Love of Life Part 3
Sherry and I surrounded ourselves with travel brochures and wandered through countless YouTube travel videos to find a suitable location to build a nest for ourselves. After hours and hours of researching locations, we decided that we would begin by trying out a few destinations to see if they could work for us. Unfortunately, there are no recommendations for travel brochures that focus on the quality of rubber life as a reason to settle there. We chose two locations as our first foray into home hunting: Aruba and Ireland. The plan was to pack a few essentials and travel there to rent a home through one of the B&B websites, and explore the area to see if it would work for us. I had been to Aruba on a business trip and liked the climate and the culture. It would be our first venture. September and November are the best times to visit Aruba. These months offer a good balance of good weather and fewer tourists compared to peak season. While temperatures can be warm, the trade winds help to keep things comfortable. Fortunately, Aruba is located south of the hurricane belt, so it is less prone to hurricanes. We immediately began to make arrangements to fly there in the coming weeks. We found a four-bedroom house in Noord, Oranjestad, with the privacy we required. We booked our flights and satisfied ourselves that we had officially made the first steps toward our new life together.
Booking our flights was easy. Making sure we planned to have enough rubber to keep us occupied for the duration of the trip was another story. There is no way we could pack enough rubber playthings in our suitcases, so I called on one of my former business acquaintances, Bobby, for a favor. He agreed, and Sherry and I began to pack boxes to ship to Aruba in advance of our trip. We each would pack our boxes, hoping to surprise the other with our selections.
We had two weeks before the flight, so we decided to check in on our Minneapolis crew to see how the latest “Poor Willy” video was progressing. They sent us some rough cuts from the shoot. We were shocked to see what Natasha and Bobby cooked up for poor Sandy and Candy. Sandy and Candy were sealed in 0.4mm transparent rubber suits. It took a few minutes for them to discover exactly what they were wearing. The rubber suits were totally airtight with attached hoods, socks, gloves, gags, nose tubes, and clear eye lenses. We were also shocked to find out that they were the same suits we saw them in when we walked out five days ago. They had been sealed in these suits all that time, complete with the attached vaginal and anal sheaths, plus both were catheterized and wore inflated Bardex enema plugs.. Additional tubes ran from their mouth gags and both front and back sheaths. They were no longer in the rubber vac racks but probably wished they were. Natasha had other plans for them. Remembering some of the torture they put me through, she and Bobby planned the same for them. They began by dressing them both in heavy rubber Victorian dresses. These dresses consist of layer upon layer of rubber. Before adding the dresses, she started lubing a pair of rubber doll suits and began to ceremoniously slip the girls into the doll suits. They covered them completely from neck to toe. It had fingerless gloves attached. “Dolls don’t need to use their hands,” she said with a wink. Once in the suit, she only partially zipped the back. The suit was tight and added quite a bit of tension on top of their rubber skin suits. She then grabbed the heavy doll's hoods and began to lace them tightly around their heads. It seemed to be too small for them, and the heavy rubber did not stretch much. That did not stop her from forcing it on their heads. Once in place, she laced up the back, constricting their heads even more. There were short nose tubes, a small opening for the mouth, but there were no openings for the eyes. The girls would be totally blind, unaware of what was to come. She zipped the suit up, covering the neck of the rubber hood. “There, now we need to dress our rubber dollies. The public can’t see you in the nude, can they?”
The next item was a heavy boned rubber corset, which she mercilessly stretched over each of the girls’ bodies, lacing them so tight the girls could barely breathe. “Now you have a girly figure.” Next came rubber-laced bloomer-style panties, frilly-topped rubber stockings which were attached to the corset, and finally, what one would describe as a Victorian-style rubber dress, complete with five rubber petticoats. The final items were flowing wigs and a large Victoria-style hat. Once dressed, she ushered the girls to a mirror, and they both stared blindingly into the mirror. If they could only see how elegantly dressed they were in the miles and miles of rubber. They immediately became aware of the oppressive weight of all that rubber and how tortuously hot the heavy rubber would become. “It is far too stuffy in here. We should take you out for some fresh air.” It is 80º (26ºc) out there. At least we are air-conditioned here. They began to resist, but she would have nothing to do with that. Before I knew it, they were on the elevator heading for the street.
The next shot showed them exiting the building, only to be greeted by the early afternoon sun. The full effect would not hurt for some time as the layers of rubber temporarily shielded them from the heat. It was enough for them to move in all these rubber layers. And move they did. Natasha wanted to make sure they paraded every inch of the entire neighborhood. Before long, the sweat in their heavy rubber suits and the funk within the rubber skin suits was unbearable. They must have been floating in sweat under all those layers. Unfortunately, the only source of hydration would come through the tubes attached to their catheters, mercilessly recycling their piss over and over again. Natasha must have realized the situation and commented, “Rubber girls don’t need to drink,” and from this point on, they were at her mercy to guide them along.
They must have walked for an hour in the hot sun. They were melting in their hot rubber attire. I can hardly imagine what it must be like under all those layers, especially with all the grunge and excreta sloshing around in those inner suits. Bobby finally showed up dressed in total rubber. He has become my stand-in for “Dark Willy”. He quickly began to usher the girls into a nearby grocery store. That is where the video cut off. I assume they would pick up the story inside the store. I thanked Natasha for the preview and wished my best to Sandy and Candy. It appears the “Dark Willy” videos will continue in good hands.
I will admit, Sherry and I got a little randy watching the girls' performance. We decided to set aside our packing duties and enjoy a little mischief of our own. We retired to the playroom, where Sherry had an idea inspired by Natasha’s video. “Let’s both dress up in rubber drag,” she said with a glint in her eyes. “I have a better idea. Let's dress up but reverse roles. I’ll be a rubber doll and you will be my rubber dude master.” She loves the idea. We both immediately began to prepare for our new roles. We both set off to assemble our rubber wear. My part was easy. I had several rubber doll suits that fit me. Sherry would have to be a little more creative in finding guy stuff to fit her. I rummaged through my rubber collection and came up with what I thought would make me into a proper rubber doll. I started with a thin neck entry suit, which I planned to top with one of my rubber doll suits. I thought I would keep it simple. I head off to the shower to clean up before our session.
When I returned to the playroom, I was greeted with a startling surprise. It appears Sherry had added a few items to my wardrobe. Instead of my thin neck entry suit, she replaced it with my neck entry tube suit. This suit has tubes attached to a penis sheath. It has an attached hood with only a nose and mouth gag with tubes. Seems I am to become a blind rubber toy. Next to the tube suit was the doll suit I chose earlier. Next to it was a heavy silicon doll suit. This suit was thick and extremely heavy. I did not recognize this suit and was curious as to where it came from. I looked over the collection, then I found a couple of items that would turn a simple play date into a serious encounter. There on the bed was one of the largest enema bags I have seen. Again, this was not part of my collection. This was beginning to seem more planned than I originally thought. Looks like Sherry was looking forward to such an opportunity.
I began to dress, admittedly, with a little trepidation. I lubed the tube suit and then began to dress. I will never get over the feeling of sliding into a lube rubber suit. I reached my cock, then gently slipped it into the sheath, careful not to get too worked up at this point. I pulled it up to chest height, then pushed my arms into the sleeves and the waiting attached gloves. The hood would be last. Even though the suit was neck entry, the hood had a zipper in the back. I left the hood for now.
It was at this point that Sherry entered the room, at least I thought it was Sherry. Before me stood what looked like a man, a very short man dressed in leather pants and shirt, sporting a short beard on what could only be a silicon mask. The voice was a giveaway. It was Sherry. “I see you have a good start. By now, you are realizing that this may be a little more difficult than you expected. Just how difficult you will soon find out.” She reached for the oversized enema bag. I failed to notice the Bardex retention plug hanging from the bag. “We all know where this goes.”, she said as she picked up the plug and began to lube it. “Bend over, pet.” I did as she said and found my rear assaulted by the plug. Once in place, she injected fluid until the Bardex balloons were inflated to the maximum. I could no longer see what she was doing, but I heard a strange noise like paper being removed. Seems the enema bag had a large patch of adhesive film on the back. Once she removed the carrier, she immediately stuck it tight to the back of my rubber suit. It sat low on my butt. I caught a look at myself in the mirror and thought it looked like a bustle. Then it dawned on me. That was the plan. I was to walk around with a water-filled enema bag doubling as a bustle. “Now let's get you all girlied up.” She picked up the heavy silicone doll suit. It was almost too heavy for her to lift. She made me step into the suit, then began to stretch it up and move my “bustle butt”. She then fumbled with something before pulling the heavy suit up to my shoulders. I slide my rubber-covered arms into the sleeves of the doll suit until my hands pop out into a pair of thumbless, fingerless mittens. She fiddled again with something on my back, then began to zip up the suit. Even though silicon stretches a lot, the suit fitted extremely tight, especially over my bust and butt. The final detail was to zip my tube hood up over my head, then do the same with the doll’s head. Before fitting the doll hood, she attached the tube from my penis to my mouth tube. The totality of this experience was quickly setting in.
There I stood dressed in two layers of heavy rubber, totally blind, with tubes in my mouth and ass, which will no doubt deliver fluids to places that nature did not intend to receive. Next, I felt other layers being added, lots and lots of layers, all seemed to be made of rubber. My guess is she is dressing me similarly to Sandy and Candy in a heavy Victorian dress. Finally, I thought she was done until I felt and heard the gurgle of water behind me. She was filling the enema bag. Nothing was entering me..yet. All that fussing around behind me was extending a filler tube up and through an opening in my neck. Lucky me.
“We, my dear Willow, don’t we look stunning?” All I could do was grunt through my gag. “It’s time for you to meet your public.” What? This was supposed to be a romp in the playroom. No one said anything about going public. With that, she began to lead me somewhere. I assume we were going out, but where? I was trying to grope my way, but she had a steady hand and led me to the car. Once inside, we were on our way. “I’ll turn on the air-conditioning so you don’t get overheated. We will save that for later.” Little did she know (or probably care) that none of the cool air was getting through all these layers. I was sweating like crazy, and the evening had just begun.
We drove for about an hour. I could hear a lot of commotion when we finally stopped. Sherry exited the car and retrieved me. As I exited, I sensed a big crowd around me. There was a brief pause, then they all began to cheer wildly. I had no idea where I was, but there is no doubt that this crowd loved what they saw. I was ushered into some kind of building. The cheers continue, followed by wolf whistles and applause. Never since my experience in Paris have I felt this nervous about my situation. I tried to piece things together. Where would someone go to find people cheering with such enthusiasm for a person dressed as a rubber doll, probably looking like a drag queen? Then it dawned on me. I am at a drag queen club. Why not? I bet I looked the part being dragged around by my little leather-covered “master”. I have a feeling that I was here for more than the drinks.
Seems the “girls” were well aware I was coming. They greeted me with great enthusiasm. I was mauled, manhandled, pawed, groped, grabbed, and fondled as they ushered me to the stage where they introduced me as “Willow,” the rubber doll. The crowd loves it. All I could do was stand there in my blind, gagged state, wondering what was about to happen to me. I soon found out, as someone produced a satin sash, which was promptly used to tie my hands behind my back. The sash was long enough to continue wrapping my body to the point I could not move. It was clear that I was to be the subject of a mock bondage scene.
Suddenly, the music changes, and the sound of drums begins. Voices whooping and hollering began to circle me, then I was lifted on some kind of pedestal. The drums stopped, and I heard a voice announcing that “This fair damsel has unfortunately fallen into our hands. She is an outsider, and what do we do with outsiders?”
“We burn them at the stake,” chanted everyone in the room. I was quickly tied to a post, and the mock execution was about to begin. Fortunately, real flames were replaced with flashing lights, lots of lights, lots of hot lights. While I was ‘burning’ at the stake, I was boiling in my many layers of rubber. Seven dance numbers were being performed while I stood there stewing in my sweat. Finally the number was over and the curtain came down. I was mercifully removed from my stake and untied. I was surrounded by laughter and stares backstage, where I met up with Sherry.
By now, I was awash with sweat. My inner suit was filling up. Fortunately, I was not forced to piss in your suit; however, the alternative was equally unpleasant. Equally fortunate was the fact that I had not pissed yet. That was soon to change. Seems the show was about to have a second act. I was once again paraded up on stage with what I assume was another group of drag queens. They paraded me out from the other stage and began to maul me. The crowd loves it. Suddenly, things changed. The music began again, and I began to feel fluid entering my bowls. Someone opened some sort of valve, and I was beginning to take on water. It was just a trickle, but even so, there was nothing that could be done about it. Then things change once again. Without missing a beat, I felt water gushing into me. It was as if someone was squeezing some sort of bulb, forcing water from the bag into my body. It was only one squeeze. My body seemed to adjust. Then, a second and a third squeeze; my body began to reject the sudden flow of water. The pressure was increasing, and finally, I was forced to piss. I must have bucked and jerked as the sudden burst of piss hit my mouth. The dancers just laughed as if they knew what was happening. The audience had no idea. I could not stop the piss, nor could I even hope to expel the fluid in my gut. Meanwhile, we danced to the music, seeming surreal by now. Finally, both the music and my piss stopped, and there were no more squeezes pumping water into me. I was led off the stage, followed by thunderous applause.
Before I knew it, I was ushered out to a waiting car and was once again riding to what I hoped was home. I began to be almost thankful that I remembered the size of that enema bag. Although I had discomfort from the small amount of water in my gut, the thought of all that water was frightening. Sherry was silent. I tried to mumble something through my gag. There was no response. Then it happened. She opened the valve. I did not need anyone to squeeze a pump. I was sitting on the bag, and suddenly there was a tsunami of liquid gushing into my bowels. My rubber bustle had turned into a torture device. I thought I would explode. Sitting as I was, I had no way to stop it, and the pressure of my body would ensure that I received every drop that was in the bag.
The car finally stopped. We were home, but I was far from escaping the misery gurgling around in my stomach. Sherry helped me out of the car. I was hunched over like an old lady who looked like she was eight months pregnant. The walk from the garage to the playroom was exhausting. I was finally in what I hoped was our playroom before I could finally sit down. I then received one final reward as the last drops of water were forced into me. I began to scream into my gag. I needed relief. I finally got it, but not how I wanted it, as I pissed again, nearly choking on the vile fluid. Without saying a word, Sherry began to slowly undress me. Slowly is the word. I think she was enjoying the situation. Layer after layer was removed until I was finally down to my “naked” silicon rubber suit. Then nothing. It was as if Sherry suddenly disappeared. I screamed again. The agony was unbearable. After what seemed like an eternity, Sherry returned and stood me up and walked me into what I assumed was a bathroom. Relief would finally come. She unzipped my silicon suit and stripped it off me. I was still blind, wearing a rubber suit with liquid sloshing both inside the suit and inside my bowels. She removed the bag the detached the tube. What was left was the Bardex plug and tube, but instead of removing the plug, she ushered me over to a commode and sat me down. She then left the room, leaving me to try to expel the water in my gut through the thin Bardex tube. It would take hours, and it did.
When Sherry finally returned, I was thoroughly cleaned out and passed out on the bathroom floor. She gently helped me up and helped me into the shower. She unzipped my tube hood, turned on the shower, and began to strip off the inner suit. I began to feel relieved and thankful as well. There is no way I would have had the strength to exit the suit by myself. Once the suit was shed, Sherry gently washed my entire body and toweled me off. She then helped me to our bed. I was almost too weak to walk. She tucked me in. I remember drifting off to sleep thinking that this was not the evening I had planned, but an adventure nonetheless.
I woke up sometime during the night. Sherry was sleeping beside me. We were both naked. I chuckled, thinking how rare it was that one or the other of us was not in rubber. I slipped out of bed. I desperately needed something to drink. I had sweat so much this evening that I was dehydrated. My joints were aching. That was a clear indication. I quietly went up to the kitchen and opened a bottle of sports drink in the hope that I could rehydrate. I was up for about an hour, slowly sipping my sports drink, when Sherry walked in. She was a lovely sight. She had thrown on a transparent rubber peignoir. It flowed lithely as she walked. It was sensual as you could occasionally catch a glimpse of her naked body under the sinuous transparent rubber wrap. She came up to me and gently caressed me, then slowly and seductively led me away. Instead of going to the playroom, we went upstairs to my seldom used bedroom suite where we made love through the night.
Their day went by. We each began packing our suitcases for Aruba. Sherry insisted we each pack in secrecy so we would surprise each other with our choices. This became a challenge. Instead of just packing for myself, I had to pack for Sherry as well, throwing in a few surprises. Sherry was also unaware that I also planned a few surprises to be shipped directly to our B&B. Bags finally packed, Sherry and I met in the atrium, bags in tow. “Ready?” I asked. She responded, “Ready as ever,” with a devilish twinkle in her eye.
I ordered a car to take us to the airport. We loaded the bags and headed to the MSP. Once at the airport, we checked our bags curbside. They were both “strangely” overweight. I paid the penalty fee, and we headed inside. It was midafternoon, so the check-in area was not busy. Before we knew it, we were heading for TSA. I am always a little nervous going through security at an airport. I never had an incident, but I worry that they may install some new detection device that will detect the rubber suit that I am wearing under my clothes. Fortunately, I went through without a hitch. We both grabbed our carry-ons and headed for the bar. When we got there, I turned to Sherry, who was a bit flushed. “Are you OK?” I asked.
She said,” Yes, now.” She told me she was petrified of going through security. Seems she had never worn hidden rubber at a checkpoint before. She worried they would find out. I relayed my experience, and we both laughed with a sense of relief. We had time for a couple of drinks before they called our flight. Plans were that we would fly to Atlanta, then on to Aruba.
Our flight was delayed. I have a membership at the American Express lounge, so we headed there to wait for our flight. Sherry was feeling better as it was cooler in the lounge. She excused herself and headed to the restroom. I wondered how she would manage relieving herself as she was wearing a one-piece rubber suit under her clothes. I thought nothing of it as he returned in a few moments. To my surprise, she was wearing a mask. Since COVID is not unfamiliar to people to wear masks in public settings. I was curious, so I asked, “Why the mask?” She peeled back a corner of the mask to review that she was wearing a silicone mouth and tongue gag. I smiled. Then she handed me a small bundle of cloth, which was a similar mask that contained a matching gag. She motioned for me to go to the restroom and return masked and gagged as she was. “So you expect us to travel to Aruba mute?” She nodded and giggled.
I returned from the restroom, gaged and masked as expected. Just then, a hostess came up to us and asked if we wanted anything. This would be the first test of our obsequiousness. Sherry attempted to wave her off, indicating that we were mute. Before she could leave, I launched into a flurry of sign language, reinforcing our situation. She said, “Oh, I see. Give me a moment.” She returned with a second hostess who immediately began to sign. Soon, we were engaged in a conversation using signs, after which she nodded and left. Shortly after, she returned and informed us that arrangements had been made to accommodate our speechless condition on our upcoming flights. Sherry was impressed that I could sign. She let out a long “mmmmmm” in recognition. Yes, I do know how to sign along with the long list of languages I have acquired over the years. I never thought for the life of me that I would be signing under these circumstances. They called our flight, and Sherry and I left the lounge, not knowing exactly what the accommodations were once we reached the gate. We checked in, and to my surprise, the attendant immediately began signing as we approached. She asked if we could hear as well, and we nodded yes. She then began to speak normally, instructing us where to sit in the gate area to prepare us for pre-boarding. Sherry was enjoying this immensely. She began to giggle as we headed from our seats. I mention for her to shush lest she give us away.
They started boarding the flight. Since we were in first class, we boarded first. Once seated, I began to regret our decision to be gagged. That champagne and orange juice would taste great right now. We soldiered on. Little did Sherry know I had a little prank planned when we landed in Atlanta. The flight was uneventful. That is, until we landed. The flight attendant came up to us and asked that we deplane last. Sherry looked at me in shock. Her face looked puzzled, no doubt wanting to know what was going on. It seemed to take forever for the plane to clear out. The attendant then came over and said, “Your wheelchair is ready.” Soon, a special narrow chair wound its way to your seat. Sherry was beet red. She quickly figured out what was going on, but could say nothing. I reached over and picked her up in my arms and gently sat her in the chair. They wheeled her out of the plane. Once at the gateway, they brought a normal wheelchair. I again scooped her up and sat her in the new chair, and we were quickly whisked away to our next gate. She kept looking at me with daggers in her eyes, but remained silent. I indicated to the attendant wheeling the chair how she was disabled and required total help with everything. I also indicated neither of us was able to speak. The dagger eye turned to a demon’s.
The attendant took us on a route seldom seen by other passengers, and before long, we were at our gate. We were early, and the gate was full, waiting for an earlier flight. I tipped the attendant, and I took over wheeling the chair into the middle of the crowd. I then wheeled her in front of the window overlooking the planes. I found a blanket and gently covered her from neck to toe. I proceeded to leave her there, and off I went. I took my time returning. Seems Sherry got a little “steamed up” while I was gone. She was not happy with the whole wheelchair thing, plus I parked her in front of a window in full sunlight and completely covered in a blanket. Her face was covered with sweat. I rolled her off into a cool spot. I went to a quiet place where we could ditch the wheelchair. By the time we returned to the gate, all the passengers had boarded their flight. No one needed to witness Sherry’s miraculous recovery. Back at the gate, we discovered that our flight to Aruba was on time, and we proceeded to our seats without incident.
We landed at the Queen Beatrix International Airport in Oranjestad, Aruba. I questioned if our little silent treatment would work going through customs. Sherry insisted, and at the risk of possible arrest, we successfully made our way through customs and retrieved our bags. Next came the rental car counter. I thought, “in for a penny.” In for a pound, and we continued our charade. They were gracious, and soon we were safely in our Jeep Gladiator, baggage and all.
We drove “silently” along Route 1, then onto Route 2 north through Oranjestad. Our destination was our new home for the duration on Malmokweg street in Noord, Aruba. Noord is a town and region in Aruba. This town is known for its low-rise and high-rise hotels, restaurants, beaches, malls, the California Lighthouse, and other places of attraction. Places of interest in Noord include Alto Vista Chapel, Bubali Bird Sanctuary, California Lighthouse, Palm Beach, and Arashi Beach. We rented a large house on a corner lot overlooking the shoreline. The home had two pools. One in front with a waterside view and one secluded in the back for what was hoped to be more private escapades. This would be our new playground for several weeks ahead. We were both looking forward to many hours and days in the sun in Aruba.