© Copyright 2018 - Anon - Used by permission
Storycodes: F/m; latex; bondage; breath play; cons; X
Light glints and shines off tight, shiny latex. The black second skin is stretched taut across thighs and buttocks, breasts and belly, forearms and biceps. Its smooth embrace encases each finger, the neck, cheeks, ears and skull. The marvellous, tight, continuous smoothness is punctuated by small wrinkles at wrist and elbow, neck and knee. My love has been rendered anonymous, mute and alien. The pliant material covers and yields, accommodating itself to her movements. The continuous organic blackness of the costume is broken only by the thin golden shine of a bracelet on the right wrist, the large aquamarine ring around the left ring finger and the incongruous lines and angles of equally black boots that rise from thin, high heels to just below the knee. A splash of red marks lips outlined by the mouth hole of her hood, sparkling dark eyes shine from their openings. Her shiny dark hair glimmers with a faint magenta hue where it spills from the opening in the back of the hood. Light from 63 candles spread around the room (I have had plenty of time to count them) illuminates my love and throws multiple shimmering shadows on the walls, floor and ceiling.
The candles...silent. My love, also. My voice is stilled. Only my short, shallow breaths move sound through the room. Hooded and masked, breathing through a rubber tube held in the gloved hand of my love, I hear my own breathing magnified and focused, as it otherwise would not be. My ears, covered, strain to hear other sounds. No, not true. I am, at present, suspended in an ecstatic state from which I wish no interruption. Other sounds would only shatter this bliss. My breathing, inhalations and exhalations laboured by my bonds and confinement, is the only expression of my life. I exalt in the sounds of my own breath as I cannot move, speak or express myself in any other way. Only my breathing proclaims my existence. This most basic and primitive of processes is the only present evidence that I live.
I am trussed on my back. My arms are pulled and fixed to the corners of the headboard of the bed; my legs bound together at the ankle and tied straight down towards the centre of the footboard. My genitals are exposed and totally naked. A gag has been fitted into my mouth; a single long latex glove rolled starting at the fingers. Stuffed into my mouth, it fills it and causes spittle to build up and leak from my mouth. A black rubber hood pulled on and zipped taught over my head exerts a constant pressure on my face, ears and around my throat. The squeezing pressure of the hood is countered by the outward pressure exerted by the gag. My senses are further filtered by the addition of a gas mask, different from the typical gas mask in having not straps to secure it, but, rather, a rubber head-piece. Long, thin, black latex gloves encase my arms. Shining black patent boots cover my legs to the thigh, drawn on with difficulty over thigh-high lustrous black latex stockings.
My costume shames me by its femininity, excites me with its sensuality. I have been afforded a little slack in my bonds, allowing some limited movement of arms and legs, but not enough to allow me to reach or touch any part of my body. The bonds do not hurt me physically, but torment me with their firmness. I have pulled and tugged and twisted to no avail. I am at once totally humiliated and exhilarated. I am resigned to the capricious whims of my love. The exquisite pleasure I enjoy at present is likely to be lost at any given instant. Continuance of this bliss is not in my control and, therefore, even more absolute...I know very well that the degree of my pleasure is increased by the possibility of its loss. I lie in the liquid light of the many candles, eyes wide and fixed on the resplendent black form of my love.
The blissful reverie is broken as she speaks. She is berating me. I have lost my erection. My love stands over me, my breathing tube in her hand, and continues her verbal tirade. She is speaking the truth, demanding an explanation of my limpness after all the ritual that I have put her up to. Thoughts tumble through my head, thoughts I cannot express because of the gag. I mumble anyway, hoping to show my interest and sincerity. This whole scene has been set strictly to pleasure her, not me. I must make this an experience of extreme satisfaction for her if ever I wish to replay it. She grabs my limp dick and balls with a shiny black-gloved hand and squeezes. The pain makes an erection less likely at this point.
Even as I struggle to regain my erection for her, she flips the corrugated breathing tube away and continues, telling me sarcastically that this is not what she had in mind. Turning, she walks away across the room, the heels of her boots clicking sharply as she walks off the throw rug and on to the Italian ceramic tile floor. I realize I am holding my breath, anticipating an unknowable future.
When she returns towards me, I inhale sharply,
suddenly aware of her intent. In one black-gloved hand, she carries a battery-powered
anal vibrator, in the other gloved hand, a tube of lubricant. I can only
watch with wide eyes as she slathers jelly on the black-gloved fingers
of her right hand and the vibrator. Involuntarily, I tense as she approaches.
My head rolls from side to side, words of protest locked in my gagged mouth.
Spittle built up in my rubber-filled mouth leaks from around my gag. I
pull my hands against my restraints and squeeze my legs tightly together
at the thigh. I watch in anguish as she begins to work her slick, gloved
hand down between my squeezed thighs. My strength is not sufficient against
the lubricated, gloved hand. I gulp and groan as she works her hand down
between my legs and towards my anus. She wiggles and spreads her fingers
and slides two of them into my anus. She pulls them free, inserts and works
them around again and again.
She then takes the lubricated vibrator with her left hand and manoeuvres it down between my clamped legs, next to her right hand. Despite my muffled protests, in a flash, the anal vibrator has been slid into position. The wide body is clamped inside of me as my sphincter closes around the narrow base. I toss and turn in discomfort and ecstasy. She works both hands out of the tight confines of my closed legs. My love chides me for my love of penetration, reminding me that I enjoy what is normally considered only a female pleasure. I have begun to get hard again, and the event is not lost on my love. Telling me that things are looking up, she makes her way onto the bed.
Latex squeaks on latex as she positions herself, straddling my stomach, her gloved hands grasping my nipples. She tweaks and squeezes, rubbing and spreading the slick lubricant all over them, knowing well this is not one of the physical stimulations I enjoy. I mumble in protest but she just smiles. She makes a deft movement with her left hand towards the foot of the bed. I cannot see what she is doing, but know in an instant that she has turned on the vibrator. My cock is now very hard, my pelvis moving and rolling as I seek physical contact for my stiff penis. There is none as she has positioned herself further towards my chest, beyond my reach. I close my eyes and focus on the feelings of her weight pressing on my chest, restricting my breathing. Eyes closed, I focus on the feeling of the buzzing vibrator working inside me. I open my eyes and focus on the vision of my latex-clad love astride my chest. Eyes open or closed...I am in heaven. I close them to enjoy the feelings; I open them to enjoy the vision. I am lost in this cycle of alternating pleasures until...
I open my eyes with a start. She has taken my breathing hose in hand and placed the open end against the taut latex covering her breast. Without warning, I have been shut off from breathing. I suck hard but succeed only in pulling my gas mask tighter against my face. I try to inhale deeply again with the same result. Panic builds slowly. I writhe and strain against my bonds; my head rolls and tosses, I jerk my head, trying to yank the breathing tube from her hands, but the hose is too long, the bonds too tight. Fighting the panic and the explosive tightness in my chest, I am aware that my sexual excitement is at an absolute peak. I jerk and roll and thrust my hips, my dick feeling as if it will explode.
Through the fogged eyepieces of my mask, I see my love. She slowly shakes her head from side to side, a slight smile expressed by her rubber-outlined lips. I strain to inhale, hoping that some air, any air will leak in around the mask, around the hood and keep me conscious. I yank against the ties on my wrists, hoping to pull a hand free. My fingers alternately clench and extend in their rubber gloves. I strain my feet against their bonds, foolishly imagining that I can slide a foot free of its boot and use my free leg for defence. I am beginning to lose it, the pressure in my lungs, the weight of my love astride me and the panic in my head starting to overwhelm the erotic pleasures I had felt so strongly before. She is speaking or laughing or yelling, I cannot tell which. My lungs suck and suck and my hips thrust and thrust as air pressure collapses the gas mask tightly against my face.
Even as my panic begins to overwhelm me, the orgasm starts. I actually feel it begin in my toes as they flex and curl in the tight confines of the latex stockings within the leather boots. What feels like a pressure wave creeps up my latex and leather clad legs, through the calves, the knees and the thighs. I am still struggling, pulling, fighting for air, a wail for relief buzzing against the inflated gag in my mouth. The wave is reaching my balls and cock. Both at once, I want it end and I want it to never end. I roll and jerk and bounce and, at exactly the moment she pulls the end of my breathing tube from her breast, I explosively release my load of cum. My hips thrust back and forth into thin air as my dick contracts and pulses, thick jism splashing my bare stomach and the latex-covered backside of my wife, still astride my chest. I inhale great, full breaths of delicious air, floating in a total delirium of sated bliss.
My cock is empty, finally, already beginning to lose its rigidity. My body slowly re-oxygenates, my normal senses return. My muscles relax and my whole body becomes limp. I wallow in the total ecstasy I have been so graciously allowed. I greedily inhale rubber-scented air, moaning softly to my self. I make weak, easy motions against my bonds, rolling my head from side to side, taking in sensations and visions I had only thought were possible in a fantasy. I am afforded scant opportunity to enjoy this scene, however. My love jolts me from my floating bliss with sharp words. “That was fine for you, I can see, but when will I get anything out of this? What do you plan to do for me?” Indeed, what do I have in mind for her?