Jason was getting frustrated. The embroidered jacket was chafing, the bar scotch he'd ordered was watery, and he was sweating in the rubber pants. What the hell he thought, I may as well enjoy my drinking, if I can't enjoy the bloody party. He poured his drink into an abandoned margarita, and caught the bartender's eye.
"Double shot of Macallan, neat," he ordered.
The bartender, a bored-looking bodybuilder in a nun's habit, said, "Top shelf is four bucks a shot," waited for Jason's reaction, and when he said nothing, turned to pour.
Jason had come to the Halloween party alone, as a last resort, knowing full well he would most likely remain alone. He looked around the party, noting the many couples that had formed since the masquerade dance had begun. It looked like yet another lonely night in a year-long string of lonely nights. Things had looked promising earlier. Several attractive women had used his flashy costume as an excuse to start a conversation. But right on cue, his insecurity had caused him to stammer, to blurt meaningless and silly things, and one by one, they had disappeared into the crowd, later to be glimpsed hanging on the arm of another apparently more confident man or in some cases, woman. It was hard to tell with some of the costumes.
Shit, why couldn't I have been born gay, or at least bisexual, he thought. At least there seemed to be a lot more fetishistic men there than women. His hopes rose again when a young woman in an outrageous blonde wig and 1920's flapper dress walked up to him with two glasses of Champaign. She looked like a gangster's moll from a movie.
"Hoy they-uh," she said, her impossibly Noo Yawk accent thick enough to cut with a knife.
He grinned. She had her character down pat.
"Hey, baby doll," he said in his best imitation of a 1920's gangster. She frowned slightly then brightened.
"Oi loik ya cawstume, where'd ja foind it?" she asked.
Once again, he tried to concentrate on what he would say. She was a knockout, and she seemed nice enough, if a bit empty-headed. He just had to get it right this time. For the seventeenth time tonight, he heard a friend's advice in his mind. "Just be yourself. People can sense when you're putting on an act." Jason tried to relax. He dropped the "gangster" accent and smiled in what he hoped was a winning manner.
"Well, I rented the jacket, hat and shoes, but I already had the rubber pants. Where did you find that outrageous wig?"
Ten seconds later, he stood morosely wiping Champaign from his rubber pants, amazed to discover that not only had her accent been real, but the wig was not a wig, and her head was as empty as her glass was now. She was not The Woman.
"The Woman" was a sort of fantasy he'd entertained since puberty. He sat down at the cash bar, and thought back to his high school days, to his first and only great love.
When he was about sixteen, and noticing girls in a big way, he'd made a pass at the most attractive girl in school, a read-head named Mandy. This was a bold step for him, since he'd always had trouble talking to girls. That was more than usually unfortunate, because his swim-team body and rakish good looks tended to attract quite a few potential dates and even bedmates.
The problem was that Jason Stewart was not just a jock. He was smart, and he knew it, and he just couldn't relate to 99% of the girls (not to mention boys) at school, despite the urging of his percolating hormones. To be sure, there were a few smart girls at his school, but they weren't his idea of a good time. Not only were most of them emotionally crippled, but they dressed like bag-ladies, and their personal grooming habits would have shamed a wino.
There appeared to be no girls his age that had looks as well as good taste and intelligence in the entire city. To make matters worse, his social skills seemed somehow lacking when dealing with girls - they seemed to him almost an alien race, with quite different needs and goals than he. Due to an early divorce, Jason had grown up without a father, and somehow his mother had never graced him with any dating skills. After two years of unsuccessful attempts at conversation with empty-headed Madonna wannabes, and a few aborted dates, he overheard a conversation between his chemistry teacher and Mandy Rafool.
She was discussing the relationship between what she had learned in physics class to the current discussion of valences in chemistry. He would never have imagined! He had seen her around for quite awhile and just like every other guy in school, had been fascinated with her pretty face, the tight jeans and sweaters which she constantly wore, and her stunningly mature body. And, like every other guy in school, he had noticed that she was conspicuously without a boyfriend.
But because of her stunning good looks and the retinue of bimbettes, which constantly attended her, he'd assumed that she was yet another bimbo herself. She was two years older than he, a senior, a cheerleader, and she looked to him like a daddy's-little-girl who never lacked for anything. Never the less, he had fallen hard, and he resolved to win her heart. For the next six months, he secretly bought all the magazines the girls at school seemed to worship, and he studied.
In Seventeen, he learned how a "real cool dude" walked, talked, and dressed. In Young Model, he read about the things every teenage girl supposedly wanted in a boyfriend. In Cosmo, he discovered what sort of sex "every" sophisticated, mature woman wanted. And, finally, after screwing his courage to the sticking point, he'd asked her for a date. She accepted!
Actually, when he first spoke to her she'd laughed and walked off with her friends, but then right after school, he had found her sitting on the hood of his car. She told him she was sorry, that she'd actually thought him cute when they first met, but his inept approach had "forced" her to rebuke him, lest her girlfriends think her "easy". Considering how she dominated her peer group, he thought it more likely that she only feared a loss of control, but he didn't dare risk such a rebuke. He was in love… or lust, which was about the same to him at that age.
"Well, aren't you going to drive me home?" she had demanded.
At last, he had thought to himself, a girl who takes the lead.
As they talked, sitting in his car in front of her house, he discovered with delight and a certain relief that she did have a brain after all. The vast majority of the attractive girls, at least, seemed to believe that brains and education were anathema to becoming a model, which seemed to be the first and foremost desire of every one of them except Mandy. She told him she was getting straight A's except in Home Economics, which she loathed and that she had already decided to become an investment broker!
He asked her why she had no boyfriends, why she had picked him. Her reply astonished, then warmed him. It seemed that she too, was turned off by empty-headed football jocks suffering from what she called testosterone poisoning. She seemed surprised and delighted that he was both an athlete and a straight-A student. Then she shocked him by revealing that she had not only dated a few of those football jocks, had had sex with several, and found them to be boring, self-centred lovers.
At his stunned look she added, "Oh, don't look so shocked. There's nothing wrong with having sex at our age, although you could never prove it by those immature fools I run with. I'm not stupid, I use condoms, I play it safe. Besides, I've seen the way you look at my body, you know damn well you'd give your left arm to get into my pants…" here she reached over and squeezed his crotch, nearly causing a minor traffic accident, "…and who knows, maybe you will, if you're good to me."
By this time, Jason's brain was yelling, "DANGER, DANGER, Dr. Smith! Cock teaser ahead!" but he suppressed its voice easily and told himself she really meant it- she was just a very bossy girl… er, woman, he corrected himself. She turned out to be a rather forceful lass indeed. Fortunately for Jason's grades, she shared no classes with him, but when they passed in the halls; she surreptitiously blew him kisses, or licked her lips lasciviously when no-one was looking. She insisted on meeting him after school every day, and that he drive her home.
He lived for those drives, as they talked about their pastimes and interests, the other kids at school, and all too often, about sex. She seemed quite knowledgeable on that subject, and astonished him with her frank, technical descriptions of what seemed to him bizarre yet tantalising acts.
Finally, on Friday, she informed him that he would pick her up at seven that night to go to Angelo's for dinner. Angelo's was a restaurant / night-club, rather pricey for kids their age, but his part time job at Radio Shack had allowed him to save a tidy bundle. He felt a certain amount of pride at being able to wine and dine the sexiest girl in school. It was rather a relief actually, not having to worry how to persuade her to go on a date with him. All she required of him was a "yes".
When he picked her up, he discovered that she challenged the conventions of fashion as well. He arrived at her house early and after waiting nervously on the porch for several minutes, he rang the bell precisely at seven o'clock. She opened the door within seconds, and breezed right past him toward the car. He could only stare after her in shock. When she realised he wasn't following she turned, staring back at him with her hands on her hips, looking at him silently as if to say, `Well, aren't you coming?' He continued to stare for a moment, than slowly walked up to her, his expression of slack-jawed astonishment slowly turning to one of frank admiration as he boldly looked her up and down. The temperature of the warm June night suddenly rose several degrees.
"Buy you a drink, senor?"
The voice at his shoulder snapped Jason back to the present. A huge woman, correction, a transvestite, in a tight red flamenco dress, was standing next to him.
"Umm, no thanks. I mean, no offence, but your eyes are the wrong colour, if you take my meaning."
The flamenco dancer pouted and flounced away. Jason sipped his scotch, closed his eyes and thought back to that first, incredible date. For their trip to the club, she wore a shiny rubber miniskirt in an outrageous shade of hot pink that fitted her as if spray-painted on. If that wasn't enough, she had topped it with a tight-fitting jacket of white patent leather, accompanied by fishnet stockings and pink patent spike heels. She wore no blouse under the jacket, and if she wore a bra, it must have been quite low-cut, as her burgeoning cleavage was plainly displayed in the neckline. His first reaction was that she looked like one of the hookers on Main Street, or a heroine from a B-grade movie, although unarguably sexy!
"My god Mandy," he said, "you look delectable!"
She grinned a wicked grin.
"Yes, I know. I take it then that you share my tastes."
She even sounds like a B-grade movie, he thought. He convinced his eyes to stop devouring her body for a moment, to meet her gaze.
"Mandy, I LOVE the way you look… it's just that… I guess it's a bit of a shock. At school, you never wear anything more provocative than a tight sweater… do you dress this way every time you go out? Don't you get a lot of flack from your parents?" He realised he was gushing and shut up, coloring slightly.
She smiled wryly at him and ticked off her reply on her fingers.
"First: I dress the way I dress at school in order to identify with those little idiots who follow me around like puppy dogs. I give them something to look up to, they give me a certain cachet of respectability, helping me to get on the cheerleading team, the school newspaper, the yearbook staff, student council, and so on. That stuff looks great to college scouts, after they finish tallying your test scores, of course. And second: no, I don't always dress this way when I go out, only when I want to reduce my date to a drooling blob of lust." She grinned mischievously.
"It's working, believe me," stammered Jason.
"…third," Mandy interrupted, "no, my parents don't mind much at all- you should see some of the things THEY wear. And fourth, are we going to dinner, or not?"
During the meal, while his head was reeling from her fantastically clothed figure, her slightly musky cologne, and two glasses of wine, she whispered to him in no uncertain terms what she expected of him later. Jason was in pubescent heaven. His erection had not subsided since she'd opened her front door, and she certainly wasn't helping with her thoroughly lurid account of the things she wanted to do to him.
If she weren't so straightforward and bossy, he thought, I'd think she was the biggest tease of all time. By the time dessert had arrived, she had removed a shoe, and was massaging his uncomfortable bulge with her toes, the concealing tablecloth keeping their secret. When she put her shoe back on and began squeezing his crotch between both heels, he thought he would explode. He didn't want to cream in his pants, but he didn't want to make a scene, either. The whole time, Mandy kept up a stream of innocuous conversation that for Jason became increasingly difficult to follow.
When they got to the car, she leaned back against the hood, inviting him into her arms. For a few seconds, Jason hugged her gently, as if afraid she would break. He kissed her hesitantly, just before they both threw decorum to the wind, each grabbing the other fiercely, smothering each other with their mouths, their tongues. Jason squeezed her ass and pulled her tightly to him, marvelling at the unusual feeling of the smooth, pliant latex covering her muscular cheeks. Mandy responded by pushing her hand down his pants. Jason felt her hand around his erect shaft, and suddenly knew that they would not be getting home at the hour he'd promised his mother. He drew his head back, looked her in the eyes.
"I think we'd better take this somewhere else," he husked
Mandy had him drive to the outskirts of town to an abandoned farmhouse she knew about from some previous amorous adventure. The entire way, she was melted against him, rubbing his skin with her hands, and distracting him from driving in general. Soon she had opened his fly, and had scooped everything out. Jason tried to think of something to say, but was overcome by the unique sensation of someone else handling his cock, softly squeezing his balls. He tried to concentrate on the road, but when she pulled him into her mouth, he almost drove off the road for the second time that week.
"Ah! Ahhh" was all the conversation he could manage.
"Relax," she said, releasing his cock for a moment, "you drive the car, and I'll drive you."
Again she bent to her task. During a moment's clear thought, he realised she was quite good at it. Every time he felt ready to come off, she either slowed down or stopped altogether, moving her attention and tongue to his balls, or neck, or earlobes. Only once did she come up for air, to give directions. When they finally arrived, Jason pulled out a large blanket his mother kept in the trunk `for road emergencies'. He'd decided that this was a road emergency.
In seconds, Mandy had him down on the blanket on his back, her legs astride his hips, and her hands pressing his shoulders into the soft earth.
"You're a virgin, aren't you?" she asked softly, smiling gently down at him in the pale moonlight. Despite his embarrassment, he couldn't break her gaze.
"Umm, yeah," he answered sheepishly. Softly, she stroked his face.
"Heyy…. heyyy," she cooed, "it's alright! Everyone's a virgin some time in their life. You just sit back and enjoy the ride. If you feel like doing something, say so, or just do what comes naturally. Now then…"
She squirmed backwards enough to get at his belt and stood suddenly, unceremoniously yanking off his pants.
"There! Now we're getting somewhere," she exclaimed, grabbing at his underwear.
When she had him totally nude he protested, "Hey, wait a minute, I'm not wearing a stitch, and you're still dressed! That's hardly fair."
Mandy stood astride his chest, looking down at him and feigning a hurt expression.
"Don't you LIKE the way I'm dressed?"
She ran her hands over the thin shiny patent leather covering her breasts, turned to face his feet, giving him an excellent view as she caressed her latex-covered derrière.
"Er, well, I didn't mean…"
"And besides," she added, bending to look at him between her knees as she positioned herself above his head, "I'm not wearing any panties."
So saying, she knelt astride his chest, pinning his upper arms under her shins, and squatting directly over his face.
Jason had actually dreaded this moment. Although a virgin, he was by no means ignorant- through his reading and by the coarse jokes and bragging told in the swimming team locker room, he had surmised that cunnilingus was a distasteful and unpleasant experience. All that changed in the next thirty seconds. As she gracefully lowered herself onto his face, she began stroking his erect cock, occasionally leaning forward to tongue and partially suck on him. He was eager to return the favour. He sniffed cautiously. A melange of scent surprised his nose. The smell of the latex miniskirt, now hiked up around her hips, was reminiscent more of certain pipe tobaccos than the smelly inner tubes with which he was more familiar. This was mixed with a new smell, musky and rich, not unpleasant, but… strange, with a hint of some musky cologne. He suspected she had scented herself here as well.
Encouraged, he reached out with his tongue, exploring the pink folds hidden in the hair. She tasted much the same as she smelled- he decided that the boys on the swim team were either crazy or liars, because he was already beginning to like it. As his tongue made it's first tentative entry into her hungry sex, Mandy moaned, backed up into his face, and bent further to take him completely into her mouth. Jason bucked his mouth and tongue against her and into her, having only a fleeting instant to think- `I'm doing it! At last, I'm actually doing 69 with the finest girl in school!' before the rising heat in his groin became a pulsing fire that swept through his mind, leaving behind only peace and a growing feeling of… something significant.
"Hey buddy, if you're not gonna drink, how about letting someone else use that stool, huh?"
Jason awoke from his reverie with a start, realising his daydream had become that lucid, remembering, sort of sleep-dream. He looked up at the hard hat that had spoken; realising that the deep voice belonged to a huge, muscular woman dressed as a construction worker. She had one meaty fist clamped around the wrist of a fierce-looking smaller woman sporting a green Mohawk, the other around a huge can of Fosters.
Jason blinked and said, "Uh, I was just leaving."
Sometimes, he thought as he headed for the other end of the bar, discretion is the only part of valour. As the saddening memories of his lost love returned, Jason hailed his new bartender, a six-foot tall pink elephant, and ordered another shot of The Macallan.
Wistfully, he thought about that first night of blazing hot sex, of exploration and learning. He remembered that at one point, Mandy had been lying back, knees in the air, while Jason, his hands lifting her ass, lapped and sucked hungrily at her sex. Essentially they were waiting for Jason's plumbing to recover before having at it again. Mandy had suddenly lowered her legs, tucking her ankles into his armpits, and pulled her skirt down around his head.
When he started to back out to see what was wrong, she urged, "No, keep going," and pulled him to her with her ankles.
Jason, his head squeezed between her muscular thighs and the tightly stretched skirt, his nose assaulted by her wild onion musk and the aromatic scent of the rubber, set to with renewed vigour, and soon found his tool hardening again.
It had been an incredible night, and he had learned a few new skills, too. From that day forth, he had retained a special affinity for Mandy's style of dress: high heels, tight fitting yet revealing jackets and blouses, and skin tight dresses. His lover had more than a few of these sexy outfits, including several made from leather or shiny, stretchy plastic. She also had a purple latex sheath dress that left nothing at all to the imagination.
He especially liked the look and feel of the rubber outfits. She even had a pair of black bicycle shorts made of latex that she insisted he try on. The unique, clingy, slightly restrictive sensation had made him instantly hard, and when she rubbed up against him in her purple rubber dress, he surprised them both by suddenly coming in his pants. The smooth, stretchy material seemed to be the ultimate in second skin, emphasising the shape of one's body, smoothing out imperfections, and even offering a kind of isolating protection from the weather.
He looked everywhere for more clothes made of latex, but to no avail. To be sure, latex dresses and rubber pants were shown off on perfect bodies in various fashion magazines from time to time, but all he found locally were rubber kitchen gloves. Finally, he asked Mandy where she had got her rubber items.
"Why," she giggled, "do you want a dress for yourself?"
"No," he lied, "I think I prefer rubber dresses on you. I just thought I'd get you something new, but I can't find anything except vinyl."
"Ok," she answered, her eyes twinkling, "my dad bought some of it for me when he was in New York, I don't know what store. Then I caught mom looking through a catalogue from some British company, and I just asked her to order some things for me, too."
Jason wondered at the time what sort of parents bought their daughter rubber miniskirts, but he kept his thoughts to himself.
For seven months, Mandy and Jason were inseparable, despite the accusations from his mother that Mandy "looked like trash" in her wild, sexy outfits. When Jason told his mom who her parents were, and what neighbourhood they lived in, that was the end of that. He did finally get to meet her parents, and received several surprising clues about his girlfriend's maturity and free lifestyle. Both parents were highly paid professionals, mom a mathematician for an engineering firm, and dad a nursing instructor for a local university hospital. They were smart, they knew their daughter was too, and they were apparently very open minded about her sexuality. Their only iron-clad rules concerned her academic performance, and her health. Jason learned that they were the source of Mandy's unfortunately uncommon but sensible fixation on what she called "safer sex".
Only once did Jason glimpse anything unusual about the senior Rafool's. During one weekend visit to Mandy's house to get her help with some schoolwork, Jason went to the kitchen to fetch each of them a Coke. On the way back, he passed the garage door which had been left ajar, and from which some rather frantic moaning and grunting was coming. Upon peeking through the gap, he was greeted by the sight of a large black mummy suspended by chains from the garage roof. The bag looked like leather, and covered the body within it from scalp to toes. It was liberally equipped with straps and buckles that had been drawn tight, making the entire form-fitting arrangement quite taut. Despite the restraints, it was squirming enthusiastically, and he noticed a wire dangling from the bag that trailed off to his right.
When he looked in that direction he saw, just at the edge of his view, a pair of crossed legs belonging to someone seated just out of sight. The legs had on an extraordinary pair of knee-high boots with very high platform soles, whose spike heels must have been a foot long! It seemed impossible that anyone would be able to walk in them. Above the boots, the legs were dressed in something skin-tight, red, and very shiny, which he suspected was rubber. Shaking his head in amazement, he quietly returned to Mandy's room without telling her what he had seen.
Of course, thought Jason in the here-and-now, it was too good to last. Mandy's mother had been hired to a lucrative position with a think tank in Washington, D.C., and the family moved away within a month. It all happened with hardly any notice, and Mandy and Jason were crushed. They spent days saying goodbye. For almost a year, they wrote back and forth constantly, and once Mandy's parents paid her airfare back to their hometown. They had a few precious days together, fortunately during summer school break, which they spent seeing movies, shopping, and enjoying wild and imaginative sex.
Before she left, Mandy told him that no matter how much they loved each other, if he couldn't find his way to Washington, she would be looking for another partner with whom to spend her life. Although he knew it was only fair, having it out in the open drove home the fact that he had lost her. It was years before he tried dating again.
Years later, in an adult bookstore, he found a magazine dedicated to "fetishists". The pictures of women (and men!) in corsets, rubber, and high heels were tantalising and a kind of relief, as he had imagined that his fascination was unique. He bought it and went home to look up the word "fetish" in the dictionary. It fits, he sighed to himself. I suppose I'll never find another girl like Mandy.
Inside the magazine, he found page after page of amazing photographs. And the clothes! Every page showed men and women in the most delicious rubber costumes imaginable. There were rubber dresses, rubber shirts, long rubber gloves and stockings, in every colour one could want. There was even a severe-looking rubber corset that compressed one happily suffering woman from her neck to her ankles.
Moreover, the people were doing the strangest things. As he drooled over the steaming scenes, trying to figure out the straps, hoses and other paraphernalia, he noticed a tiny ad in one corner. It was from a company that sold all these wonderful things!
Fortunately, Jason was working in the computer field by then, and had a good- sized income, or he would have gone broke within a year. He ordered a few rubber goods from that first company, and subscribed to a magazine they mentioned. He was still getting over the shock that there were other people out there who derived the same sexual feelings from rubber as he did.
When the magazine, which was called Second Skin, arrived, he found advertisements from other companies making everything from anoraks to zoot suits, out of several different kinds of rubber, leather, and various plastics. He had immediately reached for his checkbook.
Over the next several years, he built up an impressive collection of rubber goods, ranging from women's tight-fitting dresses, to men's "blue jeans". But through it all, despite his best efforts, he could find no one with whom to wear any of it, or share his growing interest in bondage. Oh, he had dated, and socialised, but he never found anyone who shared his secret desires.
Just once, he had dared to mention his fetish to a woman he had been dating for some months. They had made love a few times, and she had proved quite conservative- almost boring, Jason would have said. But she did seem to enjoy dressing sexy, although more for looks than the feeling of the clothes themselves. So he casually mentioned that he would like to see her in a dress he'd bought for her, and when she agreed, he brought out a rather plain sheath dress in shiny black latex. It fit her well, but she complained that it "felt weird", and refused to wear it again. He never dared to bring up the topic again. After they stopped seeing each other, he resigned himself to a lonely life of masturbation and fantasies.
Attending tonight's Halloween party was a half-hearted attempt to get out and see the local nightlife. Something he hadn't done in months. He'd noticed, over the last few years, a subtle trend toward a `trashy and flashy' look in fashion. There had even appeared a few rubber dresses on the haute couture runways, and had dared to hope again that he might find a lover who shared his tastes. He had debated for hours what to wear to the party, balancing the requirements for a costume against his desire to `come out' in something kinky.
In the end, he settled on renting a Spanish toreador outfit, which he wore with his own black rubber knickers, and a simple domino mask. It took all his courage to wear the pants, too. But as he pulled the stretchy, shiny latex over his legs, he realised it didn't matter what people thought tonight- it was Halloween! Tonight was the one night he could wear almost anything at all without fear of ridicule or outcry. He revelled in the tight, smooth feel of the short rubber pantaloons. To hell with it, he thought, I'm going to enjoy myself tonight!
At the party, which was hosted by a local radio station, he had been greeted by a delightful array of leather dresses, spandex pants and skirts, and other sexy costumes. But as he danced with various partners in turn, he realised that to these nervously laughing people, they were just costumes, and none of them would likely wear such things to the office or in the bedroom. There was no latex to be seen, either. There was no lack of spandex, plenty of cheap imitation leather, and a fair amount of good quality real leather, but not one bit of rubber was to be seen. Eventually, he had sat down at the bar to rest and console himself with a drink.
Now, after two stiff scotches, he had become positively soggy with nostalgia. So as he sat sweltering in his sweaty costume, feeling utterly alone in his perversion, he was overwhelmed to see two women walk in, wearing what appeared to be entirely rubber costumes. And what costumes!
The first to enter, a tall redhead with an impossibly exaggerated hourglass figure, wore what looked like a cross between a form-fitting jacket and a corset, made of black patent leather. She possessed the smallest waist he had ever seen. Below that, a skin-tight glossy hobble skirt flared around her ample hips, compressing her legs together from waist to knee. Judging from its smooth, shiny texture and its fluid movement as she walked, the skirt was made of thick latex rubber. On her legs, she wore boots with six-inch heels- their shiny black patent surface interrupted only by laces that extended from toe to knee.
Her companion, a shorter woman and a brunette, was dressed in a classic french maid's uniform, complete with white doily. Classic that is, with the exception that her uniform was made entirely of rubber. She had on long black latex stockings with lace garters showing just under the hem of her skirt. His eyes grew wider. On her feet were a pair of cruel looking patent leather ankle boots with 6-inch stiletto heels and heavy ankle straps attached to each other with a sturdy little chain. They seemed to be giving her trouble, because she had faltered a bit as the pair walked toward in. Black latex gloves covered her hands and she carried an old-style feather duster. She truly looked the part, right down to a pert little patent leather maid's cap.
Both women were masked with plain black dominoes. As he drank in the incredible sight of the two figures, the redhead caught him looking and began walking toward the bar, staring him directly in the eye the whole way. She hardly paused on the way, the crowd parting around the pair like the Red Sea. Perhaps because of their dress, women and men alike seemed in a hurry to get out of their way. Jason watched her walk, mesmerised, as her legs wrestled with each under the tight hobble skirt for room to breathe, the thick rubber forcing her to take mincing steps on the precariously high heels. It suddenly occurred to Jason that the couple was probably lesbian, and by staring, he had somehow offended them. He was probably about to get the proverbial stuffing kicked out of him by spike-heeled shoes!
He glanced left and right, looking for an avenue of escape. But by the time he made it to his feet, swaying slightly from the booze, she stood before him, a stern-looking vision in rubber and leather. She said nothing at first, looking him up and down, a faint smile playing about her lips. Trying to look nonchalant, Jason swung around and glanced about the dance floor. It seemed he was not the only one who found them attractive. Practically everyone's eyes had been locked on the pair as they threaded their way across the dance floor. They were still receiving hotly critical stares from a few female partners of hetero couples. Finally, the redhead in the hobble skirt spoke, smiling tensely.
"You must really like our costumes," she said, "I could feel your stare from across the room!"
Jason looked sheepish.
"I'm sorry. It's just that, well, they are a little unusual, even for Halloween. I mean, you seem to be comfortable wearing this sort of thing, even those heels, which um, by the way, don't look easy to walk in… and you know everyone else is just renting their costumes for the evening. And… and they fit so well, did you make them yourself?" he gushed all at once.
He paused for a breath. Neither said a word, the brunette remaining expressionless, sort of staring off into space, and the red-head just staring at him in frank amusement, so he pressed on.
"Sorry. Sorry, you ladies really do look wonderful, though I love what you're wearing… I guess I'm just… well, it isn't every day a guy has two gorgeous women dressed in rubber in front of him. Er, can I buy you ladies a drink?" he finally stammered.
"Why certainly," she replied, "we'd love to have a drink, wouldn't we, dear?"
She glanced at her companion. The other woman, who Jason thought looked a few years younger, said nothing. In fact, her expression hadn't changed a bit since they walked up. She seemed distracted, staring off across the room. Jason turned to the bar and ordered another Macallan, "and whatever the ladies are having."
"And what makes you think I'm a lady?" she said coolly, eyeing him in the bar mirror.
Oho, thought Jason to himself.
"Weelll, despite your bizarre outfits, it's only polite to assume that you're a nice girl from uptown until proven otherwise," he answered wryly. He could feel the booze affecting him, and had to slow down halfway through his sentence to avoid slurring his words.
"I'm a woman, not a girl. You only get one warning."
"I'm sorry! I didn't mean… er, sorry. By the way, my name's Jason."
"Enchant', Jason. For this evening, I am ` Mistress Mayhem', and this is my faithful sidekick, `Maid Marion'.
"Maid Marion! Aaugh!" he groaned at her pun as the drinks arrived. The smokey, slightly iodine-y flavour of his favourite 12-year-old soothed him almost as much as the alcoholic content itself.
"So, Maid Marion, what prompted you to do this particular scene?"
The woman in question stared blankly back at him, or rather, just over his shoulder. She seemed not to hear. Odd. Her makeup is a tad too heavy, he thought. He noticed now too, that her free hand was bound to her waist by a slender leather cuff attached to her waist-belt. It looked very much like his dreams had come true!
"She ahh, doesn't talk much, I'm afraid," said `Mayhem', "but, really, the whole thing was my idea. I liked the idea of a Halloween costume party, and actually, we dress up in costume quite a bit anyway. We didn't make the outfits though- it's too tricky working with rubber, you have to get the seams just right. We have them custom made overseas."
"You seem to know a lot about dressing for pleasure," replied Jason, "that is, most people don't even know it exists, and even less would be brave enough to do it in public."
"What do you mean brave enough?" retorted the woman who called herself `Mistress Mayhem', "Rubber and leather, plastic… they're just materials, like rayon or polyester, with more taste perhaps- you see women wearing shiny plastic raincoats all the time, and leather has been high fashion for years. Your problem is, you have this guilt trip because some people may think it's kinky or weird to wear clothes made of rubber. So what does it mean to be kinky - to be different? What's wrong with being different? Do you want to be just another sheep in the herd, or do you want to run your own life?"
She stopped, breathing a little deeper from her long tirade and stared defiantly into Jason's eyes. He tried to ignore the delightful things happening under her jacket as a result of her heavy breathing.
"I don't know," he sighed, "I never seem to think these things through. Sometimes I think I need someone to run my life for me."
She raised an eyebrow at that, and looked him over again. Her expression was odd, as if she were looking for some specific thing that might be hidden somewhere on his person. Jason took the opportunity to look her over in turn. He saw that what he had mistaken in the dim lighting for a tight jacket, was in fact, a severe looking leather corset - he could see the heavy boning within the material. It was an amazing piece of engineering. It looked like a jacket because it had a bustier built in to the chest portion with deep-drawn, form fitting cups, which jutted nearly straight out, showing ample cleavage. The garment fitted tightly from shoulders to well over the hips. The waist was pulled in quite severely, and since it was boned the entire length, it must have been completely rigid. No wonder she had seemed breathless when they first walked up!
The long rubber hobble skirt was tucked underneath it, and revealed the muscular legs and derrière of someone who definitely had been getting her exercise. She stared into his eyes for a few minutes, then noticed him noticing her, and seemed to reach a decision.
She grinned, saying, "Be careful what you ask for, you may get it! Right now though, I feel like dancing. Come on, you can't sit there being pathetic all night!"
She grabbed his hand and dragged him from his barstool, while simultaneously shoving `Maid Marion' into the vacated seat. "Marion will stay here, of course."
Jason didn't ask why Marion `would stay there of course'. Her silence and the non-expression she wore worried him. While Mayhem tugged him with surprising strength in the direction of the dance floor, he resisted a moment, staring back at Marion. She still had that impassive look on her face, staring at nothing in particular. Suddenly, his pickled bloodstream caught up with the sudden rise to his feet, the dance music faded under a loud buzzing in his ears and all his attention focused, as if through binoculars, upon the seated woman. She stared captivatingly, if rather vacantly, back at him, their gazes locked together while several hours seemed to pass. He had plenty of time to notice little details that had escaped him when `Mayhem' had first introduced them. He saw why she never moved the feather duster. The `bracelet' on the wrist of her dusting hand was locked on by a tiny padlock, and attached directly to her belt at the waist. Moreover, the feather duster was literally glued to her rubber glove; she couldn't put it down, or grasp anything else with that hand. Then too, something was definitely wrong about her face, especially around the eyes. Her makeup's far too thick, he thought to himself.
The drumbeat from the subwoofers vibrated Jason's chest as they approached the dance floor.
"IF ya want ma body, AND ya think I'm sexy…"
The refrain of an old, old disco classic swelled around his head, and as his hearing and head cleared, the pounding bass reminded his bladder of the several drinks he'd had. He turned reluctantly to follow Mistress Mayhem.
"I can see why your maid doesn't do much dancing," he shouted in her ear, as they squirmed through the crowd toward the dance floor.
"Yes," she replied, grinning, "you know, it is so hard to get good help these days, and sometimes they have to be disciplined."
"Er, yeah. Well anyway, as I was saying, it's all very well for you to say, `Go ahead, be yourself', but sometimes, I'm not sure just who I am. No, I mean, I know that I'm Jason Stewart; I'm a software engineer; I know that I drive a green Saab, and where I live and so on, but…"
"That's got to be the fastest, most concise introduction I've ever heard," interrupted Mayhem.
"Okay, okay, but anyway… I lead kind of a double life. I've got… hobbies, interests that I can't do… right out in public, you know?" Her eyes seemed to widen a bit as he said this, but then hardened as he finished his sentence.
"Listen," she shot back, temporarily losing her upper-class affectation for a moment, "you damn well can do almost anything that isn't downright illegal, and quite a bit of that too, in public. If you don't have the guts to, say so. It's all a matter of where your priorities are. What's more important- your own happiness, or some stranger's opinion of you?"
"Well, you see, it's not as simple as all that. I, umm… I really like rubber."
What was he doing? Jason asked himself.
"It's like… well, an obsession," he continued, "I don't expect you to understand."
He had just told his secret to a total stranger! Mayhem was looking at him with a faintly amused expression. He realised then, that in his desperation for company, he had made a classic blunder. He had blithely assumed from her costume that she shared his fetish, and worse, he now realised that he had just opened himself to a storm of ridicule from this walking wet dream. As her smile grew broader, he prepared himself for the worst.
"Oh, I understand, alright," 'Mistress Mayhem' said. She winked at him. "Relax, will you? `Marion' and I do these things all the time. The costumes and bondage games, I mean… hey, are you alright?" She stared at Jason as he stopped his half-hearted attempts at dance, swaying slightly within a clearing of the crowd.
Jason had stopped dancing for a moment as what she had said sunk in, then he did his dazed best to pick up where he had left off. He was swimming now in the latex knickers. The scotch though it had been excellent, was now making him sweat, this conversation was making him sweat, and the fantastic, delicious appearance of Mayhem herself was making him sweat. He felt almost ready to faint from heat, stress, and simple, unrelieved lust. The music had changed to a more current rock tune, and he refrained from picking up the pace. Staring at the floor in a state of near-delirium, he noticed that while his partner's stiletto heeled boots were definitely not made for dancing, she seemed surprisingly nimble in them.
Mayhem, seeing him falter several times, finally grabbed him with both hands at wrist and bicep, saying, "Come on, you'd better sit down before you fall down."
She steered him back toward the bar. There were no unoccupied stools anywhere near Maid Marion. Next to her sat a man, who looked like nothing so much as a used car salesman in a cheap suit, was trying to engage her in conversation. She remained a statue, staring off across the dance floor as if he wasn't there. Mayhem pulled up short in front of Mr. Used Car Salesman, replete in his polka dot bow tie, Jason swaying every so slightly at her side. Jason hoped this guy's outfit was a costume. He looked like Soupy Sales. He wasn't particularly tall either, at least sitting down, and Mayhem's skyscraper heels brought her up to where her leather-armoured breasts jutted straight into his face. It occurred to Jason that he had never seen heels as tall as the ones these women wore, except in fetish magazines. He had certainly never seen anyone walk in such shoes.
Mayhem's confident stride, and precise, if tiny steps gave her a cachet of power, of potency. She was giving the used car salesman a hostile stare that should have melted his polyester suit right to his skin. He was oblivious in his determination to get Marion's attention.
Mayhem tapped him on the shoulder saying, "She can't hear you or see you- she's deaf and blind,” The suit had obviously had too much to drink.
"Well uh, thash okay", he said, reaching out to hold Marion's hand.
Jason watched Mayhem's hand shoot out, grabbing the drunk's in an odd way, his wrist bent forward sharply. He heard the man hiss with barely suppressed pain, saw him surge to his feet as if to begin battle. Something about his potential opponent made him pause, however. Perhaps it was the fact that even after he stood up, Mayhem was still a head taller than he. Perhaps it was that her leather and rubber costume, while undeniably sexy, made her appear a less fragile creature and more the armoured amazon. Or maybe it was just that she still had his hand and wrist in that odd grip, and as he stood, she put her other hand atop his, twisting downward just a bit.
The suit gasped, grabbing the bar with his other hand for balance.
"You were just leaving," Mayhem observed.
Mr. Polyester seemed to agree wholeheartedly, his belligerence evaporating in favour of a frightened look over his shoulder on his way to the door.
Mayhem seemed to forget him instantly, and within a few seconds had Jason ensconced in his chair with a cup of coffee, while she examined Marion closely. While Jason watched, fascinated with her every movement, she ran her hands over Marion's face, removed one kid glove to feel under Marion's armpit, touch her forehead. She acted like a doctor examining her patient for a fever. After only a moment, she seemed satisfied, and turned back to Jason.
She looked at him with a serious expression. "Jason, we have to get home soon."
She looked him over, considering something.
"But since you claim to like our costumes so much, why don't you join us for a while, it's still early."
She grinned at him in a way that seemed vaguely familiar.
"Um, well, I…"
He was at a loss for words. He managed to admit to himself that Mayhem frightened him, a little. He struggled for a moment with his libido and his sense of self-preservation. Mayhem smiled at him reassuringly.
"We have quite a few things back at our house that you might like. Quite a lot of rubber. I'd say about three quarters of our wardrobe is either rubber, leather or the like. You can model some things for us, and perhaps we can persuade Marion to put on something more sexy."
Jason was flabbergasted at her offer. He was also doubtful there was anything so sexy as the latex french maid's outfit Marion had on now, but he wouldn't have bet money on it.
Instinctively, he gushed, "Well, sure, I'd love to! I've got a lot of rubber and such myself, I'd say most of the dresses and… things… that I have would fit either you or Marion."
When she gave him an amused smile and raised an eyebrow, he stammered, "Oh! They're not for me, the dresses, I mean. I've sort of been collecting them, in case I met… someone. I mean someone like you. I'd be happy to have you try some of them on, that is, if you wanted to."
So saying, he glanced at the maid, feeling rather sorry for her that she couldn't join in the conversation. Apparently, she didn't sign or read lips, as she had spent the entire evening staring straight ahead. He looked back at Mayhem, somewhat embarrassed by his admission.
"Anyway, if you ladies would like to, we could stop at my place for coffee," he finished lamely.
"Actually, I'd like that," replied Mayhem gently. As if sensing his discomfort, she seemed to have magically transformed her personality into that of a kindly nurse.
"By the way," Jason spoke up again, "speaking of Marion, and uh, I don't mean to sound insensitive, but what's her… um, problem? She's not really deaf is she? Has she… that is, you said she was being punished or something?"
"I'll explain later," Mayhem answered cryptically.
Jason realised belatedly that he might be pushing his luck, but his curiosity was killing him. He ventured another question. "And why does she wear such heavy makeup? Seems to me her face is pretty enough without it. Or is that part of the game?"
"I said, I'll explain later," repeated Mayhem, rather irritably.
Jason shut up fast, hoping he hadn't offended her somehow. It struck him then, that she never asked or suggested things, she told. It would seem, he thought, that this headstrong woman was quite used to having things her way.
The brief exercise had really made him sweat in the heavy latex pants, and they slipped and squeaked over his thighs. It felt good, and the effects on him must have been obvious, for as he shifted in his seat, Mayhem said, "You seem to be enjoying the party, I must say," as she stared pointedly at his crotch. "Perhaps we had best get moving."
"Not yet!" he exclaimed, "in a few minutes, it'll be midnight! That's when we all have to take off our masks! Besides, it's only fair, since you already know who I am, in name at least, and you're still a complete mystery to me." He did his best to smile engagingly.
"Why, don't you like mysteries?" she teased. "Perhaps we'll just disappear right now, and leave you wondering, who was that masked lady?"
"No, please don't… I've waited all my life to meet someone like you. I know that sounds corny as hell, but it's true. At least let's get to know each other a little before we go our separate ways."
"What do you mean, someone like me?" Mayhem shot back. She smiled mischievously. "Since, as you say, you don't know a thing about me, how do you know I'm someone you'll like? I might have bizarre habits, or impossible requirements for you."
Jason looked puzzled. "What do you mean requirements? What sort of requirements?"
She cocked her head up, the feathers of her mask swaying above her head. "It seems to me, that you would very much like to get involved with me, or Marion, or perhaps both of us, and it just so happens that I might be available. But I can't take on just any suitor who walks in off the street, now can I? I am very choosy about who I associate with. Now, in your case, I immediately recognized a man in need of certain training."
She stressed the word `training'. Jason blushed as she continued.
"I might be persuaded to take you on, if you agree to a few conditions."
Jason's head swam. He had only a vague idea of what she was talking about, but it seemed that the dream of his lifetime had just fallen out of the clear blue sky, and he wasn't about to take a chance on losing her. Or them, as the case might be. He grinned, stood up, and dropped to one knee.
"OK, then tell me," he replied in his best television-Shakespeare accent, "how do I persuade you of my sincerity and worth, fair lady?"
At that moment, somebody rang a god awful loud bell, and a lady in a clown suit nearby shouted, "It's midnight! It's midnight! Off with the masks!"
Mayhem smiled at Jason. "Well?" she said.
"But you haven't answered my question," he said.
"Very well." She raised her head to look down her nose at him. "You must undergo trials and tests of my devising, fair knight, before you may win MY favour."
They both laughed.
"Fair enough," he answered, and removed his domino. He looked expectantly at `Mayhem', but she was still giving him the Queen Victoria stare down her nose.
She said, "You must first promise to submit to any test I decide upon, and to undertake any task I set you."
Jason wasn't sure how serious she was, but he replied in a solemn voice, "I promise."
With a dramatic gesture, `Mistress Mayhem' removed her mask. It took Jason several seconds before it hit him.
"Mandy! Mandy Rafool!" It was his first sweetheart from high school! He was in shock as she stood grinning down at him like the Cheshire Cat. He staggered back onto his stool. All he could do was sit and admire her, wondering what quirk of fate had brought them together again. Mandy looked miffed.
"Is that all you can say?" she demanded, "Some greeting for a long-lost lover."
Jason leaped to his feet, reached for her and before she could say anything, was kissing her soundly. Immediately, she pressed one stiletto heel into his foot, causing him to yelp and leap back, looking at her with a hurt puppy expression.
"That's the first thing we're going to have to teach you," she said, "how to treat a lady with respect!" She was smiling warmly, nonetheless.
"That smarts," he said ruefully. "Hmm, you're acting fairly calm about… wait a god dam minute! Do you mean to tell me that you knew all along, that you've been sitting here leading me on, and you knew who I was all along?" He glared at her accusingly. She stared calmly back at him.
"For one thing," she said, "it's not my fault you chose to wear a simple domino mask, instead of something more elaborate. Second, if you hadn't been half pickled by the time we got here, you might have been observant enough to recognise me."
She frowned as the last chimes of the bell and its accompanying announcement precipitated a mad rush for the bar.
"Anyway, we've got a deal, so let's get out of here before the whole place turns into more of a zoo than it already is. Come on, Maid Marion," she added, (too loudly Jason thought), "we're leaving."
Marion, who hadn't moved from her stool since she sat down, stood up. She seemed to teeter for a few seconds on her six-inch heels.
"Wait! I just realised!" Jason exclaimed. "Maid Marion hasn't got a mask to take off. Come to think of it, she didn't have one when you two arrived. She must be the only person here who wasn't wearing a mask tonight. Now that's hardly fair!"
By now, he had figured that something was most definitely up with the young lady, and he still thought to figure it out. When she said nothing, he added, "You ought to at least introduce us, Mandy."
"You've already had as much introduction as you're going to get. I'm afraid she's not allowed to speak to anyone until we get home. Besides, she DOES have her mask, in a way. You'll see."
Jason looked from Mandy to `Marion' and back to Mandy again.
"But… oh, all right. Do you two have a car?"
"No, we took a taxi. And you should have seen the cabbies face! I think we must have distracted the poor man." She did not appear genuinely sympathetic. "Anyway, you'll drive us, won't you?"
In the car, with Mandy riding shotgun, Jason couldn't help looking in the rear view mirror at `Maid Marion'. He couldn't figure out what was wrong about her appearance. She looked perfectly normal, but she never showed any emotion, or expression, however slight. Very odd. Even when someone was `being serious', they usually had some facial movement. And there was something about her eyes that still bugged him. A passing car blared its horn at him, and he concentrated on his driving.
Mandy had been filling him in on the last several years, and he'd lost track of what she was saying.
"You see, I just realised one day that I was cutting off half the human race. And, well, you know how horny I was in high school?"
"It got worse the older I got. Or better, depending on how you look at it."
Brilliant comment, thought Jason. Really snappy repartee. Mandy's hand was migrating into Jason's crotch.
"So, one Saturday night, I was feeling lonely and very horny… I'd just broken up with George, so I was pretty disgusted with men in general. All of my so-called friends were really just business people, and as I said before, I had already left the money circle behind. Besides, most of them were men. I decided I needed some friends I could talk to. I went to The Three Sisters."
"It's a gay bar. For women. I met a woman named Sandra there, and she invited me to a party. I had a few drinks to get my courage up and then I went along. It was a pretty wild party, with a lot of leather, even a couple of women in rubber, drag kings, corsetry nuts, you name it. Most of the people were pretty kinky, one way or another. Anyway, somehow I ended up doing this scene with a couple from Ohio, they were really into fetishes, bondage, dressing for pleasure, a lot of things I'd been playing around the edges of for years. We became pretty good friends. That woman taught me a lot about men. Since then, I've met 'Marion' here, and one or two others, and we've been having a grand time ever since."
Jason had turned a little pale. "Are you saying you're gay? A lesbian?"
"No. I'm bisexual. Anything that moves, as they say. And what if I were strictly lesbian? Would you think I was subhuman? I had thought you were more open minded than that."
Jason blushed. "No, it's not that at all- I was just going to wonder what I was doing in a car with two leather dykes, or uh, rubber dykes if you will…"
"I've come to realise," continued Mandy, "that it doesn't matter what labels other people put on me, what matters is whether I'm enjoying myself. I do what pleases me."
"And what exactly is it that pleases you?" Jason queried.
"You'll see when we get to the house. Do you want to stop off at your place, and pick up some clothes?"
"That depends. How long would you like me to stay?"