The water pools at her neck filling and stretching the latex. The bulge pulls the sticky membrane from sweaty skin. The water slips down under the catsuit warming and washing the body. It soon fills the tight socks and starts to bloat the rubber suit becoming a body shaped water balloon. Slippery, oily gloss mixes with water, dripping through the crotch zipper running down her legs. The shower echoes with splashes as she moves disturbing gouts of water from the suit.
Ponderous and jiggling she allows the water to cleanse her aches. Already she can feel the pinch bruises around her underarms, elbows and behind the knees. The soft tissue squeezed tight by an ill-measured suit, would show the burgundy marks for days. A small price to pay for her fetish.
The suit comes off in parts. The mask leaves her hair matted and sopping wet with sweat. The gloves crinkle and snap in the wet moisture. She drops the twisted and rolled bunches of rubber to the shower floor. Bending over the trapped water gushes from her behind and seeps from under the wrists and neck. Her calves are bloated tubes of warm water as the streams drum a staccato beat between her shoulders. Lifting a foot to remove a tight sock, she nearly slips on the gloss-slicked enamel tub. A quick hand to steady herself slips on the wall tile. She falls against the wall. Breathing hard at the near accident, she takes care in removing the rest of her fetish suit.
As the suds warm her skin she can still feel the soft slickness of the dressing aid. Between her fingers and toes the slippery feeling would linger for a day or more. A reminder of what she likes to do in her private time. She thinks of how it would feel at work on Monday, a pen held tightly between slippery fingers. The nylons cover wiggling toes in tight shoes. She traces the impression of the zipper pressed into her belly below the navel. Her custom suit fitting less and less perfectly over the years. She would need a new one soon. Maybe one without a zipper this time, she thinks. Musing on how difficult it might be to put on, she laments the struggle that always leaves her huffing and tired.
It takes so long to get ready before she can enjoy the feeling of total latex coverage. The minutes of prepping the suit, coating her body in lube, the struggle to dress and the accoutrements all eat into the time she can spend. Gloves, mask, socks, then the toys and the cuffs, the gag; it takes her nearly an hour and by then she is panting with desire and ready to get off at the lightest touch. Even in the air-conditioned apartment, the contained heat makes her too sweaty and sticky feeling to last long. Sweat and gloss pool in her suit squishing between her toes and moving along her body as she twists. She would sit on the sofa leaving sweat stains from the zipper, a large damp spot that seeps through the beach towel she laid down first. All too soon she is shuddering and her muscles clench and relax spasmodically. Then she is drained, dirty and dishevelled. Then the shower and the hours or cleaning and drying to care for her suit.
All that work for so little. If only she could snap her fingers and be ready in an instant. Less time in prep and more time having fun. The water is stopped, and she leaves the wet mess of latex in a pile on the tub floor. Stepping from the shower, she notices the bottle of dressing aide sitting on its side on the counter. A dribble of clear fluid making a puddle that drips over the edge. A costly waste of the special goo, she darts a hand out to stop the loss. One step, a wet foot meets a small puddle, a shift of weight and she is falling. A bump on the head on some hard surface and she feels a splash of warm wetness on her face as she blacks out.
She finds herself at a table, pen and paper before her, the clatter of die on the table. She tries to read the numbers but in dream-like fashion her eyes will not resolve the figures. But she hears the gasp of shock from the others at the table. She remembers the feeling of failure. A burning on the back of her neck that rises to her face, red hot and flushed with frustration. Almost like sex, the feeling of being helpless, makes her heart pound.
“You fall and take,” another roll of the die, “Wow, all the damage. What is your max HP? Are you instantly dead?” The Master seems almost reluctant to let the heroine die. “Does anyone want to help her? Anyone got a spell or ability that can stop her from dying?”
Coughs and murmurs among the others at the table. She looks from one to the next hoping against the inevitable conclusion to her short fantasy life. In a meek voice, “If I were wearing my armour I would resist falling damage. I would be unconscious but alive at the bottom of the cliff.”
“I already used my feather falling spell slots,” says the magic caster shrugging. No help there. She tries to smile but finds it difficult. His face is somber and covered in shadow. Familiar but unknown to her.
“I can use my amulet of limited wish,” says the voice of the archer, a young man with a nice smile. “It breaks but I think it is worth it to save her.” She could have kissed him. She might even if he would let her. The crush growing stronger even in the dream world.
“Alright, how do you phrase it? The wish I mean.” The Master is reading from the rules to find the limits of what can be done.
“I want her to be able to don armour as a reaction. Then she can just suit up and be safe instantly.”
“Sounds fine. Gale now has the ability to don armour instantly. We can rewind time a little, do you put your armour on before hitting the ground?” The Master smiles, his tricky mind working to find a way to twist this to his advantage later.
She snaps her fingers and feels the heavy armour appearing around her body. The sudden weight makes her limbs drop to the table. She slips from the chair to land heavily on the floor. Damaged, but alive.
The sun is going down as she rouses from the dream. The bathroom is dark, the water under her naked body is cold and her muscles are tight. She lays in the tub at an awkward angle. The pile of wet and sodden latex a soft pillow that had caught her head. Red marks score her cheek where the folds had pressed into her young flesh. A large welt had grown on her temple where she had struck it.
Alive. Still, she feels like crap. Pushing herself up to her bottom she finds the effort painful. Tenderly she touches the lump, no blood but she should probably visit the hospital. Standing causes the room to swirl a little. She wobbles to the kitchen, running her hands on the wall. A bag of peas and a tea-towel compressed on her head cools the pain. She grabs her car keys and her phone. One hand on the compress and the other tries to put her phone in her pocket. It takes a minute before she realizes she is nude still. The cool air chills the water that streams down from her hair. Her nipples stand out hard and stiff, goose pimples spreading over her skin. She needs to get dressed.
In the bedroom she searches for the light switch and finds only a blank wall. In the darkness she stumbles through the piles of shoes and around the bulging closets. Clothes everywhere, trip her with soft legs and grabbing sleeves. She flops onto the bed, feeling tired. In the haze she tries to remember if sleep is recommended for a concussion or not. She tries to think of the easiest thing to put on before going out.
In her mind she imagines that fun little sundress, the one with sunflowers, the billowy skirt and the nice wide neckline. She knows it is buried in some closet or other, possibly smelling of dust and closet mustiness. But she wanted it. She tries to pair it with a set of shoes. Something white, with a little heel. Like those nice leather ones she found in the store the other day. They were perfect for the Summer but too much money. She had left them in the store. But she would need something under the dress: pastel yellow panties, with girly frills and a tiny bow at the waist. She tries to imagine them in her collection stuffed in a dresser drawer somewhere. The effort to track them down and pull them out seems beyond her. She wishes she could just snap her fingers and have them in her hand. She tries to imagine the polyester silk fabric slipping up her body. In her daze she changes the silk to rubber. A naughty little secret under her demure sundress, the doctors would not suspect. She imagines herself dressed just so, seated in the waiting room of the emergency. She snaps her fingers trying to make the dream a reality.
Instead she passes out under the gentle caress of the ceiling fan.
Morning finds her at the kitchen table. A mushy bag of thawed peas in the sink. A crick in her neck and a slight bruise on her head are the signs of a difficult sleep. Three extra-strength pain killers, a cup of coffee and dry toast for breakfast. But she is most concerned by the clothing on her body.
She awoke in the sundress bunched around her waist. Freshly washed and smelling of flowers, the sunflowers were as vibrant as she remembered. Only sleeping in it had left the skirt creased and rumpled. Her hand stroking the pale yellow panties girding her loins. The smooth latex so tight as to show the folds of her womanhood through the thin film. And on her feet, strapped to her ankles the designer wedge sandals with the price tag still on the heel.
It did not seem possible that she had risen in a stupor to find, launder and dress before returning to bed. And as the caffeine and the pain relief start to clear her thoughts, she reasons that she likewise did not go to purchase the shoes from the store that would have been closed. The panties, also, she had imagined from nothing but her own mind. Even if they had come from an online store they could not be so custom made as to fit as well as they did. So soft and tight, she sifts in her seat feeling the slippery material grip her bottom and her folds. She sighs. That left only the magic spell she found in her dream.
Rising from the table she clomps to the bedroom to find the piles of clothing still undisturbed. She digs through the vac packing and the winter coats to find the box labeled with black marker: Sundresses. Pulling it open she digs and tosses fabric that smells of cardboard, dress after dress that no longer fits only to find the bottom where she last saw the dress she wears now. The rest had not been disturbed, yet she finds the dress curling around her ankles fresh and fitted to her adult hips.
She combs out the tangles in her hair while thinking of the implications. The mirror gives her no information other than what she can see. Reasoning through the facts at hand she decides to experiment. Only that way could she really lay the fantasy to rest. She stares at her head, the hair lank and brown laying on her scalp, she imagines it up, tied off with a yellow ribbon to match her panties. Picturing a pony tail she can almost see it. Raising her hand, without taking her eyes from her image, she snaps.
In a blink, her hair is up. A shiny ribbon two inches thick and tied into a large bow snaps around the hair. The bow flaps as if alive as it settles on her head. Her hair pulled back is cleaned and brushed as if freshly shampooed. The sudden change leaves a cool breath of air on her naked neck. Her hands snap to the bow to feel the soft latex head piece. It rustles and snaps like real latex. She searches for the clasp but finds it an unbroken sheath binding her shoulder length hair perfectly into a pony. It would have not been possible to put this hair-piece on without tearing many hairs from her head. The smell of the rubber drifts to her nose making her shiver.
Gale removed the sundress to keep it clean, laying it out on the bed. In the bathroom she cleans and rinses the catsuit and other items from the day before. Hanging them from plastic hangers she lets them drip onto a towel to collect the slippery runoff. With paper towels, on hands and knees she dabs up the streak of glossy dressing aide. The rubber of her panties contain the moist feeling she feels smelling the glide and latex in the bathroom. Her new heels creaking as she works.
With the new found power she could dress without the need for glide. The struggle with latex would be immaterial. Just the snap of her fingers and she can be ready to go. Her breathing deepens as she considers this. It would almost be like those instagram clips of a young woman dressing with a video edit. But for her it would be real. That is if it were repeatable.
She finds her phone in the living room. Before the mirror with the vanity providing lighting, she points the camera at her image. Her heart is pounding. She pictures her body covered in the black latex of the catsuit that dries behind her. Recording is started, she smiles trying to watch herself and the catsuit at the same time. Raising her fingers, she snaps.
The catsuit jumps from the hanger to her body in a frame. The sudden snap of latex all over her body is a shock. She gasps, then laughs as the latex settles around her body tighter than it ever had. The cold latex warms quickly fitting her curves without a wrinkle or a crease. The surface had been glossed to a mirror shine just as she had imagined. The plastic hanger over her shoulder did not even wobble in the loss of the suit. She looks down to find her white sandals were still there, tight around her ankles. The suit could not have moved over them, it simply had appeared on her body. The only problem is her latex panties. They remained under her catsuit outlined by the skintight fit.
It takes her a half-hour before she can force herself to put the phone down and remove the suit.
She lays the skinny jeans out on the bed with the oversized white blouse and a pair of socks. A leather belt and a pair of Converse tennies pile on top. The shoes, once white, now a scuffed and stained canvas of the wear she had put them through. The jeans were made of stretch denim but had become too tight to get over her larger bottom. Working at a desk had given her curves she did not regret except for the loss of her favourite style. She goes to the living room, to test the range.
Wearing only the yellow panties and the ribbon she pictures the outfit on the bed around her body. She tries to fix the image in her mind right down to the detail of her shoes being tied. Her eyes are open to try and catch the movement. Raising her fingers she snaps.
It works. The blouse is buttoned. The belt is through the loops of the pants. The laces are tied. Her shoes are clean and brilliant white again. The tight denim has been fitted to her hug her legs and larger bottom. Blue and tight, the denim is comfortable and supports her butt with a familiar hug. She giggles at the ease of getting dressed now. She could spend more time in bed and still arrive on time looking perfect.
In the room, the outfit had departed from the bed. The clothing on her body recreated to fit her as perfectly as she imagines them. She wonders briefly where the latex for her panties had come. No doubt cut from some roll in a warehouse. Reshaped and magically stuck to her body. She dis-robes reluctantly, completely, stripping the panties from her body. Dropping them on her bed she imagines them fading into mist to return to where they had come. But instead the yellow rubber crumples and folds on her bed as shiny and real as the rest of her clothing.
She dresses in other outfits from her stocks. The piles crumpling as she drags items from the heap to be returned fresh and reformed to the tops. But the clothing greed starts to grow in her mind. She wishes to go shopping. To charge her imagination with fodder for later trials.
At the door she pauses, with hand on the knob. Naked, she feels devilishly to step out into the hall. Locking the door with keys and phone in hand she saunters down the common space attentive to any sound of another person. She keeps the image of her sundress in her mind, the white sandals on her feet and her fingers crossed. Heart pounding, she feels so free. The elevator dings on her floor, the doors trundling open slowly. She hears rather than sees the elderly man with a cane gathering mail from the lobby. With a snap, she is dressed before he catches a glimpse of her body.
“Hot out today,” he says, taking his time to clear the doors.
“Yeah,” Gale responds, her cheeks flush with embarrassment, “Perfect for sundress.”
The old man gives her a wink of appreciation, checking out her legs as the doors shut. She hits the lobby before she realizes she forgot to add the underpants to her mental outfit. She groans thinking of having to run back upstairs, before catching herself. It would only take a snap. But maybe today she would go without.
The mall is crowded with people. The shops feeling the press of summer shopping were somewhat clustered with customers and short tempered staff. The heat makes everyone sticky and upset. The children are screaming and the parents are fighting. But Gale finds herself skipping from one store to the next. Her phone doing more work than her wallet, she snaps pictures of everything she ever wanted.
The dress in that window that fits the mannequin so well would fit her better. The leather jacket in that store that smells so good, too expensive to buy could be had with a snap. The underwear in the lingerie store were suddenly not so scandalous to be perused. The elitist staff would have to find some way to explain how so much of their inventory went missing. The shoe store has many clogs, heels, slippers and sneakers that would all be in her size for once. But everything in the place feels so mundane, so practical, so pedestrian. She could have it all at the thrift store for a quarter of the price in a year or so.
She lunches in a cafe on the bus route thinking and browsing her phone. The fetish clothing sites were ripe for her to rob. It did not matter the distance. She would not have to wait months for the little brown packages to arrive through the mail. She scrolls and scrolls through instagram faving images and clips that catch her eye. If she had everything she wanted instantly she would be buried under a hundred outfits. Her apartment would explode with clothing. She will have to make space.
Walking down the street, the boutiques were open and filled with unique items. A nice sweater for the fall. A pair of Italian leather boots that would rise to her thighs were considered but would not have fit her dress. With infinite choice she is limited only by her imagination. And now she feels the ache to fill her mind with something more risqué.
She knew the store and had avoided it before now. The little store set in a basement, with cages and blinds drawn to keep the curious and judgemental from peeping on the perverts as they browse. She takes a look up and down the street before slipping through the door. An annoying bell chimes as she blinks away the sun-blindness.
A young man with a nicely clipped beard observes the fresh looking woman in a nice sunflower dress. Her pure white heels and yellow hair ribbon give her an innocence that clashes in the dark themes the store has in stock. The flush of leather, latex and silicone assails her nose as she tries to get her bearings. A warm welcome in a voice she finds rather familiar, “Are you sure you are in the correct place, miss? Are you looking for something specific? I can help you find it.”
Gale shakes her head, mouthing something along the lines of, “I’m just browsing.” But her bewildered smile fixes quickly on the bold advertisements on the walls. Busty and beautiful women dressed in shiny tight clothing were captured in twisted postures offering lustful promises of sex. Her preferred brand of dressing aid has a display on the front counter next to the most popular brands of lube. Behind the cash rows of toys in all sizes, gauges and materials are lined up like weapons on display. Racks of clothing on display under plastic bodies that boast the most exciting of harnesses and corsets. She runs her fingers over the materials feeling suddenly at home.
In the back, she turns a corner and finds an aisle of rubber that smells so strangely good. The order of colours and limp hanging forms run from shorts to pants, skirts, tops and dresses. Above the racks were hollow legs wearing long stockings of glossy latex in patterns and colours to delight. On the wall for display, a sundress in glorious white latex, like that of a mid-century bombshell with a billowing skirt and wide v-neck. It would be the right replacement for the sundress she wears now and lustfully she feels her finger and thumb tensing to snap it around her body.
A movement behind her and she hesitates. He is watching with interest born from more than professional boredom. It would not do to freak out the young man by stripping naked in the store. With difficulty she tamps down the desire. Permitting herself to only feel the hem of the dress. Slick and smooth the latex folds over her fingers. Imprinting itself in her mind for later.
The next aisle, full of shoes, is the extreme fantasy of the mall’s shoe store. Here the heels are higher, the material shinier, and the adornments are of chrome spikes rather than cheap bows. Boots and heels grow taller as her eyes run from the normal to the painful. At the peak of the desirable foot wear she finds the ballet-heels. The ever appreciated and much desired but never purchased epitome of fetish wear. She couldn’t stop herself from taking a seat on the provided bench. Her sandals are stripped by feel and with a snap she feels her feet forced into points.
She gasps loudly. The tight leather is soft but crushing on her toes. The glossy surface glinting in the overhead light as she twists her legs to see the fit. The heels, so thin and long, the toe so small and tight, her ankles are stiff and firmly gripped. She struggles to stand and her knees are weak. She does not have the strength to rise with her knees higher than her bottom. Foot steps to her right and a strong hand offers help.
He helps her to her feet providing support and smiles. “Those are a little extreme for someone like you.” He says appreciating her height. Her hand on his shoulder she takes a few steps, wobbling in a circle around him. “I mean it just seems that most people need a lot of training before they can walk like that.”
She laughs, feeling glad to be paid a compliment. The magic having fit the boots to her feet as if they were molded specifically for her. She returns to the seat delighted to have made an impression. “I am not quite the downy innocent you may think me. I bet I could rival even your dirty mind.”
His smirk seems to doubt her words but his words are kept kind. “No doubt. Shall I box these up for you today?” His fingers search through the empty box on the shelf for the wadding that had been stuffed in the toes. A jingle of tiny metal things fall into his open hand: the keys.
Gale lifts a foot allowing him to release the little clasp on the cuff that closes off the zipper pull. His fingers on her calf make her suddenly aware that she is not wearing panties. Thankful that the sundress is long enough to hide her, she blushes. Soon the boots are back in the box, and she begs off on a decision before laying out the hundreds of dollars.
They chat a little, over the tops of the racks, as he fusses tidying the displays. She lingers wanting him to ask her out. His familiar voice touches a memory of a dream. A fantasy that may have saved her life. She wonders if she could use her powers on someone else. She traces her fingers over a penis cage dreaming of magically casting it upon him. A slight giggle from her lips. She fingers a tight looking corset wishing to wear it out of the store under her dress. Its shiny surface and fine details feel so nice under her fingers.
The door chimes again, loudly making her jump out of her fantasy. A tightness around her bodice suddenly stands her up straight. She did not notice she had done it but the corset is gone from the shelf. Tightly bound to her belly, she fingers it under the sundress. The tight laces are tied off and the crushing bones flatten her stomach. She gasps trying to get her breath back. The cups support her small breasts into a nice display of cleavage. Her nipples tent the thin cotton dress as she shimmies against the tight embrace.
She takes the opportunity of the new customer’s distraction to walk out of the store. His following gaze makes her blush. She pauses at the counter to leave her name and number on a slip of paper. She only hopes he would not do inventory before calling her.
At home as night starts to fall she is browsing her phone for pictures. The corset and the yellow latex panties are all she wears as she lays on the sofa. The ride home on the bus had been hot and stuffy with the tight corset bound under her clothing. She added the panties and wiggled her way home with dreams in her mind. A light dinner and now wine buzzed she feels hornier than ever. The images on her phone driving her ever closer to another fetish filled night.
She scrolls by a model she likes who wears heavy metal cuffs on her wrists and ankles. She sighs wishing to be as open as her. She pictures her mask, now clean and stored away in her secret drawers. She wants to put it on and live a little tonight. With a snap the latex is on her head tightly compressing her face. Her nose is perfectly fitted and her ears are comfortably folded flat by the mask for once. Her hair is nicely pleated beneath the latex without a tangle. She purses her lips that just fit through the mouth hole. She strokes her rubber face with fingers feeling the glossy surface. With a second snap her hands are encased in the latex gloves from nail to elbow, perfectly fitted as if dipped in liquid.
She laughs at the easy feeling. She could have anything she wanted now. That young man would not recognize her if she had her way. Dressed in her fetish armour her identity would be safe to explore. Rising to her feet she removes the corset and the panties for the moment. Closing her eyes she imagines the catsuit of her dreams. A tight body glove made in shiny electric pink, without a zipper to be comfortable and form fitting. She lets the image fill her mind and anticipate the slick feeling all over her naked body.
It appears at her summons. Compressing her curves instantly. The thin layer of glide between her skin and the latex feels perfect. She twists and stretches looking for the slightest hint of a fold, crease or wrinkle. The tight neck closes over her mask and the sleeves appear under the gloves. She can feel the latex between her toes and finds the feet are perfectly shiny and tight. She can see the outline of her toenails perfectly outlined in the rubber.
Giggling and hugging her latex body she feels the carpet slither under her slick feet. The crotch zipper is comfortable against her privates. Her fingers on the pull tag she holds off on opening it, wanting more. Those boots from the store she imagines in her mind. With a snap she is teetering on her toes. The corset on the coffee table, she returns to her body instantly. On her phone the model with the silver cuffs is soon emulated. The cold metal appears on her wrists with sudden weight dragging her hands down to her sides. She adds a pair of leather cuffs at her knees with a short chain to shorten her stride. And still she wants more.
A metal belt around her tiny waist appears with a jingle of chains. The silver links join to her wrists by sturdy rings. She cannot raise her hands to her neck but can reach between her legs. With a moan she starts to rub herself. Another snap and a neck collar forces her chin up so she is hampered in seeing her body. Another snap and her mouth is filled with a tight rubber gag, to keep herself quiet. A hobbled, wobbly, rubber and metal toy, she awkwardly finds her phone on the table.
Under the bright lights of the vanity mirror, her body glistens with thousands of tiny reflections. It is a terrible fight to find the camera app and take a useful selfie. With difficulty, she watches herself twist and fight in the outfit as someone else might see her. She is filled with lust, ready for a long night of fun. And it was so easy to get in it.
When his message comes through she is working herself to a moaning orgasm. She reads his offer of a meeting with a pink haze in her mind. She struggles to respond by text that ‘yes she would like to get a drink with him. She just needs to change quickly.’ The little joke she hopes to share with this worthy young man.
Hot and sweaty she struggles with her outfit. The metal cuffs are too tight. The chains are too strong and short. She hobbles around the apartment in vain. Curses coming out muffled by the gag. The Master must be chuckling in his playful evil way. The magic provides her with easy outfits but it does not supply her with the keys.