|Surplus Rubber Slave|
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|© Copyright 1997/2013 - Gnjal - originally appeared on Liquidsmooth|
|Storycodes: Solo-F; M/f; capture; latex; catsuit; gasmask; bond; electro; display; tease; enslave; climax; cons/nc; X||
|Surplus Rubber Slave Gnjal Solo-F; M/f; capture; latex; catsuit; gasmask; bond; electro; display; tease; enslave; climax; cons/nc; X|
The surplus store had the standard red white and blue painted sign out front, "Army Surplus, Buy/Sell/Trade". Amy had come looking for another M17 gasmask when her old one, a gift from a past rubber master, had been stolen out of the back of her car. Wearing a black spandex unitard and white vinyl skirt outlining her curvaceous ass, with a heavy leather belt cinching her waist, and black high heeled granny boots finishing her outfit, she appeared to be a normal twenty-something ready to go clubbing.
Scissoring her legs with nervous expectation, hoping that this store would have the mask that held so many strong rubber memories for her, she knew that there was much more to her than the glossy exterior seen by most men and women. Amy was a secret slave to latex bondage. Even now, her pussy was moistening inside the tight black rubber panties she wore under the spandex unitard.
She sighed, and moved forward, pushing open the door with the sound of metal jangling. Chains hooked around the door handle swung noisily as she let the door swing shut behind her. Looking around Amy saw the obligatory flak jackets, ammo boxes, and army knife display that every surplus store seemed to sport.
Glancing around she saw a buzz-cut brown head behind a huge pile of camouflage gear, "Look around, ask if you don't see what you want..." The head bobbed up and down as the clerk straightened and pulled at the gear on the table.
Moving deeper into the store, her glance immediately found what she was most interested in, the HAZMAT gear display. Pushing between the bright orange nylon quilted pilot jackets on racks to either side of her, she moved in on the dull black and shining glass of the gasmasks laying on the display table and strapped onto various mannequins posed around it.
Her nipples hardened, as she saw several M17 masks, black rubber dusted lightly with talc, presenting stark alien faces with the glint of their empty eyes hypnotizing her. She flashed back to the numerous times she had been bound, strapped into rubber, lubed, pussy and ass filled with buzzing dildos, air hissing in and out of the ports of the M17 gasmask strapped tightly around her head. Cunt and ass convulsing as she climaxed into the latex binding her, mask clamping to her face as she surrendered to the rubber.
She refocused, looking for a price tag on the nearest mask, knowing that whatever it said, she had to have one. She started, dropping the tag as a baritone voice spoke at her elbow.
"We always carry an excellent selection of breathing gear, The M17 is a good reliable model, heavy rubber inner face flanges, good face seal, and very durable. The straps tighten for a snug comfortable fit, so you can use this baby for hours at a time..."
Turning Amy saw the owner of the brown buzz-cut. About 6 foot, with green eyes, a green cotton tee tight over his chest, the clerk smiled and waited for her answer.
Taking a deep breath she tried to come up from black slick hole the rubber was pulling her into, "I'm looking for a mask to replace one that was stolen, it was an M17 too." She smiled nervously at him.
"Stolen? That's too bad. But, these should do a good job in its place. We've actually got some specially modified versions for sale also, do you want to see them?" The clerk glanced down at her breasts, and she was reddened realizing how obvious her rubber hardened nipples must be though the black spandex.
"Modified? Yes, I'd like to see them, where are they?" She turned from the clerk, hoping to hide the betraying nipples
"We keep them in the back, we just don't have enough floor space for everything out here... Follow me." The clerk pushed between the outreached nylon arms of the racks of jackets and moved towards the back of the store.
Hurrying to catch up, Amy let out a little gasp as the slick nylon of the jacket arms slid against her sensitive nipples. The clerk motioned her through a dark doorway. "They're down the stairs at the end of the hallway, go ahead, you can't miss it."
She moved down the hallway, high heeled boots tapping, and walked down a dimly lit set of stairs at the end. Reaching the bottom, she saw several mannequins under the glare of a bank of track lights.
Each was wearing a heavy rubber gas mask, and also other gear. Walking up to them, Amy's breath quickened. Each mannequin stood supported by a steel frame, with metal cuffs holding onto its wrists, ankles, neck, and waist. They were also completely covered in black latex. She stepped closer, nipples starkly poking out from her unitard as she stared at the rubber figures. Each was outfitted with a full latex catsuit, feet concealed by heavy latex surf booties, hands emerging from metal cuffs contained in finger-less, heavy rubber mittens. Some were slightly reclined; fake crotches bulging with cunningly placed vibrators, pushing against the slick black rubber.
Her gaze swung up to take in the amazing gasmasks strapped tightly around each mannequin's head. All modified from what looked like M17 masks, they had tubing running from the intake ports, over the back of the racks to convincingly real oxygen tanks. Also, every gasmask's eyeports had been painted black on the inside. Each mannequin also had sizable rubber covered breasts ending in shining chrome metal caps with connecting wires.
Listening intently, she even heard the whistling of air through the hoses of the display.
"This is so realistic!" She thought to herself. Peering around the closest mannequin, she noticed that wires ran from what looked like a PEZ electrical box to a spot under where the mannequin's pussy and asshole would have met under the rubber of the catsuit and up to the nipple caps in front.
Unable to resist, she stretched out a hand and touched the taut rubber crotch of one of the mannequins. A moan sounded from the gas mask, and the mannequin's black slick rubber body moved under her hand.
"What!?" she jerked her hand back. Her mouth opened in amazement as she heard a click, and a hum began to come from the electrical box. Each of the "mannequins" began to jerk against the metal cuffs holding them to the racks, black rubber of the catsuits shining in the hard light of the display, heavy mittened hands twisting under the restraint of the wrist manacles, masked heads nodding and pulling side to side, metal capped breasts heaving, as the sounds of air whistling though the attached hoses backgrounded it all.
She backed up, and bumped into the clerk who had stolen up behind her.
"How do you like it? We deal in all types of surplus, rubber slaves included of course." Grinning he spun her against the wall and quickly bound her wrists with a pair of cuffs. "We actually just sold one of our display items, and I think you'll make a fine replacement!"
An hour had passed; she had been summarily stripped, lubed and forced to put on a heavy rubber suit just like the other slaves on display. The suit had slithered on to her, squishing the lube between her pussy lips and ass cheeks. Zipped tightly behind her back up to her neck, wires trailed from the suit from where they entered it to control the vibrator in her pussy and the butt plug jammed in her ass. Her hands were useless in the heavy rubber mittens, feet forced into the tight rubber feet of the suit also protesting. Her toes strained against the tight slick cling of the rubber.
She was strapped into the same type of rack as the others. Wrists, ankles, waist and neck wrapped in rubber, pinioned by steel. Her head was covered with the open hood of the suit, white face shining sweat-slicked from the surrounding rubber.
"Yes, I think you're going to be one of our more popular display models" The clerk stepped into the light. He was now wearing tight rubber pants, with a heavy rubber codpiece not quite concealing his thick, stiff cock, black latex t-shirt showing off the muscles in his arms and torso. His heavy black riding boots finished the look.
"Don't worry, judging by your reaction to our 'tame' display out front, you'll enjoy being a surplus rubber slave, not that you've really got a choice though..." laughing the clerk picked up a heavy rubber hood
"I want you to open wide now, we wouldn't want this hood's gag and air-hole to be blocked would we," Hooking the heavy rubber over her forehead, the clerk pulled it down, forcing a heavy rubber ball gag into her mouth, and smoothing the rubber of the hood, until only her panicked eyes were showing.
The clerk grinned and reached down to knead his new "mannequin's" clit through the rubber of the suit, feeling its stiffening bud above the vibrator which had slid so effortlessly into her wet pussy.
"I really do like surplus work!" Reaching behind him he picked up one of the modified M17 masks, "Have a good time!" The mask was pulled over her head, and she was plunged into the artificial darkness caused by the blacked out lenses of the mask. The clerk pulled the straps tightly around her head, pressing the heavy seal of the mask against her nose and face.
Her breath whistled through the ports with a gasp as she felt the clerk push aside the latex bonded metal caps covering her nipples and pinched each of them cruelly. Smiling, the clerk gave Amy's rubber covered breasts a squeeze also. Repositioning the chrome nipple caps, he then leaned down and plugged the leads trailing from his newest display piece into the master electrical box.
As the vibrator and butt-plug came to shuddering life deep in her pussy and ass, and the first electrical jolt shocked her nipples to even greater sensitivity, Amy gasped into the rubber of the mask, and bit down on the rubber gag filling her mouth. She was blinded, bound in rubber, nipples hard, latex covered breasts heaving, arms jerking against her bonds, pussy sliding around its lubed intruder, ass clenching under the butt plug's mad gyrations. Amy was a latex slave once again.
The clerk stood back and watched the twitching, restrained contortions of his newest surplus rubber slave, sightless masked head swaying and rubber wrapped hips writhing with the intensity of the sensations the rubber and electricity were evoking.
The surplus business was definitely looking up.
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10.02.97/posted plaza 04.09.13
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