© Copyright 2009 - Anymouse - Used by permission
Storycodes: F/m; MF; latex; outdoors; mast; sex; toys; cons; X
I gradually relaxed, and let my sensations take over. I was in this complete rubber and latex skin, and there was a cool breeze blowing over me – Lisa must have opened the window wide before leaving the room. At least, I assumed she had left the room – for all I knew, she might have been there taking photographs of me from all angles to send to my clients as an example of what their accountant got up to in his spare time. In fact, that thought didn’t occur to me then, and I don’t know why it should have come into my head now – except to be instantly dismissed because a.) Lisa wouldn’t do such a thing, and b.) actually, I didn’t give a toss if she did.
The breeze helped to relax me, and made me realise how extremely comfortable tight latex and rubber could be. Being held extended like this was also not uncomfortable, though I have to admit that I wouldn’t like to be held like it for more than four hours.
Having realised that I was comfortable, and also that even if I was not, there was nothing I could do about it, I turned my mind to considering rubber and latex. That magazine had whetted my appetite, but it was Lisa’s example and enthusiasm which had turned theoretical enthusiasm into practical reality. I knew I couldn’t go back to Marks and Spencer underwear again – I was going to have to get some proper rubber and latex for myself, even if some disaster occurred and I never saw Lisa again, and it was going to be my daily wear. I would have to be a bit more conservative in my outer clothing – I couldn’t wear a cat-suit and hood to a client meeting – as they say, it might frighten the horses. But at home, yes, as much as I wanted to.
I realised that at last I had left Jenny behind – or perhaps I should say I had let her go to her final rest. Perhaps my refusal to move on had prevented her spirit from moving on as well. I’m not religious – I do believe in a God, a universal God, but I don’t see that it matters how you worship. These thoughts crossed my mind that Sunday morning. From rubber, my thoughts drifted to sex, and Lisa. At the moment, the two were pretty well indistinguishable. Certainly she was sexy, and had reignited my interest in sex. Would any other similar rubber-loving woman have sparked me the same way? I thought, from the little that I knew of her, that they might well not have done. I found her a fascinating and intriguing woman, quite as much as the rubber to which she had introduced me. But, dammit, I’d known her for barely two days, really.
Then I remembered a line from one of the stories by Dorothy L. Sayers about her sleuth Lord Peter Wimsey. Back in the nineties, they’d done a whole lot of the stories on TV – very well done they were, too - and so I read the stories – including the last of all, which they didn’t make into a TV play, in which Lord Peter finally gets the girl he’s been chasing through three previous books. Having married her, and had sex with her for the first time, he is musing on “the facts of life” and the rationale of being in love (he has had several mistresses before). He says of his wife, “No woman had ever so stirred his blood; she had only to look or speak to make the very bones shake in his body”; and “He knew now that she could render back passion for passion with an eagerness beyond all expectation.” Both these things, it seemed to me, described my feelings for Lisa. The fictional Lord Peter thinks “the passionate exchange of felicity was no new experience: what was new was the enormous importance of the whole relationship”.
A short time later, in the same passage, he says to his uncle “Surely it is possible to love with the head as well as the heart”; and his uncle replies “no doubt, so long as you do not end by thinking with your entrails instead of your brain.” As it was, there was no doubt that my “entrails” were in charge. And even though it perfectly possible for accountants to have entrails, my matter of fact training kept trying to make itself heard.
How long all this process took, I didn’t know. While I am sleeping, my body-clock seems to function pretty well, and if I wake up in the night, I usually have a fair idea of the time without looking at my clock-radio. But sensory deprivation is different. My breathing had slowed, and I think my thoughts had slowed. I really didn’t know if it was mid-day or midnight. So I just allowed myself to drift. I finally rationalised that I would ask Lisa if she would come away with me on a holiday: if we just tried to create a relationship in our ordinary way of life, there would be too many mundane things, like earning a living, to get in the way. OK, if we did decide to live together we’d have to face that problem, but as a starter I wanted to get to know the real woman. I mean, this week-end she’d fairly chucked herself at me, sexually – and very nice it was, too. She had done me a very good turn: and I hoped I had given her something in return.
My mind returned to the rubber, and how fantastic she looked in it. My prick stirred, and at the same time I suddenly felt an insistent little throb at the base of my balls: it continued, and increased in frequency. It moved, and seemed to be located half way up my prick. My mind came alive as I realised that it must be Lisa who had come back into the room, and was using her vibrator to arouse me once more. Of course, I still couldn’t hear or see anything, but my word, I could feel. My prick strained against the straps holding it, and she ran the magic wand up and down, and between my legs. This went on for two minutes – five – ten – I don’t know. But I do know that the eruption when it came was sudden: not so much a build up like a grumbling volcano, but one that blew its top off in a Krakatoa-type explosion. And yes, I know that’s an exaggeration, but that is how my mind felt it.
If I could have slumped in my bondage I would have done, but I couldn’t.
Then, suddenly, hands fiddled at my head and it was light. There was Lisa in front of me, and yes, she had her vibrator in her hand, which she was in the process of putting into her own pussy. She went over to the bed, and threw herself back on it, and took two hands to the vibrator, and reamed herself with it, until she came too. She lay there for about five minutes, then got up, and left the room – with me still fastened like a butterfly specimen on a collector’s mounting board.
By now I was beginning to want off the wall. What else was she planning?
It turned out to be very ordinary. It was about half an hour later that she came I again, smiling and looking refreshed. She’d touched up the fantastic eye-make up – it was rather like one of those Venetian masks – and was wearing the kaftan she had done that first evening at supper. Swiftly and efficiently she loosened the turn-buckles, undid the snap-hooks, took off the spreader bars, and there I was – still deaf, but otherwise free. As I flexed my legs and arms, Lisa undid the posture collar, and removed the outer bondage hood. Then she partially unzipped the next hood and drew it off my face, and then it was the open-faced hood. She reached in to each of my ears and removed the plug, and once again I could hear.
She said, “Well, how was that? No, don’t tell me now, but I suggest you get into something a bit more comfortable and we’ll have some lunch. I’ll give you a hand with these first items, then it’s back to the kitchen for me – unless you want a burnt-offering.”
I said, “Well, if a fire is what it takes to start an encounter like this, I don’t mind; but is it necessary to do it twice?”
Lisa grimaced. “Don’t rub it in”, she said: “unless you’re careful, I really will turn into one of these dominatrix that people love to imagine.”
I cowered away in mock terror, and she smacked my bum and said, “Now, stand still”, and she undid the straps of the leather “corset”. The she gave me a peck on the cheek, and left the room.
I went next door to the bathroom, and gradually took off the layers of rubber and latex – like saying farewell to an old friend. I took the suit and hung it up again, inside out, on a hanger in the play-room. I put the corset away on a shelf in the wardrobe, and removed the cock-and-ball divider and the sheath and condom, and revelled in a long hot shower.
When I came out, I decided that, if this was going to be a week-end’s rubber experience, I should complete it, so I found my own briefs, replaced the cock and ball divider, put the briefs on and then the rubber shirt and jeans I’d worn yesterday lunchtime. I found another pair of rubber socks, and then, wrapping the lower part of the jeans round my legs, I pulled my own rubber riding boots on, and went through to the kitchen. Lisa looked up and said “Hmm, very nice, very masculine”, and gave me a more meaningful kiss, which I had no trouble in returning, seizing her round the waist as I did so. She broke the kiss after five seconds or so, saying, “Let me go, you big hunk, you, or our dinner will spoil – go and sit down. Pour us out some wine.”
So I went across, poured the wine, and wondered at the incongruity of this exotic black female figure, with the fantastic make-u as she served us a proper Sunday dinner – a steak pie with carrots and potatoes, and an apple tart.
I said, “How on earth did you do all this?”
“There are such things as freezers, you know”, Lisa replied – “and I’ve done my week’s wash and ironing, too, safely this time. It was easy enough with you out of the way”.
When we’d finished, she made us some coffee, and asked me again,
“Well, how was your morning?”
“Illuminating”, I replied: and Lisa giggled, “illuminating?” and I went on“- well, so far as being blind and deaf can be illuminating.”
Her giggle really was one of the nicest things about her voice. Men don’t giggle, and some women’s giggle can be infuriating, but Lisa’s really was ‘infectious’ – a cliché, I know, but you couldn’t help smiling, or laughing, with her.
“No, seriously, there was nothing I could do but think, so I thought – and I realised that I have fallen for you in a big way. Every sense I have says ‘I love you’, and I want to spend as much time as I can with you.”
“I was incredibly lucky with my marriage, but that is past. Your relationships don’t seem to have been happy, and I wouldn’t want to force myself on you, but would you like to try – oh, I don’t know, how can I put it? – to be in a relationship with me?”
Lisa got up and left the table without a word, and I thought, ‘Oh God! I’ve blown it’.
I heard her go into the bathroom, and then into her bedroom, and five minutes later she came back again, with her mask make-up gone. She came straight across to me, and kissed me sweetly on the lips and said, “There, is that a sufficient answer for you? I felt I couldn’t reply with all that make-up on – I wanted you to see that it was me, Lisa, responding, not the way-out Lisa, though that is a part of me, too.”
“And I wouldn’t have you any other way,” I replied. I got up, reached for her hand, and led her across to the couch.
“What happens now?” I said – what a bloody stupid question. But before she could shoot me down, my eye rested on the yellow gorse flowers in the hedge outside and I recalled the old country saying “When the gorse is out of bloom, kissing is out of season”, and so I seized her, and kissed her, on her eyes, her mouth, on her breasts, under their rubber, and I opened the zip at her crotch and kissed her lips below.
When I came up for air, Lisa was lying back with a dreamy look in her eyes, so I started on the circuit again. But when I’d reached her breasts, she sat up, and said,
“Whoa, Neddy, if we’re going to have a relationship, there’s plenty of time for all that. First of all, come and clear away the dishes. Come on, then we can sit down and consider some practicalities.”
And they say romance is dead!!
So we did the dishes, and Lisa said, “Come on, let’s go out – we can talk as we walk, and it’s too nice a day to waste after all that rain yesterday.”
“Who said anything about wasting time?” I replied boldly.
“I said, there’ll be plenty of time for fun and games later.”
“OK” I said, mock reluctantly.
We set out, me in what I’d been wearing for lunch, and Lisa with her Macintosh on. (Yes, it looked a bit incongruous, with the sun shining, but it wasn’t all that warm, and considering what I was wearing, she looked normal – and I was on cloud nine, and didn’t care who we met.)
We set out up a track which led upwards towards a low ridge of hills just over a mile away. We walked in silence for the first fifteen minutes, then I took her hand and said; “OK, Miss Practicality, I’ll kick off: I have to earn a living, as do you, I assume: so, quite apart from anything else, I must go back to work tomorrow. This week-end was supposed to be an introduction to rubber, but I didn’t expect it to be an introduction to someone who, I guess, is going to change my life. I need a bit of time to make some adjustments.”
“Me too! I have my music-teaching jobs to consider, so tomorrow has to be back-to-work day, and I have some adjustments to make, too – I think you said you had been able to put Jenny behind you – but my experience with Pete is still very near: I don’t want to jump in at the deep end again. I hardly know you, except that you’re a man of action, and a willing player of my games. I don’t really want to give up the Lodge – I’m very happy there.”
“I certainly don’t want you to give up your music – I expect it means a lot to you – the music, I mean, not the teaching. I think it would be best if we continue to keep our own homes for the time being, and meet as often as we want in one or the other. And I would like us to go away together as soon as we reasonably can, so that we can get to know one another more deeply.”
Lisa thought for a minute or two, then her face lit up, and she replied, “Yes, I’d like that – and I’ve had an idea. If you’re going to be a rubberist like me, then I think it would be fun to go to one of the latex parties – there’s a company in Plymouth called Westward Bound which runs a ball at Hallowe’en. It’s at half-term, so I can get away that week, and we could stay down in the West Country. We’d get to know each other – and you could see what another part of the rubber scene is like. Plus, of course, they have a shop with anything we might need.”
“OK,” I said, “that’ll be great. I’ll clear my diary for that week, and see about booking somewhere for us to stay.”
We walked on, hand in hand: there was something extra about it, latex hand in latex hand. I asked Lisa where she had been born and grown up, and about her family (parents living as ex-pats in Spain, a brother in Australia). I asked about her music, and told her about my other interests – books, and musicals, if you’re interested.
All the time the path was winding upwards in a narrow, wooded, combe (that’s a small valley, the locals called it Beech Combe). And suddenly I realised that I really was frighteningly in love with this unusual woman. I stopped, said, “God, it’s just hit me, how much I want you – not just as a “relationship”, but as a permanent lover for always – “till death do us part””.
And I grasped her round the waist, and kissed her lips, long and hard. She gasped, then returned my kiss, as we deep-throated each other. She put he hands around my bum, and we stood there, in the middle of the path, utterly oblivious of anything else.
My prick started to stir, and she must have felt it, because she mumbled something and moved one hand to my crotch. In return, I felt her breast through its layers of rubber, which even so was enough to make her moan gently. From this, one thing led to another, and before we knew it, I had her backed up against a beech tree (nice smooth bark), and, while still kissing hungrily, she was unbuttoning her coat and undoing the zip in her catsuit underneath, and I was undoing the flap of my jeans, to allow my prick in its sheath to spring out.
I moved my hands down to her buttocks and lifted her slightly, and she placed my prick at the entrance to her vagina, and then she slid gently down to engulf it. As it went in, she sighed, and wriggled, and said, “Oh, how comforting it is to have a man to do my business for me”. As we continued to tongue kiss, she lifted first one leg, then the other, locking them behind my back, until we were entwined like the ivy on some of the trees.
Still holding her under her buttocks, I moved away from the tree, and, buckling at the knees, laid her on her back on the bed of beech mast and leaves on the ground. Slowly, I moved in and out, while she responded with corresponding lifting of her hips, and once again we came nearly simultaneously.
There was nothing to be said. We lay together with the dappled sunlight playing through the leaves over our bodies. Eventually, she sat up, as did I, and she just ran her gloved hand down my cheek and said, “Nice man.” And I responded, “Darling, sexy, woman!”
We walked back down the track (I haven’t the least idea where we’d have gone if I hadn’t been overtaken by loving lust), and back to the lodge.
I said, “I think I’d better go home now. If I don’t, I won’t be able to leave later, and neither of us will get to work in the morning.”
Lisa replied, “Yes, that’s true. When shall I see you again?”
“Tuesday, if you like. I have a client meeting tomorrow evening and I shan’t be back till late – I don’t know when. Will you be home in the middle of the day tomorrow? I’ll ring you then, if that’s OK. And would you like to come to me on Tuesday?”
And that was just about the end of my week-end mirabilis. (The Romans may not have had rubber but they certainly had sex, and made the most of it. One shouldn’t make jokes about an event which killed thousands of people, but “Did the earth move for you?” takes on a new meaning when you live underneath a volcano.)
The story doesn’t end there . . . . .