Chapter 2
The aftermath of Rachel’s first session in my playroom involved a long, luxurious shower for both of us - separately, before you make assumptions - and a large pot of tea in our dressing gowns in my well-appointed cottage kitchen. I needed to set some very clear, very firm boundaries between us, if this new exploration wasn’t to replace or subvert the close friendship that I’d come to enjoy since she came to the village.
Outside of my suite of playrooms, I was no longer ‘Mistress’. Our time to play would be regular and pre-arranged, which both suited my rigorously planned schedule, as well as fending off the temptation for both of us to make friendly visits turn into sexy visits. In between those sessions, she was welcome and encouraged to do her own ‘research’ in her own time, but I would firmly divert conversations that would overheat us both and put them off until the next pre-session preparation where we could set expectations, and desires, for what we might explore next.
It wasn’t surprising to me that, for the next Thursday session, Rachel wanted to experience something of the rubber clothing I had shown her. My lovely clients of the rubberist persuasion all tended to have a wardrobe of their own that they would bring. Sometimes they would turn up in my driveway with multiple heavy suitcases, stuffed to the brim with latex, which when opened had the most luscious, concentrated aroma. Anyway, almost all that I had in my wardrobe was for my own personal attire. Fortunately, other than my more generous curves, she and I are of a similar height and build, and I tended to err on the smaller side because I love extra tightness in my latex. The less stretchy materials would not serve, but my collection of thinner, lighter rubber would fit her reasonably well.
The expectation had already been set that she would present herself at the door to the play wing, knocking politely, at our pre-arranged time. I was already dressed when I opened the door, in a loose-fitting, flowing white latex blouse that split all the way down to my navel, daringly exposed; the black, latex leggings clung to every inch of me, leaving nothing to the imagination; and finally my spike heeled ankle boots to round out the look.
She had, without being instructed, decided to kneel before the doorway, her gaze directed at my feet. My first instinct was to chide her for consuming too much stereotyped D/s erotica in her research, and making an assumption about what I wanted rather than waiting for my command. But looking down at her, taking in her simple, cute outfit, seeing her chest rise and fall rapidly, I appreciated just how nervous she was, and just how much she wanted to do this ‘right’. She looked like the very picture of submission, the subject of many an erotic photograph. I could see her eyes flickering, trying to focus on my gorgeous little boots, but unable to resist being drawn upwards by my shiny, smooth legs. I couldn’t help but smile. The very best outfits draw the eye in, and make you want to stare. Goal achieved.
“Are you ready to play?”
“Yes, Mistress.”
Now, the roles were set, and she was mine.
“Good girl. It’s time to play dress-up.” With an imperious swish I turned and strode to the dressing room, not waiting to see if she was keeping up. She was already flushed and out of sorts by the time she got to looking around the room, though that may have been from staring at my bum while we walked. I directed her to strip while I browsed the rails, talking through all the various options, though in truth I had been imagining her outfit all day and it had already been decided.
“Boy shorts first. Use plenty of dressing aid.” My big bottle with its pump top was pointed out. “Then the little skirt.” The ruffled little skater skirt was dropped onto her growing pile. “Then stockings. Let me see your nails.” They were suitably short and painted with a delicious green colour that contrasted well with her dark red hair, so I nodded approvingly. “Be careful not to tear them, but roll them up like long socks and get all slippery, and you will be fine.”
She was nodding eagerly, trying to take it all in, a cute little focused look on her face.
“Last will be the top. Keyhole…” I pointed out the feature that would show off her chest delightfully, “goes to the front.” I had purposefully chosen items that would be familiar to her, aside from their material she might have worn a vanilla, material version of them before. Though part of me ached to see her in a figure-hugging, neck-entry catsuit, dressing in rubber was hard enough for the uninitiated, and this seemed to me a good introduction. The niggles of wearing a material that sometimes feels like it is fighting back would be more than enough of a challenge. “And then shining all over.” I pointed out the separate bottle of shiner. “I am going to leave you to it. Don’t dawdle, I will be back soon, and if you get stuck, then call out for help rather than tearing my nice rubber.”
She looked suitably intimidated, but rallied admirably. “Yes, Mistress.”
I smiled broadly, confident in her ability. “We will sort out shoes and… other accessories… when you are done.”
The decision to leave her dressing alone was quite deliberate, the last thing she needed was me hovering and tutting whenever she did something that I knew would make her task harder. This was a test, though an easy one, for her to succeed on her own. In the meantime I opened the door to the playroom I intended to use, and fussed over the various toys and implements in preparation. I’d already performed the necessary setup earlier, but I liked to double check.
I do not wear a watch, nor carry a phone, when I am playing. Nor do my playrooms have obvious clocks on the walls. It is too distracting for clients and gauche when they are, in the end, paying for my time by the hour. But in the soft lighting of the room, subtle coloured lighting strips acting as highlights shifted from tone to tone. A sub paying attention - and not blindfolded or hooded - might cotton on to the fact that they changed on a regular basis. So it was easy for me to count intervals, and return to Rachel after almost exactly fifteen minutes. Far longer than I would expect from an experienced rubberist for donning such a simple outfit, but not long enough that she would be left idling if she had finished promptly.
My heels can be very noisy on hard floors, when I want them to be. The sound of the stiletto heels tapping their way down a corridor can elicit a delightful anticipation in a bound submissive, especially if they are without their sight. But this time I wanted subtlety, and the door to the dressing room was opened silently.
She was facing away from me, sitting on the dressing stool, near to the door. The mirror did not reflect me, and so I was able to stride in quickly and entwine my fingers into her long, red hair and pull her head back firmly so she was looking up into my eyes.
“What, exactly, do you think you are doing, hmm?”
She pulled her hand guiltily from underneath the skirt, the rubber frills creaking and rustling. I could smell her arousal in the air, and see the glisten on her fingertips. “I…” My gaze held hers, not anger on my face, but determination. She knew exactly what she shouldn’t have been doing, and also that there was nothing she could say that would excuse it. “I’m sorry, Mistress.”
“That isn’t an answer to my question.” I could see the gears turning in her head, unblinking even in her discomfort as her neck was angled sharply backwards. Gods, her cleavage looks good from this angle, I thought.
“I wasn’t…” she eventually started, then stopped herself. “I’d finished getting ready, and… I was just checking everything was shiny, and…”
“And you decided to just keep rubbing, hmm?”
She nodded just a tiny amount, stopping when she felt my grip of her scalp restrict the movement. I relaxed my grip, but she continued to hold my gaze, keeping her head at that awkward angle.
“Do you think that when you’re under my control, you get to just touch yourself whenever you want?” She shook her head just that same tiny amount. “Who is in charge of your pleasure right now?”
“You are, Mistress,” she said, in the tiny little voice I knew indicated her submissive headspace was taking hold.
“Who gets to decide when, and what, you can touch?”
“You do, Mistress.” Her breathing was shallow and fast, and even though she didn’t fill out the top like I would, it was still impressively tight and deliciously shiny. She wasn’t lying about having shined all over, while I waited.
“Until I am sure you appreciate that, we will take some steps to enforce it.” She looked less guilty now, and more nervous. “Stand up, and let me see you.”
She lowered her head, looking at me in the mirror as she presented herself in front of the stool for me. I had expected to need to assist while dressing, or at the very least to do some correction, pointing out any places she had missed when polishing. But she was flawless. On command, she twirled, making the skater skirt frill outwards and then lifting up the back to let me inspect her bum, hugged tightly by the cute little shorts.
“Everything in place, everything shiny, well done.” She jiggled a little bit, clearly excited at the praise. “If only you hadn’t been greedy at the end…” At that she deflated. “Now we have to take those wandering hands away from you.”
I stepped away to the rack I hadn’t talked through, the more restrictive rubber. I ran my hand over one of my favourites, the armbinder. It certainly would remove any possibility that she could take liberties with her sex again, but given what I had in mind, it wasn't quite right. Instead I plucked a little hanger with two dangling pieces clipped to it, and returned to her.
“Hands.” Dutifully, she presented them, and slippery as they were with dressing aid, shiner, and probably no small amount of her own arousal, it was a quick motion to ball up her fingers into a fist and slide them into the little rubber pockets. Buckling them in place, I closed the little padlocks, before letting her inspect the now useless balls that wrapped her hands. From a little bag on the hanger, I retrieved a little bulb, its needle-like nozzle fitting home into the tiny valves at the head of the mittens. With squeeze after squeeze, she felt them getting tighter, and tighter, the balls getting rounder and rounder, comically shaped. To drive the point home, I took one of them, and guided it down between her legs, rubbing it back and forth, before letting her explore the sensation.
Her face took on a look of realisation as she rubbed, no real purchase, no real stimulation, just soft, squishy pressure. No more delving fingers, no more delicious masturbation through her rubber shorts. She caught my eye again, blushing furiously, and nodded in defeat.
“Thank you, Mistress.”
“Mmm, you are welcome. They suit you very well. And you will find that undressing, or even for that matter simple doors, are beyond you now. I could cage you just by closing the room and watching you flail at my nice round door handles.”
The blush on her face was delicious, as was the ineffectual squishing of her mittens against her sides.
“How does it feel?” I asked, “The rubber, not the mittens.”
The question seemed to unlock something in her, the nervous guilt fell away a little. “So good, Mistress. Everything feels so tight, and hot, it’s like a second skin. And the stockings, mmm… they cling really well, I thought they would fall down with the slippery stuff but they just squish my legs and stay there.” She seemed to realise she was babbling as I listened with a patient smile, trailing off as if she was afraid she’d made another mistake.
“Tight is always good, as is shiny. Then there is the delicious feeling of layers. We will find a catsuit for you, and a hood, until there is nothing left of your skin to see, and then you will be my delicious little rubber-slut.” The words seemed to send a shiver through her, and she closed her eyes. “Then we can add more, tighter, until you’re squirming, and slippery, and… Mmm, well, let’s not spoil that surprise for next time.”
The rubber of her mittens made a little squeak as it slid across the shined surface of her skirt; I could see she was rubbing without thinking about it. What skin was still on display had little goosebumps on it. I didn’t try to suppress my knowing smile, but I could tell the latex was taking control of her desire. Not everyone appreciated the feeling of it against their skin, the way it could restrict them, wrap them. But Rachel had been bitten, and I was sure it would only grow stronger.
We selected a simple pair of relatively low-heeled rubber pumps, soft and simple as her feet were slightly smaller than mine and any of the more elaborate or fitted footwear would have been distractingly uncomfortable. But even with a bit of room, the simple shoes flattered her stockinged legs and completed the look.
“Come,” I commanded, taking her by her mittened wrist, walking slowly enough to the playroom that it didn’t feel like she was being dragged. Re-entering the playroom, it was clear that this was one of the rooms Rachel hadn’t investigated on her first nosy little tour of my house.
“Ohhhhh, is that a Sybian, Mistress?”
“It certainly is. A very effective, powerful toy, I’ve found.”
“I’ve seen videos…”
“Oh I’m sure you have. And they almost always end with the rider twitching and moaning and having all sorts of fun, hmmm?”
“Yeah, they really do.”
I guided her over to the toy and down onto it, her stockinged knees sinking into the padded mat underneath. Though I do have all sorts of attachments for it, Rachel was to enjoy the simplest: the firm, textured mound. She was already focused on shifting in place and finding the perfect spot while I concentrated on the more devilish part of today’s fun. Disengaging the ratchet allowed me to lower the bar that Rachel hadn’t noticed, dangling above her head. It was almost at her head height by the time she realised.
She couldn’t suppress the instinct to lean back and look up, but I let her take it in for a moment. Three leather cuffs spaced along the bar, the central one obviously larger for a neck. Two black ropes suspended it at either end, connected to the pulley above. I leaned over, reaching around her neck to gather up the collar, knowing full well that it would dangle my chest, loosely constrained in the latex blouse, intoxicatingly close to her face. I could see her holding her breath. Another little way of exerting control. The collar and cuffs were secured carefully, methodically, her useless little mittened hands waggling above the bar. The little handle on the wall made it easy to lift the bar again, ensuring she straightened her back, just that little bit of tension.
I stepped back to admire the image of her in her cute little rubber shorts, chest rising and falling, framed by her arms. She was watching me intently, as I reached for the remote.
“I’m going to make you twitch, and moan.” She started to fidget in place, swaying in the yoke. “Do you remember your safeword?”
“Red, mistress.”
“I fully expect you to get noisy.” I held up a gag, a firm, red, rubber ball, attached to a harness and panel to cover her lips. “For now, I want to hear that. But when I take your words away, with this, your safeword will be to hum ‘Happy Birthday’.” She was visibly squirming now. I flicked the remote to the first notch, and circled around behind her. The long, low moan from her lips was primal and needy. I knelt down, and fastened two more cuffs around her ankles, securing them to the floor. Finally, a length of chain, looped around her waist from behind, padlocked into the same ring behind her. As soon as I let go, her feet kicked up, testing the limited reach, even as her body swayed forward and back, supported by the yoke.
“Does that feel good?”
“Fuck, mmmm, yes, Mistress.”
So she was still together enough to remember her place. Let’s see what we can do about that. Another two notches of intensity. “This goes all the way up to ten. That must be pretty hard to imagine right now.”
She nodded, biting her lip to keep from crying out, watching me as I circled back around, settling down into the soft, regal chair I had arranged in front of her mat, both of us staring intently at the other. She broke first, closing her eyes and arching her back. Gasping and moaning, she thrust her hips forward, pushing herself into the soft little mound.
You see, the wicked thing about this bondage is the lack of leverage. She could lift herself up a little, but not enough to take the weight off her knees. You would think the yoke would help, but with her elbows at ninety degrees, it would take a lot of effort to hold herself off of the vibrating toy.
Rachel was figuring this out now, as I watched. She looked up at me pitifully, and I used that as the excuse to dramatically turn the dial another notch. Her cry of anguish was intense. I couldn’t resist sliding my hand down, over the leggings. No knickers, of course, not with latex this tight. So only the lightest of rubber skin between my fingertips and my aching wetness.
“Oh god, ohgodohgodohgod.” Straining at her bonds, but all that did was leave her latex-clad crotch achingly close to the throbbing mound, so that it kept brushing her tentatively, sending tingles like electricity through her every time.
Fuck she is hot like this, helpless and horny. My legs were spread wide, feeling the tightness between my legs compressing my sex, fingers pressing the most sensitive spot.
“It’s not going to stop, you realise,” I mentioned casually. “When you cum, it doesn’t stop, it won’t even slow down.”
The look she gave me was pure instinctual desire, eyes beginning to roll back in her head.
“It’s only at four, too.” My circling fingers felt so good, but it was the sight of the helpless, horny, slut in front of me that was pushing me closer to my own edge. “We could play a little game… every time you cum, I turn the dial up one more notch.”
“Fuckfuckfuck, no, please, no.” Her words came in little gasping bursts, her hips no longer bouncing up and down trying to get off the Sybian, but instead trying to stop from pushing down and making the throbbing, pulsing sensations any worse.
I reluctantly paused my indulgent touching, and stepped over to press the gag into her partly open mouth. Buckling it in place was something of a challenge, with her squirming so much. Funnily enough, as I pressed her shoulder down into the soft saddle of the Sybian to keep her still, that didn’t seem to be appreciated, at least from all the gasping and groaning it produced.
“You deserve to be able to scream, my dear,” I whispered into her ear. “Bite down as hard as you like, and just let go…”
Stepping back over to my chair, I could see that she was already inclined to take my advice. Nostrils flaring as she struggled for breath, her hips were bucking, and her wrists and neck were pulling down on the bar as she let her body sink fully into the roaring beast between her legs.
My own fingers were finding their way underneath the waistline of my ridiculously tight leggings as I watched. Fortunately there was just enough stretch to let me reach a comfortable position, just as Rachel exploded into her first climax. Eyes closed, she threw her head back in the collar’s embrace and screamed into the gag, short, staccato bursts. Her hips slid her abused sex forward and back over the textured mound, and I knew exactly just how deep it would drive the rubber of her little shorts, how cruelly the slippery material would drag itself over her clit.
When her eyes opened again, looking to me for mercy, I smiled a wicked smile for her. The remote control that could ease her torment was at my feet and I slowly, deliberately, kicked it to one side, well out of easy reach.
She screamed again, knowing that I hadn’t been teasing. It wouldn’t stop, wouldn’t relent, and there was nothing she could do about it. Her shoulders jerked and sagged, over and over as her lungs gasped for air, building and building. Her feet slapped the mat behind her as she thrashed in her bonds. She crested for the second time just as I was reaching my first, and we both arched our backs and let the pleasure flood through us together. I at least retained a little dignity, not feeling the need to scream but indulging in a long, low, primal moan.
Rachel must have rolled over from her second almost immediately into her third by the time I focused again, otherwise it was the longest orgasm I’ve ever witnessed. Her head was lolling around barely under control, and her body was jerking spasmodically, every thrust of her hips grinding her needy sex into the relentless device. Tears were streaming down her face and mixing with drool that the panel gag could not contain.
The noises coming from behind the gag were guttural and lusty, making me squirm my hips as I watched her endure. The first few notes of Happy Birthday were barely recognisable from sexual grunts, but my brain tuned in almost immediately, and I wasn’t going to play music critic. The remote was grabbed and the vibrations dropped to zero, and I was by her side quickly, wrapping my arms around her to quell her shaking and support her jerking body.
“It’s okay, we’re stopping.”
It took a few moments for her to subside enough that I could unbuckle the gag and ask what she needed. Even as the hard rubber ball was plucked from her mouth, drool trailing down her chin and front, it took her some time to find her voice.
“I’m okay, I just… It was too much, I couldn’t…”
I let her hands free, to drop to her sides, weak and useless in their mittens, but she was not trying to use them. As I uncollared her, she slumped forward into my embrace, head nuzzled into my shoulder, and we simply hugged. Whispering reassuring words in her ear, we nuzzled until her breath slowed to something approaching normal.
“You broke me,” she whispered, accusingly.
My heart wrenched at that, guilt stabbing through me. “I’m sorry, I took that too far…”
“No…” she interrupted, pressing one of her mittened hands into my side and looking into my eyes. “You broke me, but I loved it…”
Relief washed over me just as quickly as the guilt had, and I laughed a little with her. “I’m glad.”
“I just… I’m going to need a lot more practice with that…”
“That, we can provide.”