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Storycodes: Solo-F; reporter; clinic; MF+/f; inpatient; rubber; underwear; tracksuit; investigation; gym; challenge; sweat; shower; kiss; tease; fondle; lesb; oral; climax; discovery; cons; X
Part 1: The Star Reporter On The Case
“No, absolutely not. What, on the basis of a tip, an anonymous tip at that, you want to go investigating into my institute. It’s probably some relative who feels aggrieved. No, I have absolute faith in my staff here, there is no abuse, I reiterate, no abuse of any patients under my care.”
“Look,” I took a deep breath, “this is what I do for a living and I’m good at it, of course we get anonymous tips, all the time, many of them come to nothing, but this was different, this was twice. So I’ll ask again, I want to come here and investigate rumours, okay not rumours, this tip. If there’s nothing in it, well great for you. And anyway what have you got to hide?”
I didn’t like him much, Dr. Tony Mann, director and head psychiatrist of The Oaks, a very well respected mental institute, or mental care facility, or whatever you wish to call it, no, not asylum, not any more. This one was for women only and had a reputation for being very “modern”, Dr. Mann eschewed drugs, supposedly, and his “return-back-to-the-community” rate was about the best in the country, so maybe he was doing something right. But then I get two calls, okay, possibly from the same woman, hard to tell, saying that women are being man-handled and abused. Well, this could be a story. I do get lots of anonymous tips, most come to nothing, some just plain vindictive, but very occasionally I get a good story out of it.
Dr. Mann was tall, dark, slim and handsome in a rather slightly smarmy way; and early 30’s, very young to be in charge of 60 women patients and staff, and including a high security wing. I didn’t like him from the start. But he was a bit of a rising star (and acted like it) in the small, secret world of mental health, well perhaps not such a small world.
Me? I’m Connie Nelson, a reporter for one of the national dailies. Not one of the red tops, the tabloids, no, a decent newspaper, not into scandals, but genuine reporting, investigative reporting. I’m not a star reporter, not yet, I’m only twenty eight, but I have a couple of major exposures behind me. I know how to find a story, and tell it. I don’t do sleaze, although it sells of course, but I prefer high-profile stories that still sell, but do good for the community as well. In fact one of my recent ones was an exposé of a certain police force targeting, completely without cause, the SM community, and although they liked to stay private, mind their own business and were consensual participants the cops went after them, simply because they were easy prey, and a very small minority of the community, very easy brownie points. It wasn’t a story of sleaze, but of simple police harassment, bordering on corruption, and my editor wanted to try and push it a little bit further, which I did, and there was a minor scandal for a few weeks.
“And how do you propose to investigate the facility? You can’t just wander in and ask questions. The patients will be terrified, some of them anyway, and the nursing staff, quite rightly, will be insulted. And more to the point, you just can’t get in here.” He leaned over his desk, smiling rather coolly. “There are only three groups of people allowed in here.” He raised one finger at a time. “One, the patients, of course; two, the staff, permanent and visiting medical staff. And three, visitors who must be approved by the patient or guardian and relatives, and they, all of them, must reserve ahead, a minimum two hours, so we can tell the patient and prepare them if necessary. Some of them can get quite agitated with a visit, it can disrupt their comfort zone. So…” He held his arms wide. “My hands are really tied, rules are rules you see.” He sat back and looked quite happy with himself, and I sat and thought for a few seconds, and then something came to me. It seemed a bit wild, and how I thought of it just like that I don’t know, but I blurted it out.
“You have sixty patients here, yes? There must be some here who are voluntary admissions, some women who admit themselves, because they are stressed, life’s too much, they are suicidal… whatever. Yes?” And his visage changed in a heartbeat, and he sat back again, looking hard at me. He took about a minute to form his answer, carefully.
“Okay, yes, we have actually three women who admitted themselves, for various reasons.” And he seemed to gain confidence again. “But you see you can’t just wander in, you have to have some history, however brief, of mental strain or stress and,” he smiled, “you have to be referred by your family doctor, and you must attend an assessment panel. That is two doctors, me being one, plus a rotating visiting psychiatrist. Not easy, you see.” He seemed to think that this explanation would satisfy me. But for some reason I pushed further, I don’t give up easily and anyway I had nothing to lose, had I?
“It still seems to me that you have something to hide here, why are you making it so difficult for me to exonerate you. This can be sorted in a week, easily.” I was pushing it all right, I had no evidence as such, just a rumour, and an accusation, not much at all to go on.
“I’m frankly insulted by your tone, as you know well, in order for us to be exonerated, or pardoned to use another word, we have to have done something wrong, and we haven’t. Simple as that.”
“Then why worry about a mere woman journalist? Maybe I should write a piece headed Institute Director Denies Patient Abuse?” It was a silly ploy, and he looked very displeased with that.
“You wouldn’t, you have no story, no proof, it’s like saying Mr. Whoever denied beating his wife, he hasn’t a hope against that stuff.”
He didn’t know it, but no, I couldn’t write any story without at least getting in to the place but I wasn’t going to tell him that. He was starting to look a bit resigned, I was making headway.
“You’re not going to give up, are you?” Ah, now we’re getting somewhere, I smiled and shook my head. He turned his chair around, his back to me, looking out the window to the very attractive grounds. He said nothing for at least two minutes, steepling his fingers under his chin. I left him to it, I could feel something breaking. Then he turned, looking at me very seriously.
“Okay, I can let you into my facility as a voluntary patient, let’s say for two weeks, there are a lot of people to talk to, if you must talk to them, and you will have to gain their confidence. They won’t just open up, you will have to earn their respect. And again, I say to you there is no story, but if this will get rid of you then I’m prepared to put up with you.”
This sounded more like it. But he held a finger up. “But… here’s the minimum requirement, legal requirement, you must get a referral, from your GP and I don’t know who that is but that’s not easy. I don’t care how you do it, you’ll have to make up your own story, but then you’re good at that aren’t you?” He smiled without any humour. “I guaranty you it will take at least a month for you to convince him that you want to come here. He’ll be no fool, so,” he smiled, “you’ll have to do a good acting job. And we’re not finished there, you have to pass the assessment panel. All right I will permit you in, but it may be that my visiting colleague won’t, and I have to say I’m tempted to still deny you, but if it will mean it’s the last I see of you… ” Then he leant over his desk, until he was quite close to me, and I felt a little uncomfortable, I didn’t like the look in his cool eyes.
“But the most important thing is that no one, no one except you and I, shall know you are here on an assignment, do you understand? Your story must hold water. No one, not your family, work colleagues, not my staff. No one. For if one whiff of this gets out, an undercover journo… well, I’m finished and all the good work the staff has done here will be wasted, plastered across the tabloids. How you do it, well it’s up to you, I don’t know, something like you are a journalist who is crumbling under work stress, home stress, life stress, who needs to take a serious sabbatical, something that two weeks on the beach can’t do, all right?” He stood, rang the intercom, I was being dismissed. He held his hand out, coolly smiling. “Frankly I hope I don’t see you again, Miss Nelson, but if you pass the test then we’ll have the welcoming committee here for you.”
“It’s Connie, and Dr. Mann, I will see you again, bye for now.”
His office was on the top floor, and was accessed from a separate elevator. The administrator, the only woman I saw on the premises, a very tall, rather stern but stunningly attractive woman of perhaps 35, named Tyra Buckley, or as she seemed to prefer Ms. (definitely Ms.) Buckley, was clearly his protector against the outside world. She was beautifully dressed in a tight business suit and high heels, not standard for an institution perhaps, but she cut a very striking figure, and a very intimidating one. On the way up and down in the elevator I could feel her eyes on me, sizing me up, like a cat with a mouse, and when I asked where everyone was, she looked at me calmly, and with a tight lipped smile and no humour simply said “lunch” and that was it. But she continued to assess me, and made me feel quite uncomfortable. A bit strange, I thought, and I certainly didn’t take to her, and she seemed more than comfortable coolly assessing me, and no doubt it would get stranger if I succeeded in getting inside.
A Voluntary Patient
As it turned out it is easier to get institutionalised than you would think. At least voluntarily, I suppose they think it is better to have you inside where they can keep an eye on you, rather than out there slitting your wrists, or running rampant and taking up emergency services personnel’s time far too much. I did a great acting job with my GP, an Oscar performance. He started me with some drugs, which I threw away, came back, said they didn’t work and I just wanted somewhere to get my control back, get it together etc etc. It took three weeks, and five meetings. During that time I also met my sister, my only remaining relative, several times, my editor and sub-editor and a few friends and spun them the same tale. I have to say I was pretty convincing – it’s all getting too much, no I don’t need a holiday, I need some quiet, some professional care, and so on, and so on.
If I was going undercover then I had to do it properly. It was perhaps a bit callous and devious and part of me hated doing it, particularly to my sister, as we had become quite close since our parents died, and we had never been close before, as she is three years older than me. But this could be a big story and I didn’t want any leaks. Anyway after two weeks inside the place I would either have my story or not, and be out and back in society, what could go wrong?
So my doctor finally wrote a referral and I soon heard from the administration of the facility to come for the assessment. If my entrance was accepted, I was told to bring only the clothes I am wearing, and some toiletries, no cell phone, no laptop, the institute will provide everything else. Okay, I was ready. Having shut the apartment down, told everyone I’d had enough for now, I was driven to The Oaks by my sister for the assessment panel, and hopefully, admittance. She was actually quite upset and I was sorely tempted to call a halt there, but I had convinced myself it had to be done. Yes, I was a bit heartless, but I would be out after two weeks anyway, right?
My sister stayed in reception while I went up in the same elevator, very private I thought, with Ms. Buckley, and again I could feel her yes on me. Here was a woman who liked control, I thought. In the assessment there was Dr. Mann and his colleague, a Dr. Larkin, behind the long table, and Ms. Buckley, keeping the record. I actually felt more uncomfortable with her than the two doctors, but I stuck to my task. The interrogation lasted longer than I thought it would, and there were a lot of very perceptive questions about my life and how I had arrived here. But I seemed to stumble through, for after a short period of deliberating, they suggested I say goodbye to my sister. I was in.
Ms. Buckley took me down in the elevator again, this time a knowing smile on her face, but saying nothing, and waited as I said goodbye to my sister; this was a bit tearful my sister has always been one to wear her emotions on her sleeve, I have been always the one more controlled. I hated myself, as we hugged and then she left and I was on my own. As Ms. Buckley took me to my room, Dr. Mann came close and whispered.
“We have a deal, two weeks and then you are gone, I still don’t approve of any of this at all, so I will be keeping an eye on you as well. Enjoy your stay, but it is wasted, you know.” He said sarcastically, turned and left, and I was led upstairs and down a corridor to a private room. I was met by a smiling nurse and Ms. Buckley left us with a smile and “goodbye, no doubt I’ll see you around”. Well this isn’t too bad, I thought. As she entered the room with me the nurse said.
“Change here in your room love, and leave all your clothes on your bed. We have patient uniforms here, a bit strange at first you might think, but you’ll get used to them. I looked down on the narrow bed and saw, neatly arranged, a bra, high-waisted panties, and a pair of leather slippers. Then what looked like a top and pants, the top like a loose long-sleeved t-shirt with elasticated wrists and waist, and the bottoms like a loose jogging suit with elasticated ankles and waist, all in light powder blue.
“If they don’t fit you we can get you some different sizes.” I ran my hand down the sleek pants, now this was strange, what was this, latex? She saw the look on my face, which must have been a bit shocked.
“Yes love, it’s rubber, or latex if you prefer, ha ha. I know it sounds weird but Dr. Mann came up with the idea sometime ago, and it really does work. It has no hard edges, nice and smooth, no itching, no scratching, it’s malleable, it’s super easy to clean and dry, just takes a few seconds, and it’s hygienic. And you know, our patients like it, they think it’s soothing, calming, smooth and sleek, we get no complaints, none at all, and you won’t believe how much we save on laundry, ha ha. Now get yourself dressed and come and meet us in the common room for a chat and get to know some of your new friends.”
Well this was just too weird. I’d heard of latex or rubber clothing of course, some people like going clubbing in it, and I knew of the fetish scene, but as a uniform in a mental institution? Anyway from now on I will call it rubber, to avoid any confusion… .
This was too bizarre, what had I got myself into here? But if it worked… and it was an idea from Dr. Mann, quite the trailblazer. He was a strange one too, I really didn’t like him very much from the start, too smug for me. And as for his assistant, the extremely attractive and equally cool Ms. Buckley, who gave me some funny looks, despite the smile of the Cheshire cat, she seemed not too happy with me being there, and seemed to be examining me, assessing me like a schoolmistress, quite unnerving. Somehow it crossed my mind as to whether Mann had confided in her at all about my “special arrangement” or was she just like that all the time?
The room was spartan but comfortable: a small metal bed, rather like a hospital gurney, with metal siding that could be raised, a side table and chair, and a separate small bathroom with shower. There was a window, which was barred from the inside. While it may have given the impression of a prison, I was aware that there were perhaps women in here who might want to self-harm, and this was for their own protection I assumed. There was no cupboard, I supposed we didn’t need any as the clothes, the rubber clothes, would be provided, no doubt every day. But there were shelves and a table and lamp. It was very basic but clean and neat.
I put my toiletries in the bathroom and then decided to change. For some reason I felt a little nervous. I stared down at the smooth, shiny rubber, hhhmm, okay, so this is what I had to wear. I stripped and sat on the side of the bed to collect my thoughts, and picked up the panties, and then I did something that even I found strange, I cupped the panties in my hands and brought them to my face, and then breathed in through my nose. The aroma, not surprisingly, was of rubber, not pungent like a car tyre, but almost sweet. Why did I do this, I don’t know, what was coming over me? Then I rolled them in my hands, feeling their perfect smoothness, again I didn’t know why, but finally I put them down and picked up the bra.
There was no steel clasp at the rear, it came in one piece, like a sports bra and I pushed my hands between the straps and then dipped my head, pulling it over my shoulders. I shivered as I placed the cups of the rubber bra over my breasts and trembled at its chilly touch, and was surprised to find the bra a very good fit. It was cool at first but then quickly warmed up, and nicely cradled my breasts, ample but firm, although I say so myself. I breathed in deeply, and took a few seconds to dwell on how strange this all was.
The panties were high waisted, they were really a sort of panty girdle, and again I trembled as I pulled them up and over my thighs and eased out any creases as they settled snugly around my waist and rear. I liked the feel of them immediately, firm and almost comforting, all very strange I thought. Opposite my pussy and bum were a series of pinholes, for “ventilation” I suppose. I remembered seeing adverts for these panties, or panty girdles I suppose, in old magazines, made by Playtex probably. They were snug and very even, they pulled the waist in a bit and coolly contoured my backside, and as I ran my hands over my firm buttocks it flashed across my mind that I found them rather sexy, bizarrely.
Everything fit perfectly and I wondered how they had got it right so quickly. Someone, could it be Ms Buckley, had been taking my measurements on the sly. I now pulled on the t-shirt and pants, which I noted had been powdered on the insides, hearing them rustle as I shivered under their cool touch, and then arranged them satisfactorily. I continued to tremble at their cool touch, but it was not unpleasant, not unpleasant at all, and soon they started to warm up, and I realised I quite liked the caress of the glossy material. It was like top quality silk or satin, but then I suddenly thought, better.
They had a strong, quite sweet aroma of rubber, which increased as my body temperature warmed them, and again I didn’t find this disagreeable. It continued to cross my mind that they seemed to know my size immediately, and again I thought about the stern erect Ms. Buckley, who from the very start seemed to take a considerable time evaluating me, sizing me up, she certainly gave me a very good, and rather uncomfortable inspection, or was I just being paranoid? But I was now ready, and went to join the group in the common room.
To be frank, most of the next two weeks passed very slowly. And slowly and methodically I tried to gain the confidence of these women, some of whom were naturally defensive and not very forthcoming.
For all of my digging, prying and general investigative techniques I could find no evidence at all that Dr. Mann or any of the staff had been abusing, in any way, the patients. I wouldn’t say I was disappointed, of course not, but it meant that I had no story, I was happy that the staff were attentive, kind, professional and considerate, and the patients well cared for. So where did I go from here? The patients were an interesting mix, for the most part harmless, perhaps the only people they would harm were themselves, most perhaps feeling life was too much. They spoke well of the nurses, some of them were on meds, but not as many as I would have thought. I was surprised at how many young women were there, the ages ranged from mid 20’s to 50’s. It’s terrible to think that life can become too much for someone in their 20’s. but there was heartening news that many returned back into the community, and much as I disliked Dr. Mann, he did seem to be very good at his profession.
We would read a lot, watch TV, play Scrabble, chess and many other games and talk a lot about how we got to be here, me of course perpetuating my fake story. I soon got on well with some of them, and sometimes wondered why they were here, and I came to the conclusion, not very original at all, that there is a fine line between coping with life and finding it all too much.
Wearing rubber every day - and seeing all the patients likewise - was strange at first, but the other patients didn’t seem bothered by it, in fact, as the nurse told me when I arrived, they seemed to get comfort in its smooth touch. As all the patients were wearing it, I certainly noticed the smell wherever I went, but to my surprise quite liked it, sweet and pungent at the same time.
And I also began to notice that gradually I actually liked wearing it, particularly the firm grip of the bra and panty girdle, and the loose pants and t-shirt caressing, almost tickling my skin, brushing my nipples. Somewhat shamefully, after ten days or so, partly through boredom perhaps, I found myself rubbing the front of the panty girdle when alone in my room. I didn’t come or anything, but found it relaxing and it took away the general boredom that was seeming to envelop me. I was not getting anywhere with my investigation, and was coming to realise that maybe there was no story at all and I had wasted a couple of weeks of my time.
The Gym, The Shower, And a Surprise
Over the days I also noticed that Tyra Buckley seemed to be losing her frostiness for me. Perhaps she was confident I would find nothing, and in fact she was becoming quite friendly. She would say hello and occasionally socialise when we were in groups. I still couldn’t figure out if she knew my secret, but if she did she was not going to show my hand. If she did know my intent, maybe she realised I was not a threat to her anymore, as there seemed to be no evidence of abuse. In any event after ten days or so I noticed that she was becoming much more friendly, even more so than all the staff, who were universally chirpy and upbeat.
On the twelfth day of my incarceration, I was reading in my room in the afternoon, I had just about run out of women to interview, and there she was, standing by my door. Her smile at first had been tight lipped, and a bit predatory, but had become warmer, as it was now. Due to her height, and very fit figure, she was a striking sight, almost intimidating. Her long wavy hair was side-parted like a Hollywood star of the 50’s; and she had the body for it too. She was wearing her usual power suit, this time with a skirt just above her knees and gripping her thighs, accentuating her powerful, athletic figure, which with the spike heels gave the definite impression of an assertive woman of well over six feet. She oozed a certain sexuality, confident and cool, but aware of how attractive she looked. And I found it quite hard to avoid looking at her.
“Looking bored, Connie, you need to get out and about a bit more. I’ve always found the best way to overcome it is to get some exercise, hhmm? Why don’t you come to the gym we have here? The women don’t use it much, but I do, and the machines are in great condition.” Well this was strange. She was making a sort of gesture of friendship, and I saw no real reason to say no, and again I could see she was sizing me up. Yes, I was getting bored, it seemed my little adventure had dug up nothing. I was not a fitness freak, but I looked after myself, and figured I was in reasonable shape. I hadn’t used the gym; I knew about it but had been too busy making friendships with the women. I only had a couple of days to go, so why not? I was also a competitive person, and just thought it would be interesting to get on a couple of machines and see how I would compare against this woman, who was bigger, taller and stronger than me, but admittedly older. I like a challenge, and it was clear that she was tempting me.
She seemed to know what was going through my mind, and gave me a conspiratorial smile.
“Well? Come on, let’s see what you’re made of, it will do you good. You just wear in the gym what you’re wearing now, those rubber clothes, and you look pretty good in them too. (hhmm, that was an interesting comment) It really helps you to sweat, quite fun really, then when you shower it can dry quickly and be powdered and shined and worn again. Haha, an all-in-one uniform, we save thousands on it. Anyway, I’m going there now, you can join me if you want.” I think she knew I would, but to save face I waited a few minutes before joining her.
I found a pair of runners that fit me in the changing room, which was small, with only four or five lockers and a single bench. I went through to the gym, and saw Tyra already on a treadmill, one of two facing a full-length mirror. For a couple of seconds I stopped and watched her, but she saw me in the mirror and jerked her head, as if to say, come on. She had shocked me for just a second or two, for she was now dressed in a two-piece rubber suit much like mine. But this one was much more flattering. It wasn’t skin tight, but it was much more figure-hugging. Her well-rounded (I was beginning to think voluptuous) figure was sheathed from neck to ankles in gunmetal rubber, just loose enough to allow some movement, but tight enough to show off her every curve, muscular thighs, rounded hips, firm arse, narrow waist and very ample breasts. Her wavy hair had been pulled back in a utilitarian pony tail. She was aware that I had been watching and gave me a knowing look.
“Come on, up you get here, and warm up. You like my suit? A bit clingier than the standard issue, but wonderful for sweating in. And yes, in case you were wondering, I had a lot to do with the rubber uniforms, myself and Dr. Mann. Easy to wash, easy to wear, no chafing, perfect if you want to exercise and once you get it nice and shined, pretty sexy too, with the right design.” She smiled again. “Don’t you think?” I was now warming up on the machine, aware of her studying me.
“Erm, er yes, I suppose so.” I didn’t want to admit straightaway that I did find it quite pleasant to wear, and was rather off kilter with her quite personal comments. It was very strange indeed, she seemed as if she was coming on to me, or was I being paranoid? She was certainly attractive, and I felt just a faint rise in my heartrate for a few seconds. We got a good pace going, it was clear that Tyra was in great shape for her age, which as I said I put in the mid 30’s, and in the mirror opposite we watched each other, and I could sense a competitive streak I her. She had an effortless grace about her, seeming not to exert herself, as she ran at a good pace, but soon I was matching her. I was actually enjoying this and regretted not coming here before.
After ten minutes or so I was warm and sweaty in my suit, but comfortable, and I was aware that she had been studying me all the time. Then with a challenging look, she said.
“You look good, very good, what about we have a little race? Nothing too long; how about we set the machines for thirty minutes, and a gradient of say five, and see who can run the furthest, hhmm?” Well I’m competitive too, always have been. She looked pretty confident and I wouldn’t have minded wiping the cool smile from her face, so I nodded, okay.
We set our machines and on one, two, three, we were off. She was at least three inches taller than me, with endless legs, she must have been six feet in her bare feet, and so took fewer strides, but longer, and it was difficult to tell if I was going faster or she, but I tried to concentrate on my rhythm only. I was actually enjoying this, sweat now dripped down inside my suit, and even my tight panties, and I was quite happy they were ventilated at the crotch and bum. We both kept up a good pace, and our eyes locked in the mirror a few times.
“Come on Connie, you’ve at least six or seven years on me, you should be whipping me.” I knew she was baiting me to go faster and exhaust myself, but I didn’t take it, leaving my push for the last couple of minutes. This eventually came and for the last ninety seconds or so we were both going a good clip. As the machines beeped and came to a stop we both leant over, exhausted. Sweat poured down inside my impermeable suit, and down my face and neck, and I was glad to see that she was bushed as well. We both took a while to catch our breath, and then checked our distances. I called mine out to her, 4.75 miles, pretty good I thought, under 7 minutes a mile. She smiled and nodded her head in appreciation.
“That’s quite impressive, very impressive, now let’s see mine…… hhmm, aaaah, 4.80 miles, haha, I pipped you, what’s point oh five of a mile? Is that eighty, eighty five yards? Well that’s close all right, let’s hear it for the old lady. Yeah.” She held up her arms in mock victory and before I could move she approached and hugged me, for just a second or two too long, I thought. Two rubber clad women embracing, I could feel her firm, muscular body in mine, her breasts against mine, it wasn’t a leaning-into-you womanly hug, it was a body embrace and as she moved her hands up and then down my back, I felt just a slight shudder through the rubber. What’s happening here, I tgought as I continued to get my breath back.
For some silly reason, I felt a schoolgirl pout come over me at not winning. I do like winning, and losing by such a small margin peeved me, and to an “older” woman, even though my distance and time were pretty good. As she draped an arm around my waist, and again I felt a shiver, I huffily declined to go to the showers with her, saying I needed to warm down on the treadmill for a few minutes. I didn’t want to see her looking so chirpy, so victorious, silly of me I know. So I waited a few minutes before joining her. There were three shower cubicles with curtains, and she was in the middle one - without the curtain closed. I glanced, and then stared for a couple of seconds, I don’t know why she didn’t pull the curtains closed, she had obviously done it on purpose. To shock me, titillate me? Well, it worked I suppose, the shock bit, but the tittilation? Well she certainly had a very fine figure, not an ounce out of place, very powerful and healthy. She caught me looking and grinned, entirely unselfconsciously as she lathered her firm body.
“Come on, hurry up.”
I went to the changing room and with some difficulty pulled my soaking top off me, breathing in the warm pungent aroma of the rubber as sweat dripped onto the floor. Then I pulled down my long pants, soaking again, and hung them over the locker door. Rather shyly I pulled off my bra and then the ventilated rubber pants, wrapped a towel around me rather demurely - I wasn’t in the habit, or mood to give her an eyeful - and went to the shower.
But she had already finished and passed me, completely naked. It was hard, impossible to look the other way and I saw her crotch was completely smooth, shaven or depilated I didn’t know of course. I avoided eye contact but sensed her having a private chuckle, and then took my cubicle. Was she flirting with me, or just didn’t care? No, I was pretty sure it was a flirt. I took my time, hoping she’d be gone by the time I was finished, but no such luck for when I returned fresh and clean, I saw her powdering my rubber top and bottom. That was considerate I thought, but what caught my eye, and I’m sure she was well aware of what she was doing, was what she was wearing now. She had on her underclothes, her business suit was hanging in her locker, but these were no ordinary underclothes. She turned and saw me looking at her, and said.
“I’ve done your bra and panties, rubber is a beast to get on without talc, but then you probably know that already.” She stood and faced me, and knew I was openly inspecting her, my heart just pounding a bit, nerves, embarrassment or what?
“This for instance takes forever but there are real benefits once it is on.” She placed her hands on her sides and moved them down to her hips. It was an old fashioned corselette, with shoulder straps holding her firm breasts erect, a narrow waist and four suspenders. They held up sheer silk stockings, with even a seam at the back, very old fashioned, and very sexy. The corselette was level with her hips at her sides, but curved over her pudenda and arse, and I was relieved to see she was wearing panties underneath. It was form-fitting in the extreme, pulling her in at the right places and pushing her up and out at the other right places. And the reason for this was, surprise, that it was constructed of unyielding cream coloured rubber. I felt my mouth go dry and swallowed. She looked stunning, (and she knew it) much like a 50’s underwear model or actress, or perhaps Madonna in her more vampish days.
“I didn’t finish dressing, as I didn’t want to get talc all over my suit and I thought you may need a bit of help getting into yours. Here.” She handed me my high waisted panty girdle, and I could see the talc inside. I was wearing my towel from boobs to hips, and needless to say was nervous about my next move.
“Go on, don’t be shy, we’re all girls here.” This was something I was more than well aware of, seeing her as she was, in front of me. With my towel still around me, I leant over and stepped into the cool rubber, slowly, clumsily pulling them up my thighs, accompanied by a chuckle from Tyra.
“Oh, for goodness sake, we’ll be here all night.” And to my utter shock, like a mischievous schoolboy she grabbed my towel and pulled it off me, leaving me naked and struggling with the panties to cover me. Then, calmly assessing me again, with a smile she handed me my bra. I covered up as best I could as I fumbled with the bra cups.
“Don’t be such a little girl.” She admonished and moved behind me, arranging the bra at the back.
“Good, excellent, you fill that out very nicely. You have a very attractive body, Connie, you shouldn’t be shy in showing it off.” Then she handed me my jogging pants and I shivered as I pulled them up my legs, well aware of her staring at me, arms crossed, amused. This was like a dream, all too strange, but one I was having trouble getting out of. Finally, she handed me my long-sleeved top, which can be hard to get over my head and down my back, even when powdered. I slipped my hands through the sleeves and then dipped my head as she moved behind me. My head popped through and she helped me pull the waistband down. Then in a millisecond I felt her grab my left wrist in hers, twist it up my back, and turn me to the wall.
“What wha… .look here.” I was now facing her, both my arms now trapped behind me, as she pressed herself into me. It was a very slick move for I was powerless. Before I could get my head around all this, she had planted her lips on mine, just like that. I was so shocked there was no time to resist at first, or say anything. Her lips were soft and sweet, in truth, much nicer than most men, at least the one’s I had been with. The rubber encasing our bodies squeaked as she adjusted herself, pressing into me. I could perhaps have jerked up my knee into her, moved my head to avoid her lips, but our bodies were so close to each other I could get no purchase.
“Nononono, stop, stop.” I whispered. “What are you… hhmm.”
With her left hand holding my wrist behind my back, and her pressing herself into me, with her spare right hand, she was now massaging, fondling my breasts, and between kisses, which were getting deeper, chuckling.
“Oh, come on, don’t be a silly, Connie, I’ve had my eye on you since you arrived, you are a beauty.”
“Nono, stop. Just get off… get, stop… aaah.”
And here I have a confession. Many years ago, well not that many, I had a fling with a fellow student at uni. She was pretty and a lot of fun, and maybe I had a couple of glasses of wine too many. And so we got to fumbling, and giggling and one thing led to another. It was girly fun, just students experimenting, as students do, nothing more, but while we enjoyed it, her soft body was so different to the young men I had been with, for some reason, I don’t know what, I didn’t return to that side of the fence again. No, I don’t know why, but I didn’t, for I had quite enjoyed our time together. And while I wriggled and squirmed under her assault, I realised that Tyra’s expert kisses and fondling were making me just a little warm and wet, and my resistance was in truth, rather a fake.
And then her hand moved down, slid under the waistband of my jogging pants and onto my labia, behind the rubber of my panties, oh fuck, fuck, stop will you? She didn’t go under my panties, but just stroked me through the ventilation holes in the rubber. And instead of clenching my thighs and fighting her, well I didn’t.
I was still whispering stop-stop-stop, but I was now panting, and wet, god, yes, I was wet already, what was this woman doing to me? Well aware of this, laughing, Tyra drew me away from the wall, and again with an expertise that must have come from prior experience, whipped the front waistband of my rubber top over my head. The unyielding rubber gripped my head firmly at the back of my neck and I was plunged into a hot, murky, smelly, rubber darkness. I tried to pull it off but she held my arms and led me stumbling, to the wide bench, turned me round and laid me on my back. I was still disorientated and the rubber top was so tight I wasn’t able to move my arms enough to get it off my head, plus it was stifling and pungent, I was stuck under it.
‘look, stop, stop will you?” My voice was muffled by the wet rubber. But by now, did I really mean this?
Tyra had spread my legs and I could feel her kneeling between them, quickly, with a giggle she was already pulling down my pants and then, I took a gulp of air, began nibbling my nipples through the rubber bra.
“No, no, no.” I gasped under the rubber top. Then one hand, having pulled down my panties speedily found my wet treasure, aaaahhhh I whispered and drew in a huge breath of rubber-scented air. I heard Tyra laugh as she continued her assault, which was really no assault any more, for I had moved onto a more acquiescent plain. This should not be happening, I thought, and probably could have fought back, but I didn’t.
I dropped my arms either side of the bench and surrendered to her, not even bothering to try and remove the rubber top clamped over my face. I just lay back and allowed her, willed her to do what she wanted with me. She stretched my panties down far enough for her to lick and tongue me. Ohmygod.
“Oh Connie, my my, you are sooo wet, and sweet too.” As she concentrated on licking and sucking me I raised my hands and began to rub and roll my nipples and it was only after a couple of minutes I grunted and groaned as the first orgasm shook me, and then another. But she didn’t stop there for she continued to tease and torture me, and minutes seemed to flash by and at the same time stand still. It may have been twenty minutes, half an hour, I don’t know, before she stopped and stood up. I just lay there for a few more minutes, gasping for air, exhausted, and finally I sat up and pulled the rubber top off my head.
Tyra, cool as an iceberg, had already slipped on her white blouse, thigh-hugging skirt and jacket and was, it had to be admitted, smirking at me. I was actually a bit regretful she had dressed, for she had looked really stunning in her rubber corselette and stockings. She ran her fingers through her hair, then with a paper towel wiped her mouth, looking very pleased with herself.
“Hhhmm, I’ll keep your perfume on my palate for now, but best to tidy my face a bit, I suppose, don’t want tongues wagging.” She let out a throaty laugh, and approached me. “That was very nice Connie, you are sweet and tasty, somehow I expected more resistance, are you bi, you certainly behaved as if this was all very familiar. Come on, don’t be shy.”
“No, no, not, well I don’t know, no, I don’t think so.” I was stumbling and fumbling, the whole last half hour had taken away any composure I might have had. Well I suppose I must be bi, remembering back to my uni fling with Laura, yes, that was her name. With Laura it had been fun, a discovery in part, but with an experienced woman an like Tyra, well, this was completely different. No one, woman, or certainly man, had done anything like this to me before, not even close. And to be frank, my flings with the opposite sex had never really been that successful, before this I had just put it down to concentrating on my profession, and my poor selection process with men. I got some satisfaction, less so with cocks but more with someone working their tonge on me, and no man had done what Tyra had done. So maybe I did prefer women now, Tyra had definitely made a very persuasive case for it.
I was hot, sweaty and sticky, and quite tired, but couldn’t be bothered to shower again, so gave myself a quick wipe down, pulled up my panties, feeling quite sensitive down there, and then my jogging pants.
“You’d better get to the dining room, you will miss dinner, let’s hope no one sniffs sex on you, you certainly look a bit flushed.” She approached me and placed an arm around my waist, kissing me lightly on my neck. I shivered at her touch, even wanting more.
“Well that was fun, Connie, pity you only have another full day here, we could have continued it.”
My jaw must have dropped.
“Oh come on, Connie. Mann and I share no secrets, we run this place together. I’ve known from day one the reason you are here, that’s why I gave you the cold shoulder for the first few days, I don’t like people prying into what we are doing here, the good things we do here. But, as we have seen, you have found nothing. The second I saw you I thought you were a beauty, my gaydar was piqued but I had to let you do your investigations. Now this is my way of forgiving you, and anyway I thoroughly enjoyed it. Not as much as you perhaps, but it didn’t take long for you to get wet, did it? And day after tomorrow you will be gone, and after the last hour or so of exercise - in more ways than one, I have to say I will miss you. I have to go now, and so do you.” Before I could react, she had planted her lips on mine, and this time I responded and my arms encircled her, and I was sure I could taste myself on her lips and tongue. She had a wonderful soft kiss, and gently probing tongue. Then with a wide grin she slapped my backside, quite hard despite the two layers of latex, turned and left.
A Nighttime Reconnaissance
I didn’t stay long at dinner, nor afterwards. I felt some eyes on me, or was I paranoid? I could smell my usual aroma of rubber on me, but also perhaps sex? I was still a bit hot and sweaty, and yes, I could smell my own sex on me. I left early for my room, and rather than have a shower, I was quite tired after our encounter, took my top and pants off after a quick wipe down, went to bed.
Not surprisingly I didn’t sleep terribly well that night, going through my “encounter” with Tyra. The sex I had had with her had been incredibly rewarding, and I thought again that maybe the men I had been with were losers, maybe I didn’t satisfy them, and in return they didn’t really satisfy me. I didn’t know, but what I did know was that the half hour or so, perhaps longer, that I had with Tyra were the best sex I had ever experienced, simple as that. Initially this troubled me a little, but then I thought, why should it? Either it meant she was extremely good, or I haven’t been around enough, I didn’t know, I liked to think it was the former. And as I dwelt on this I slid a hand under the waist of my panties and found my nubbin. Now if only I could be as good as Tyra…
The next day was a bit of an anti-climax all round. My last day again I tried to talk to as many women as I could without being too obvious, but it was the same story. They were all, for the most part, complimentary with everything the staff did for them, so the day just drifted by. I saw Tyra a couple of times and when our eyes met, my heart jumped a bit as she just gave me an innocent nod, and a sly smile, but she was again back to business.
But there was one area of the complex I hadn’t explored, and that was the high security area. Not surprisingly this was hard to get into, comprising a wing on the second floor extending out from the main building. I’d heard from the nurses that only three staff, Tyra, and two nurses, Jessica and Dawn, and Dr. Mann of course, had access to this area, and generally they went there in the late evening after we had been locked in for the night, for our own protection of course. But I’d also been told that there were no high-risk patients there at the moment, these being women who had a high probability of harming others, or themselves. In fact, this area was used very little, and I assumed that perhaps Dr. Mann and the staff had turned it into staff quarters, offices or recreational facilities.
So why were Dr. Mann and the nurses going there a couple of times a week in the evenings? The other nurses said it was for additional training, admin duties and tutorials and had no issue with it, but it tweaked my interest. I don’t know, something just seemed not right, call it intuition, or plain nosiness. What could be going on in there, and did it really matter anyway if all the women here had said they were very content with the staff. But I just couldn’t leave it at that. It had piqued my interest for the last few days.
It was the last night of my stay, my fortnight was up the next day, what had I to lose, so I decided to explore one last time. The access to the wing was by a combination lock on a very thick steel door. For a couple of days before I had hung around that area, not too obtrusively, trying to get any of the nurses’ combinations. During the day, some would also access it, maybe to have some quiet time, and maybe because there were no patients there, were quite lax in their security. The day before my final night I had managed to get the combination of one of the nurses, the tough no-nonsense Dawn.
So now I could get in, and all I had to do was manage to get out of my room at night. This actually proved easier than I thought. When you are an investigative journalist you sometimes mix with an edgier crowd and one of my contacts was a locksmith who did work for the police. The police don’t always use the “red key” to smash down doors like they do in the movies. If they want a quiet entry they use experienced locksmiths like Harry, who I got to know following a couple of crime stories I wrote. Anyway we became friends, no not lovers, but he was fun, and over drinks on a few occasions, much against his better judgment, he showed me a few tricks of his trade, I’m sure thinking I would never use them.
Well he was wrong, and it’s amazing what you can do with a hairgrip and a thin, narrow nail file. So at about midnight, after fumbling for five minutes or so, I picked the lock to my door and was free to roam. They don’t have CCTV, except in the common rooms, which surprised me, but it was to my advantage and soon I was outside the main door to the high security area.
Wearing my hospital issue bra, ventilated panty girdle, t-shirt and jogging pants in light blue latex, I quickly pressed in the combination I had overseen, and bingo, I was through and into the high security area. As I had expected there was a central corridor with rooms off either side. It was quiet and dark and a bit eerie, but I slowly started checking the rooms, four on either side. I wasn’t sure what I was looking for, it was just my inquisitive (read nosy) disposition. This was my last shot, and I wasn’t missing it. I had no idea what I was looking for, but I didn’t want to waste two weeks and not come up with a story, any story. I continued down the corridor, checking rooms on each side – a couple of bedrooms, a kitchenette, bathroom, small common room, all empty. It seemed that it was indeed unoccupied, and I was getting a sense that this may have been staff quarters.
At the end of the corridor there was another locked door, and I sensed that this was maybe the high security area, that would mean two doors to get past. I hoped the same combination number would work, and rather surprisingly it did, and silently I passed through, again being met by four rooms on one side, and three on the other. These again were bedrooms, a bathroom and lounge, but at the end there was one last room, clearly a lot larger than the others.
And it was from this I heard sounds. They were odd sounds, like human sounds as if someone, a female, perhaps two, was in distress, groaning, grunting, but then a chuckle. What the hell? I took a deep breath and inched nearer to the closed door, and heard more grunting, some moaning and then, more giggling? Someone was having sex I thought, which I suppose was none of my business, but I felt I had to have a peak, just to satisfy myself that all was well, nothing illegal involving the patients and so forth, and regrettably that would be it for me, I would be gone in the morning.
I opened the door a few inches, holding my breath. I didn’t know what to expect, but what I did see completely stunned me. It was the strangest tableau I could have ever imagined, in fact it was beyond anything I could have imagined. Circling a hospital bed were three figures, two females dressed as nurses and what appeared to be a male doctor. They were in the process of strapping down a female patient to the raised metal sides of the bed. On either side of them were a couple of strategically placed cameras on tripods. It wasn’t so much the fact that they were nurses and a doctor that shocked me, but it was how they were dressed.
It took me only a second to realise they were covered from head to toe in rubber, that shimmered under the bright lights. The woman on the bed wore a body-hugging black catsuit with a separate full head mask, with only eye and mouth holes. Her breasts were exposed through two round openings, the reinforced bases of which gripped her breasts. Her vulva was also exposed. She was wriggling theatrically as the nurses began to strap her arms to the sides of the bed.
What the hell?
The nurses were dressed identically and even more bizarrely. Underneath they appeared to have matching form-fitting bright orange catsuits and masks, with high heeled orange ankle boots. That was odd enough, but over that they had a reinforced harness of straps in the shape of a bra, supporting and pushing out their breasts. And over all this they wore loose blouses of transparent rubber, tight at the wrists, waist and neck. Completing the ensemble were strange transparent loose rubber bloomers, elasticated at the waist and extending to below the knees. Finally, white surgical masks covering the lower portion of their masked faces and their hands were encased in clear surgical gloves.
I took a gulp of air before examining the “doctor”. He was the lone male and also wore a body-hugging black rubber suit, full head mask, knee-high fitted rubber boots, an unbuttoned loose white rubber doctor’s coat to below his knees, a similar white surgical mask covering his already masked face, and he was in the process of pulling on thin surgical gloves over his black rubber gloved hands.
This was clearly no ordinary medical setting, but some bizarre fetish sex scene, and I decided it might be a good idea to get the hell out of there.
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