of the hour and led him to the relief trough and he was able to let the gush of piss pass through the tube to the trough.

He remembers Mistress words when she returned to the reception area after his first test, "You, the Latex spirits and I know the ordeal you passed. That is good stead and company and no one else need know."...

After the first trial, he was stripped of his own latex gear and given a complete shower and cleansing, inside and out. His hair fell from his body as the shower rinsed his old life down the drain. He received his first 24/5 total enclosure suit. The suit was sized to just smaller than his exact measurements. It was made of 3/16th inch thick latex. Tubing and appropriate gag and restraints were incorporated in the suit so that Slave 32 could eat and drink the liquid diet relegated to slaves and excrete the waste from his body by attaching himself to relief receptacles located in the dormitory area and at other locations on the estate.

Sealed in his new suit, Slave 32 was brought before his Mistress. He looked upon the white latex habit with the shiny black catsuit beneath in awe. Never had he seen such a vision of complete latex. She wore a hood with an attached gas mask and when she spoke, her voice was modified by the voicemitter in the mask.

"To become a proper and humble servant of latex and me you must be trained into the ways of total latex acceptance. You are one of six slaves I currently maintain. I have had many others but they have passed on or in three instances went on to be Mistresses in their own right and left as was their choice as females. You are a lowly male rubber slave and have no choice but to serve latex and me.

"Since you came to us with a well grounded love of latex, I have decided to send you to reception as your first chore. But unlike the other reception slaves, I think you might like it. Therefore, I have a special set of clothes for you to wear for your duties."

The shiny goddess pointed to a side door and slaves scurried to open it and bring forth several armfuls of black material and other items. First was an inflatable catsuit of two thick layers of butyl rubber, the outer layer much heavier then the inner one. These suits were the only non-latex items allowed to the slaves, though they looked like latex. The extra toughness of this rubber and its completely sealed properties and resistance to chemicals was needed for the function of these special suits. They were also incredibly hot and suffocating, more so than latex that, despite many beliefs, does have some minimal permeability. The inflation tube was at the top of the suit at the base of the collar and it was internal which puzzled Slave 32.

The dressing slaves began to pull the suit onto his rubber body. It hung relatively loosely but the inner skin was tight to his body. When the suit was at his waist, they fit a small suction pump onto the urine tube of his permanent suit and fed a thin but strong tube from the pump to the inflation valve of the suit. Another, tube with a one-way valve was fit to his excrement waste tube.

They pulled the suit on over his body and fed his arms into the sleeves before closing the zipper.

"Now when you have to pee, the pump will turn on because of the liquid closing the circuit. It will pump the pee right into your suit, which will become a reservoir for your piss. If you have to dump, it will also flow into the suit through the waste tube. A one-way valve in the ass tubing will keep anything from leaking back to you. Be aware, though, that eventually the piss will fill the suit to a point that your excrement might not flow freely into the suit," explained the Mistress. "This system is very similar to what astronauts used in the early space flights."

Next the heavy outer suit with attached breathing gear was added and the hip waders shoved onto Slave 32's feet. The gauntlets were pulled onto his hands and everything locked into place with cuffs and straps. Slave 32 was effectively in three very heavy rubber layers over the first suit.

Inside this outfit, Slave 32 felt completely isolated inside a rubber world. His breathing became rapid as he experienced an extremely intense arousal. He wanted to push the gauntlets to his crotch and achieve his rubbery satisfaction as he felt the hot tight rubber holding his body in its grip. His hand moved toward his crotch.

Mistress Esoterica read his thoughts. "You naughty boy! How dare you think of sexual pleasure when denial is the name of the game. He needs additional restraints. A heavy belt with hinged rods and shackles were put around Slave 32's waist. The shackles were attached to his wrists. He could move the arms through a short range of motion that allowed picking up and holding different tools with difficulty but there was no way he could put his hand near his crotch.

"You can think of playing with yourself all you want, Slave 32, but these shackles will stop you from succeeding," Mistress Esoterica said with a grin. "You will be in these clothes at least five days. Then we will see what should be your next step in slave training."

She turned and left the room while the other slaves began to show 32 his job. He would assist with opening crates of new recruits or customers for the various rubber Mistresses in Germany. It seemed that Mistress Esoterica ran the main receiving point for both paying customers looking for an extreme fantasy in rubber and small and illegal trade in rubber slaves. This task was repetitive and backbreaking work in the best of situations. Enclosed in the heavy suits and protective gear, it became next to impossible.

The work was boring as well. Long periods between arrivals were common. The Reception Slaves would be placed in vertical bondage sacks during these periods of inactivity. Because Slave 32 had the wrist restraints, his bondage sack had special sleeves for the protruding arms. Chains clipped to D-rings held the upper arms to his sides with the forearms parallel to the ground. Feeding and watering was done right in the room for Slave 32. At the end of the day, he was put into his vertical sack and a special hood pulled over his respirator mask to blank out any light before the other's removed their protective equipment and went off to the dormitory.

His first time pissing in the system disgusted him. He felt the heat of the piss passing through the double suit from his shoulder down his back and into either leg opening. He knew that the stuff was safely between two rubber walls but he still felt squeamish at the idea of the stuff around his feet. The need for fluids became readily apparent too. He found himself swilling huge gulps of the latex flavored water and electrolytes when drink breaks were called. He didn't care that each drink break meant more pissing and the continued rising of the pressing fluids in his legs.

Taking his first dump was another matter. Since he had been completely cleaned out, and because of the liquid diet they were on, it didn't happen until his third day. He pushed the soft stool through the hollow plug in his ass and knew that this was mixing with the already vile stew that had reached his lower thighs inside the inflatable suit.

He thought, "What a mess if it springs a leak."

He sloshed slowly about his work and wondered at how much more liquid he could carry before the effort became too great.

Feeding happened three times a day and was much like the watering cycle. He would step up to the discharge tube and connect it to his mask by pushing the snout to the matching fitting and wait for the gruel to be forced into his mouth. After a fixed time, retraction clips on the wall fitting would retract and allow him to pull his mask away. And sleep was impossible that first night. Tight in rubber and completely restrained, he was at a heightened arousal all night. He soon found a developing pattern in that he would snatch little dozes while in the bondage sack between very long periods of complete rubber arousal and rapture in the tight rubber prison.

Slave 32 finished his first stint in Reception and went through the cleaning cycle. He vowed to do something wrong about once a month just to get the “pleasure” of working Reception for a week.

It was some months later that he was working reception when routine of the work was broken on the fourth day with the announcement of the arrival of a new slave from Asia. Slave 32 immediately moved to open the crate and found a vision of tight latex that he had often dreamed but never experienced. Oh, for his wife to have accepted latex, this could just as easily been her as he looked at the exquisite figure that was so prevalent among Asians wrapped in a hobble dress, catsuit, hoods and gas mask.

Mistress Esoterica was there for the cracking of the crate. "Slave 32, keep your mind on your duties. She is of no concern to you."

"Ah, she didn't pee on herself," observed Mistress as she was taken from the crate and her limbs massaged to restore some circulation. I expect she needs to do it though. Slave 32, plumb her suit and let her piss on you. I want her piss covering the front of your suit."

Slave 32 hurried to fit the tubing. This entailed unzipping the thigh seam of the hobble dress and exposing the catsuit beneath. He deftly plumbed the suit above the plugged pussy and saw a gush of fluid stream from the tube all over his body.

"That's good Slave 32. I bet that's the first time she ever pissed on you isn't it?"

Slave 32 looked at Mistress Esoterica questioningly as he heard this comment.

"Ah, 32, the truth is dawning on you. Your estranged wife just pissed on you. Of course, if she chooses to become a Mistress, she can always buy you back. For now she is just Slave 35 and you will never feel any part of her unless she chooses the way of a Mistress and you become her slave."

32 watched as his lovely rubber-clad wife was led out of the reception area and to her new existence. He was required to clean the urine from the floor while the remaining drops on his suit dried.

Chapter 5 - Why Me?

Shirley Goodwin had been in the Philippines for almost two years when she decided to take a trip to Japan to visit her sister. As an American citizen she had no trouble getting a Visa and entry permits. The letter of annuity eligibility that arrived in the mail had surprised and saddened her. Bill had succumbed to some rare form of cancer and now his survivor benefits that he had thoughtfully enrolled in were assigned to her, even though they were separated. She pained at the thought that he loved her even after she had left. And then the Philippines wasn’t all that great for her either. She had tired of sitting around the hot family house and visiting her sisters and brothers after only a month. She actually missed the rain of Washington and the cooler climate. Now her boredom stretched on for months on end. She even missed Bill, though she still didn’t miss his ventures into that rubber thing…

She remembered that last time vividly. She came home Saturday evening from the church trip to the Oregon coast. The trip had been a dud. Heavy rain washed out most of it and the group decided not to stay the second night but get on home in time for Sunday church services. She walked in the house and started looking for Bill. The truck was in the drive but he might have been out walking. She headed for the bedroom and as she passed the extra room, she heard a muffled whoosh, heavy breathing seemed to be coming from the room. She pushed the door open and saw a green rubber bag on the bed. A black metal can seemed attached to a hose coming out of the bag and the noise was coming from a breathing form inside the bag. As she watched the breathing increased and the body began to convulse. She watched as the green form kicked and shook then went rigid and loud grunts and moans broke the rapid breathing rhythm. She had just watched Bill cum while dressed in his rubber things! She had never seen this before and the sight was revolting.

She let out an anguished cry as the green form suddenly kicked and thrashed even more violently from another wave of passion washing over him. She turned and left the room. She wrote a quick note addressed “To you” telling him not to bother looking for her or trying to explain and she was gone…

The money from the annuity was more than enough to live quite well in the Philippines. Shirley had her brother investing some of the money while she eventually rented a nice house. Still things were getting pretty dull so she decided to visit her sister in Japan. Her sister’s husband worked for the US Government and their tour would end at the end of the year. They planned to go home to Texas and retire on his “high three” that was fattened by the Cost of Living Allowance for being in Japan. It would be a good retirement and Shirley thought that she could return to the US with them and maybe settle down in Texas as well. Texas was nice enough in the winter though the summer heat reminded her of the Philippines.

She was off to Japan. The flight took three hours. Her sister met her at Narita and they rode a taxi to the bullet train station. Shirley had never ridden in anything like the bullet train. The train arrived right on time and disgorged its passengers in a rush of humanity. Her sister quickly pulled her along as they pushed into the car. The doors closed almost on them.

“The trains are fast and they don’t wait for anyone. You have to be ready to board as soon as the leaving passengers are out of the way,” sister said.

The ride to Yokohama was fast. Another short taxi ride to the base and that was it. Shirley was at her sister’s home. She fixed some ice tea for them and sat in the living room.

“What happened to Bill? Was he sick when you left? I mean talking to you after you got that letter from the Defense Finance people, I got the feeling you had no idea.”

“Yes, I miss him and was thinking about going back home when the letters arrived. It kind of shocked me. I guess it’s true. I mean I started getting the annuity two months later.”

“Why did you leave him? I thought you two were happy together? I mean you’ve kept it all pretty secret since you came back out here.”

“Now that he’s gone, I guess I can tell someone. He had this really sick thing for rubber clothing and sex.”

“Sick?”

“Oh, Sis, it’s so embarrassing. He liked rubber more than me.”

“You think so? I mean how do you know?”

“I saw him in his stuff that last time. He was making love to his rubber like he had never done with me in years.”

“Now, Sis. Are you sure that it was ‘making love’?”

“What else could it be?”

“Well, you really don’t love something that isn’t alive. You might get more excitement or more pleasure when playing kinky games but I don’t think it’s actual love with an object.”

“But he was in such passion!” Shirley objected.

“Yes, but was his passion as much as it might have been if you were with him inside that bag. That’s what you’ll never know.”

“What are you trying to tell me. That I should have tried to play the games with him?”

“Well, Dan and I play games to keep the flames hot. I mean doing the same old thing all the time gets old for anyone.”

“What sort of games?” Shirley wondered now if she was the only normal person around.

“Well nothing too much. I have a couple of leather things and we have one or two rubber panties and briefs that actually make things a little more fun. I have a vibrator and Dan really likes me sucking him off now that he’s older.”

Shirley was alarmed that her sister would do such things with her man. The old Filipino upbringing just didn’t fit into the mold of such stuff. But then, her sister was married to Dan and she was a separated, now widowed, single person.

“I wonder what he was doing in Germany?” Mused Shirley.

“Germany?”

“Didn’t I tell you? That’s where he got sick and died.”

“Hmmmmm. I think we need to check this out more closely. Do you have copies of death certificates or anything else from Germany?”

“Well, yes. I brought them along since they are important papers and I didn’t want to leave them in the PI.”

“Let me see.”

Shirley pulled the death certificate from an envelope in her bag. Also was a letter from the attending physician who explaining Bill’s illness in all sorts of fine medical terms. The certificate was issued by the local magistrate in Mannheim but the information seemed to be provided by a physician at a private clinic.

“I didn’t think Bill had the type of money to afford a place like this,” said Shirley. “But I guess he must have squirreled away something and was able to go there for treatment that wasn’t FDA approved yet. Still I can’t figure out where he got the money.”

“I think the answer is that he didn’t have the money,” her sister said flatly.

“What are you saying, Sis?”

“Well, it’s just a hunch. But I happen to know a few people here that are probably equals to Bill in terms of the rubber thing. That’s based on what you told me. They had two single friends who went to Germany for fantasy adventures only to die, at least officially. Now I wonder since Bill was there too. They also know of one or two people who just are missing. It’s all very strange. They’ve tried to get the authorities to look into it but the National Police Agency, the NPA, only runs up against a blank wall when they query German or Interpol authorities. I don’t think it helps that they won’t tell the police about the rubber thing.

“It’s too late today but first thing tomorrow, we’ll go to a store in Tokyo that caters to rubber people and maybe get some clues.”

“They have stores for them?”

“Yes, there are a couple of them here in Tokyo. They must make enough to stay in business. The rubber thing isn’t as rare as you might think.”

That night Sis and Dave cuddled against each other in their rubber suits. They had a nice session of good rubbery loving and were sleeping that exhausted sleep of complete sexual satisfaction. After the session but before they fell asleep, Sis mentioned Shirley’s problem. They agreed that she should take Shirley to Tokyo and check out some of the bulletin board notices in the shops to see if anything might turn up any possible links that might have been missed. They doubted it but you never knew. With that settled they quickly fell asleep.

Shirley tossed in her bed all night. She was not in the best condition when dawn came. She was even surlier when her sister came to drag her from bed at 8:00 AM.

“We have to be off to Tokyo early,” Sis said as she whacked Shirley on the behind.

The bullet train and taxi ride took them into one of the more upscale shopping districts in Tokyo. Shirley was surprised as they found the shop sandwiched between some of the high-end places usually found in only the best parts of town. Unlike the US, this country seemed to place the kinky on a more visible level and preferred not to hide it in dark alleys.

The store had a heavy aroma of rubber as they walked through the door. Sis was recognized by the clerk, who was appropriately dressed in a very slinky rubber dress with gloves and stockings. Shirley looked disapprovingly and a bit surprised that her sister seemed to be a bit of a regular customer. The clerk gave her sister a book and she began to thumb through the store “classifieds”. About halfway down the third page she found what she thought she was looking for, “All of your rubberized fantasies fulfilled! Mistress Esoterica of Mannheim, Germany invites you to visit her estate and become lost in the erotic world of latex. Come for a day or a week. Only serious inquiries desired. [email protected].

Was there a link? Mannheim was the city that Bill’s death was reported in. The letter accompanying the report had indicated that his remains were to be cremated and would remain in Mannheim for disposition since he had listed no next-of-kin on his hospital admission forms. Now Sis knew that had he been in a clinic, he would have provided his sons as next-of-kin. So she knew this was wrong. That had been her first hunch the night before while talking with Shirley.

She asked the clerk about Kochi and Hiryo, the two girls from the rubber club that she remembered being mourned a few months back. Yes they had gone to Mannheim to visit Esoterica. They had died in an automobile wreck on the Autobahn. Their bodies were burned beyond recognition, according to the report, when the car they were in collided with a tanker truck. Esoterica had sent back two urns with what was purported to be the remains of the two girls along with a very nice letter of condolence and a very nice memorial contribution for the families. The coincidence wasn’t lost on Sis now that she was developing a theory.

Meanwhile, Shirley had been looking at the clothing in the shop. She couldn’t help but think just a few naughty thoughts as she looked at the array of shiny stuff. The clerk really looked quite sexy, in a sluttish sort of way, in her dress. She remembered the sexy clothing on the stages of the variety shows in the Philippines. Some of the clothing must have been PVC or rubber. There had to be a reason why the girls wore it on TV and the only reason she could think of was that the men liked what they saw. She picked up the sleeve of a dress and was surprised at how soft to the touch it was. It fell in such nice smooth folds too.

The clerk pointed at Shirley from her counter. Sis turned to see her admiring the slick fabric.

“Sis, you having some thoughts about rubber?”

Shirley turned blushing, “It’s really quite soft.”

“Yes and very sexy when it’s molded to a nice body.” Sis nodded toward the clerk. “You know you still have a pretty good body yourself.”

Shirley blushed again.

“You have to drop that old Philippine Catholic conservatism and let your hair down some! Find her a nice size 6 in that style and let her try it on.”

“What? Not now, please and I’m an 8 not a 6.”

“That’s the whole idea,” Sis said with a wink.

Shirley was soon in the light cream pencil dress. The sleeveless top cut low in the back but modestly above the bosom, though her bra showed quite completely through the rubber, ruining the smooth curves. The thing hugged her waist and hips as it stretched around her ass and closed about her thighs in a rubbery hug. Panty lines showed at her rear, again tarnishing the image.

Sis nodded at her sister but had her finger to her mouth in thought. “We have to lose that bra. Here put this one under the dress. It is seamless and since the edges blend you’re your skin, won’t show as much.” She tossed a latex bra with thick cups to her sister.

This bra hid the nipples that were now becoming wickedly hard inside the rubber. Shirley was hot from her blush as well as a growing arousal. She was glad the bra was thick and hid her aroused nipples as she came out front again. This time to her horror there were two other customers in the store. Both men, they chatted and nodded approvingly at the sight Shirley presented.

Now she blushed in full and hid her mouth behind her hand as she had seen shy Japanese girls do. The men whispered more and smiled.

Sis threw a pair of white latex opera gloves to her. “Go ahead, might as well complete the picture.”

Shirley pulled the powdery things on her arms. They seemed alive as they molded to her arm and latched onto her like a second skin. The two men chattered some more and laughed quietly at some private joke. The clerk had heard what they said and frowned at them.

“Enough of this. I’m changing back into my own clothes!” Shirley headed back to the changing room.

“Try these on before you get out of the dress, Lhey.” Sis tossed a pair of white dildo panties and a white pair of stockings over the door. “You’ll find built-in garters on the inside of the dress for the stockings. And those two guys left and Roiko hung out the closed sign for a minute.”

Was it the heat of the moment or the thrill of wearing the tight rubber or the scene with the two men, Shirley didn’t know, but she seemed drawn to pull on the panties, pushing the dildo between her slick moist pussy lips after first removing her satin ones first and then rolling the stockings up her legs and finding the little garter hooks on the inside seam of the dress. She saw herself in the mirror and about fainted. Her stomach fluttered and she felt light headed. She put on her shoes and went back into the store. Her sister handed her a pair of white shoes with four inch heels. She slipped off her sneakers and put on the shoes.

She walked between two aisles of rubber clothing and reached the end only to find the two men still there! They clucked appreciatively and nodded very formal greetings to her. One of them said, “You are truly an angel,” in accented English. Then they rushed from the store.

“Sis! You said they were gone!” Shirley sputtered, but she noticed that she wasn’t blushing.

“Well, they seemed so intent on seeing you and they were talking so reverently about your appearance, we had to let them see you as a beautiful latex angel. This is a man’s world in Japan.”

Shirley stomped back to the changing room holding her temper, just barely. In the privacy of the room, the erotic rush of the encounter flooded her and to her shock the dildo inside her pussy erupted to life. It was a vibrator and she was suddenly engulfed in the most intense orgasm since she had left Bill.

“Ring up the sale Roiko. I think she likes the clothes,” said Sis.

Back home, Shirley and Sis discussed the events of the day.

“You took a first step into the world that Bill enjoyed today, Lhey.”

“Yes. I surprised myself. It seemed so easy to slip down the slope into the rubber clothing. I found myself so mad at you and aroused and hating you and loving you and thrilling for the moment. God, it was such an emotional rollercoaster! Then you set off that thing inside me! How could I resist?”

“Well, now you know how Bill felt and why he was the way he was. I found some things out. There does seem to be a connection between that Mistress Esoterica and Mannheim and the ‘deaths’ of the two girls from here. That means that there might be a link to Bill as well. And maybe the other missing people. They may still be alive.”

“But I’m scared. I mean can we take this information to the NPA?” Asked Shirley.

“That would mean telling them about the kink. They would probably understand but to be sure it would cause some embarrassing questions.

“Now that I am beginning to understand, I’d like to find out for certain.”

“That means someone has to go to Germany. I think you should go.”

“Why me?”

story continued in part two

29.05.03