© Copyright 2015 - tessa - Used by permission
Storycodes: F/m; D/s; latex; catsuits; hoods; cd; corset; maid; bond; collar; chair; vacbed; sealed; encased; objectify; tease; denial; cons; X
Part 6: The Chair
I could not fathom what the large, nondescript box was when it first arrived, I knew only that Mistress was beside herself with excitement, flashing her Cheshire Cat grin at me as she signed for the package and ordered me to take it downstairs into the playroom while not unpacking it, placing it next to the industrial-strength vacuum pump she had also mysteriously purchased. It was Friday afternoon, and Mistress had just returned from work. She had already informed me I would not be performing any maid chores this weekend, that she had rather more intriguing plans for me which she took great pleasure in not disclosing.
I was dressed in my flesh-coloured thick rubber catsuit at the time, my daily undergarment that entrapped my yearning but useless penis and clung to my hairless skin with a tenacious fervour, hiding no contour of me. Atop this i was wearing my white latex stockings and the thigh-high bondage boots with 7-inch heels and a pretty maid's uniform in black latex. As was common, I was wearing a super-heavy, custom-made rubber helmet with only a mouth tube emerging from the thick inflatable gags inside, and a small tube at the crown where my long red hair emerged in a pony's mane. The face, however, was visible through a clear latex covering that moulded itself to every tiny feature on my face, fitting as an impenetrable skin that incarcerated me, revealing my frozen features.
Mistress was dressed in her work clothes: a fashionably tailored woman's suit with medium heels, expensive jewellery and her crown of luxurious blonde hair that never failed to entrance me. Normally, I would assist her in changing into her evening attire, but tonight she simply led me upstairs and chained my heavy leather posture collar to a bedpost, knowing that anticipation was often the greatest terror of all. The heavy helmet and the paraffin in my ears made hearing impossible and I lay there helpless for what seemed like hours.
At length, Mistress returned; I could feel the vibrations of her heels upon the floor and then her comforting, commanding tug instructing me to sit up as she unlocked the chain and led me downstairs to the basement, where that most fiendish instrument was first revealed to me. I did not grasp its import at first; it seemed to be a heavy wooden frame with an odd rubber upholstery; there was a firm black rubber backing to it, but there was a second sheet of heavy clear rubber draped on top of that, yet it was permanently glued and bound at the edges; the effect was like that of a rubber sleeping bag attached to a chair. The back of the chair was exceptionally high as well, reaching well beyond my head. The rubber bag was open only across the top, and there was a cylindrical nozzle at the crown attached to one side of the bag.
Having served Mistress for some time, I could readily discern that this would not be a device for my pleasure but rather for hers, though more than that I did not know, until Mistress instructed me to remove my boots, leaving my helmet, stockings, collar and the heavy full-torso corset that so restricted me in place. She slid a stepladder next to the chair, and instructed me to climb into the rubber bag of the chair, feet-first. It took some struggling, especially to slide my legs down into the bottom of the bag, until they were pressed against the legs of the chair. My arms were thrust forward into the armrests of the chair.
Already I felt somewhat restricted, for I knew I could not get out of the bag without assistance, but I knew little of how far Mistress would go. She patiently threaded my mouth tube through a small hole in the front of the bag, then produced a container of rubber sealant. I could not comprehend its meaning until I felt the top of the bag being closed, sealed up impenetrably so that the only opening was the nozzle sleeve.
Now she stood in front of me, resplendent in a red latex catsuit, knowing how it aroused me to see her perfect figure so framed, knowing her cruel boots taunted me, her haughty gaze mocked my predicament, her long rubber gloves ridiculed my helpless stature. She attached a hose from the vacuum pump to the nozzle sleeve at the top of the bag, forming a snug seal, and then she turned it on.
Immediately, I could feel the rubber begin to close in on me as the air was sucked out. The vacuum caused the rubber to pull tightly against me as Mistress nonchalantly smoothed any potential wrinkles. My legs were first; soon they were pinned immobile and rigid, spread just slightly apart. My arms were next, and I was unprepared for the ferocity of the pump; it lashed my arms in place, moulding the outer rubber so tightly each finger's contour was evident, yet I could not move even a single muscle.
Next, my torso was pressed hard against the back of the chair, making breathing even more difficult as I was shrink-wrapped like a toy doll, hermetically sealed. I could barely muster the effort to press my ribs against the vicious incarceration of the rubber, making each breath laboured as I was frozen in a rigid upright posture. The rubber encompassed my enormous, bloated breasts, squeezing them mercilessly at the base, causing them to jut outwards, arousing my nipples, groping me like an old lecherous man.
Mistress kneeled on my lap and stared deeply into my widened eyes as she smoothed the wrinkles from the top sheet as it sucked against my face, freezing me like a prehistoric fly in amber, making even the futile resistance of shaking my head impossible. She smiled broadly, wickedly, as at last all air had been sucked from the bag, encasing me so thoroughly that I was now truly a mere exhibit, living furniture, dehumanised to the point of being an inanimate possession. I was an ancient frieze preserved, barely alive, noticeable only in the soft rhythmic hiss of my breathing and the blinking of my eyelids.
I could not hear Mistress through my prison, but her delight was evident as she poured herself a glass of wine and sat upon my lap, reclining her soft mane of blonde hair against my cushiony bosom, using it as a pillowy backrest. She picked up the phone and chatted with friends, sometimes reaching down between her legs to play with my aroused but helpless penis, knowing orgasm was impossible for me.
I cannot convey the sensation of being utterly motionless for so long, of being mummified alive in rubber, of metamorphosing into an object rather than a subject. She read for a bit, listened to some music and even dozed off briefly, the perfect weight of her head softly crushing my rubbered breasts, tormenting me with a longing that would remain unfulfilled.
When at last I thought she had tired for the evening, my frozen yet expressive eyes begged for release, but Mistress knew better; she smiled sweetly, mouthed the words, "Good Night", stood up, strode to the door and looked back briefly, laughing as she turned off the light and locked the door behind her.
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