Gromet's Plaza Latex Stories
Private Passions
by Ann O'Nymous
 
© Copyright 2004 - Ann O'Nymous - Used by permission
Storycodes: Sbf; M/f; F/m; latex; inflate; bond; susp; breathplay; toys; cons; X
Private Passions by Ann O'Nymous Sbf; M/f; F/m; latex; inflate; bond; susp; breathplay; toys; cons; X
 

I hang up the phone. My husband had just called from the airport to tell me that his flight had just landed and that he'd be home in 45 minutes. As he said, "I love you" before hanging up, I could hear the excited expectation in his voice. You see, whenever one of us leaves on a business trip, the other prepares a surprise for the returning one. It was also usual for the surprised to bring back something to add to whatever the other had in mind. It is through numerous such trips to Europe and throughout the U.S. that we were able to slowly build an extensive collection of fetish wear and bondage accessories.

I climb the stairs to our bedroom, located on the top floor of an anonymous town house in a Toronto suburb. To our neighbours and family, we present the plain image of a young couple of professionals. But the darkened windows of the top floor hide our private lives of intense fetish and bondage enthusiasm. I take a quick bath in the ensuite located off the bedroom. After spraying a thin veil of latex-scented perfume all over my body, I walk back into our bedroom to prepare my surprise.

I open the doors of the two large antique armoires that hold our prized collection. There are several items I had previously selected laid out on the bed. I first put on a black latex catsuit with attached feet and gloves. I pull the tight latex carefully over my legs and arms, smoothing it to remove any folds or creases. I clip a length of nylon webbing to the slider located in the small of my back then use it to pull the back zip up all the way to the top of the high collar. I then put on a pair of knee-high leather boots. My gloved fingers have trouble getting a good grip on the small sliders, but I quickly close the legs of the boots. Next, teetering on the 5" heels, I take a pair of locking leather wristcuffs which I then secure to my own wrists. Two small padlocks ensure that they could not be removed without a key, which is located on my husband's keyring.

After inserting soft wax ear plugs in each ear, I pull on an inflatable hood with a built in inflatable gag. I position the breathing hoses in my nostrils and test that the air flows unimpeded in and out of my lungs. Satisfied that I am in no danger of suffocating, I insert the limp ball of the gag deep in my mouth then slowly inflate it. My breathing relaxes as I start to feel the familiar pressure build up against my tongue and cheeks. I keep squeezing the inflater bulb until the balloon forces its way to the back of my throat, blocking the flow of air down my larynx. I immediately deflate it a little to restore my breathing. I detach the bulb from its valve and reattach it to the air valve on the hood itself. With forceful squeezes on the bulb, I quickly inflate the large balloon surrounding my head. Keeping a constant "watch" over my own breathing, the same pressure that presses against the inside of my mouth starts to build all over my head. With my free hand, I feel the features of my head disappear, replaced by an expanding taut sheet of thick latex. The pressure on the outside of my face soon counter-balances the pressure of the gag against my jaw, relieving most of the pain in my stretched muscles. I detach the bulb from the air valve and throw in the general direction of the bed. Without the bulb and its pressure-release valve, it is now impossible to deflate, much less remove, the hood. With the hood fully inflated and the plugs in my ears, I am now entirely covered in black latex, deaf, mute and blind.

I raise my hands above my head, waving them as I try to find the handcuffs dangling from a ceiling chain. With my arms brushing against the side of the inflated hood, I grab the cold metal as soon as my fingers bump on the open cuffs. With barely a hint of hesitation, I lock the handcuffs through the metal rings attached to my leather wrist cuffs. I prefer to distribute the tension through the wide leather, rather than have the thin metal of the handcuffs dig through my skin. Disoriented and unable to go anywhere, I savour the smell and tight feeling of the latex pressed against my entire body. My thoughts start to run free, in anticipation of what my husband would do with me once he gets home. The opened armoires and the exposed collection is a clear invitation to take advantage of my defenceless body. And with all of my senses completely obstructed, I will be unable to know what he will be about to do until it was too late.

It should not take him more than another 15 minutes to get home. But the wait seems to last for ever. I start to wonder if I should not have added a vibrating dildo to my set-up to keep me entertained during the wait. But I know that the frustration only adds to my desire. By instinctive reflex, I rub my thighs against each other, trying uselessly to elicit some stimulation. I can feel my nipples harden, begging to be sucked, nibbled and twisted. Between soft and very muffled moans, I try to listen and pick up signs that my husband is in the room. He could be standing right next to me or be stuck in traffic on the 401, I cannot tell the difference.

Suddenly, I feel a soft brushing sensation on my erect left nipple. It must be my husband gently passing his finger on it. I grunt with pleasure and move toward the source of the faint touch but my hands, tied above my head, prevent me from reaching him. Carefully balancing myself on my left foot, I raise my right leg, trying to find his and rub against it. Finding only empty air, I am now wondering if I have not imagined the whole thing. I resume my resigned wait, gently swaying at the end of my chain. I am soon startled by the brush of a hand against the outside of my left thigh.

The hand quickly slides down my leg to my ankle. I feel a strap being wrapped around my ankle. There is a gentle tug as the ankle cuff is buckled tightly. A few seconds later, his hand grabs the inside of my right ankle. Gently, my feet are pushed apart, forcing my arms to stretch above my head. Soon, the balloon surrounding my head is wedged between my outstretched arms as my legs are spread far apart. I feel another strap wrap around my right ankle and the same tug as it is buckled like the first one. The constant force applied to the inside of my ankles, which maintains my feet about 3ft apart, can only be the result of a spreader bar.

Rendered even more helpless, I only want more for him to touch me and make me come. He must be standing there, admiring his work. I can feel his eyes on my body which aches the more for it. What seems like hours (but are only several seconds) passes without anything new touches on my skin. I rock my hips back and forth while humming a low moan into the gag. I'm saying: "touch me! fuck me!" but he isn't listening.

My prayers seem to be answered when the feeling of a cool draft starts to appears between my legs: as he slowly opens the crotch zip of my catsuit, my own juices and sweat are evaporating from the surface of my parted labia. I feel something press against my open cunt. It starts to turn and twist, probing the deepest folds of my inner labia and vulva. I immediately recognized the cool and clammy feeling of a dildo head spreading freshly applied gobs of lubricating gel. It warms up quickly, it's probing motions slowing down as it starts to enter my hungry vagina. The ribbed shaft of the dildo slowly makes it's way into my body, sending pleasure vibrations throughout my pubic area. I throw my hips backward to increase the pressure of the moving dildo against my G spot. My humming turns into a deep groan as I savour the feeling of being slowly penetrated. After reaching the roof of my vagina, the dildo reverses its motion as it is pulled out a little faster. The movement of the dildo accelerates as it is alternatively pushed in and pulled out, while I rock my hips in unison.

As the silicon shaft gets well lubricated by a combination of my own juices and the slippery gel, and I can feel my orgasm mounting, the movement suddenly stops. It is replaced by small tugs and jerks on the dildo and similar small knocks and pulls on the spreader bar between my legs. The puzzling sensations soon stop, leaving me with trying to figure out what my husband had in store for me. I mentally make a quick inventory of our toy collection to identify what had just been done to me and I am left with only one possibility that I soon confirm: any movement of my restrained legs is immediately transmitted to the dildo and, as I bend or straighten my knees, the dildo moves up and down inside me. I have a chromed spreader bar stretched between my ankles. From the middle point, an extensible chromed tube vertically rises up to my crotch. The dildo is firmly planted on its extremity from where it extends deep into my cunt. This vision of myself, a black figure mercilessly impaled on a gleaming stick and unable to move, talk, see, or hear, only adds to my further excitement. My husband must have gone to take a shower, as time stretches to infinity and I am left to frustrate myself with small motions of the dildo, by moving various part of my body against the metal structure.

After what seems like a blissful eternity, I feel a pair of hands on both sides of my waist. Caressing the latex covering my skin, they slowly work their way up my torso, my arms, to my wrists. Soon, my shackles are freed from the chain and I quickly lower my arms, as they become free one by one. Although I am no longer tied to a fixed anchor point, I remain well impaled on the T bar between my spread-out legs. Careful to keep my balance on my high heels, I rub my arms to help restore the circulation. My hands soon starts to explore my overheated body, first massaging my breasts, then plunging between my legs to rub my engorged clitoris. My husband must be watching me as I slowly bring myself to orgasm, carefully bending my knees then straightening up, forcing the dildo in and out faster and faster, deeper and deeper on every stroke. I let out a muffled moan as the orgasm washes over me.

I am still riding my orgasmic high when I feel something tied around my neck. It must be one of our many collars. I keep my arms passively down my side and lean my head forward to help him close the buckle in the back of my neck. He takes one of my wrists, bends my arm behind my back and ties a strap around my wrists. I know what'll come next: my other wrist is going to join the first one in a separate leather loop. A few seconds later, my arms are handcuffed behind my back, a leather strap linking the leather cuffs to the collar. He must now be pulling the buckle on the link strap by a couple of notches, as my arms are pulled upward toward my shoulder blades. He stops before it becomes too uncomfortable and I feel the loose end of the strap being threaded trough the retaining loops. Next, I feel the dildo pull out of my vagina, as the telescoping arm of the T bar is collapsed. It leaves me with a mixed feeling of relief and longing for its return.

I am suddenly forced to stand very straight as a rope or a length of chain is tied to the ring located in the back of the collar and the other end tied to the ceiling chain. One by one, I feel the straps around my ankles being released. Once the spreader bar is removed, I shuffle my booted feet closer together, allowing me to relieve some of the strain on the collar. Even though my legs are now free, I am still immobilized, tethered by a leash to the ceiling. Grasping one of my ankle, my husband signals me to raise my foot off the ground. Shifting my weight to my left foot, I raise my right foot as high as I can manage without risking losing my balance. Something soft works its way around my foot then stops once it reaches my ankle. The process is repeated with my other foot, but the elastic tension I can sense between my ankle indicates that he is putting some sort of latex garment on me: maybe some panties or a skirt? Alternating from one leg to another, he works the garment toward my crotch. The latex must be relatively heavy, as it creates quite a bit of additional pressure. And trying to work latex over latex is not an easy task.

The garment has now reached the top of my thighs. The next push should send it to my hips. Instead, I feel another dildo gently parting my lips. I savour the slow penetration of the rubber cock, as it gets pressed more and more firmly into my crotch by the latex panties now being pulled all the way to my waist. The back of the panties are vigorously stretched away. I feel something cool and slippery straighten itself between my butt checks then start to make its way into my anus. I relax to let the butt plug enter me as easily as possible, adding to the sensation of fullness. When my sphincter reaches the constriction at the base of the plug, I instinctively contract it, helping to pull the welcomed intruder all the way in. I wiggle my butt to seat both shafts as comfortably as possible, in the process enjoying the sensation created by the two rigid invaders moving one against the other. I almost scream in surprise when I feel the pressure in my ass starting to increase. The butt plug must be inflatable as the pressure increases in distinct bursts. It stops after 4 bursts, leaving me discomfortly but not unpleasurably full. He presses his entire body against mine in a warm embrace. I can feel his erect penis against my belly. He is "saying" that he loves me. I love him so much too.

I am left alone to enjoy my predicament for the next several minutes. Without warning, the straps around my wrists are loosened and my arms are free. I passively wait a few more minutes, but nothing happens. I raise my hands to the back of the wide collar and unfasten it. It remains suspended at the end of the "leash'' while I am now free to move around. I feel the balloon around my head and find the inflator bulb attached to the valve. the message is clear: I let the air out of the hood. I then switch the bulb to the valve on the gag and deflate it as well. After unzipping the ball of the hood, I remove it, careful not to pull my hair. The sudden brightness of the room hurts my eyes. Blinking, I turn around looking for my husband. I find him, dressed in his black latex catsuit, laying back on our bed. His still-erect penis is obvious, tightly encased in the attached sheath. Using leather ankle and wrist cuffs, he's already loosely tied himself to the four corners of the bed. I smile at the obvious message. I take a step forward in the direction of the bed when I feel something hit my calf. I look down and see a 1" corrugated rubber hose dangling between my legs. I am puzzled to discover that one end is attached to the crotch of the latex briefs, at the base of the dildo.

Still puzzled, I make my way around the bed, tightening the bonds tying him to the bed. That's when I notice his hood. It is a gasmask integrated into a thick rubber hood that laces tightly at the back of the head. The neck of the hood extends down to completely cover the high collar and zipper slider of the catsuit. My husband's eyes are visible behind the plastic goggles. His been staring at me all the time and now gives me a mischievous wink. The purpose of the hose now becomes clear. I thread the loose end into the air intake port of the mask. I can immediately feel the latex in the bottom portion of my suit cling even tighter as he suddenly has to draw his breath from the other end of the hose, which is firmly planted in my crotch. His breathing seems to become slightly more laborious but the deeper breaths and closed eyes could be a simple indication of his savouring the mix of my intimate odour and the smell of the latex. I can imagine his new level of excitement with his lungs now filled with my pheromones. A quick look at his pulsating member confirms it. Having started as the vulnerable one, I now found myself in total control. Gently stroking his latex-covered cock, it doesn't take long for him to reach an orgasm, straining on his bonds, grunting in his mask, breathing even deeper.

It is in moments like this that women feel sorry for men for their lack of multiple orgasms. As his penis is going limp, I decide on an experiment: let's see how many more he could achieve in the next 4 hours! Straddling his head so he can get a better view, I grab the base of the hose and use it to pull the dildo out of my cunt. Letting go, it plunges back against the front wall of my vagina, rubbing against my G spot. I repeat the movement faster and faster, sending waves of pleasure through my body and releasing a mist of pheromones for him to inhale. I soon ride the waves of a second orgasm, my husband watching my body shudder under the intense pleasure. After an hour and watching me orgasm 3 or 4 times, he should be ripe for another one himself. I guess I'm on my way to coming over 15 more times in the next few hours...

My eyes locked into my husband's, I pull the inflatable hood again over my head. Outside, the neighborhood remains oblivious to the passionate exchanges happening only a few yards away. As I inflate the hood, the sounds of the lawnmowers and cars disappear, leaving me to focus on our shared pleasures...

10.03.04

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