Gromet's PlazaLatex Stories

My Life 1: Here I Am Now

by Rbbral

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© Copyright 2008 - Rbbral - Used by permission

Storycodes: F/m; D/s; latex; bond; fem; toys; cons; X

Part 1: Here I Am Now

It’s hard to know where to start, really. Maybe the best way to grab your attention is to describe the scene here as I sit and write this for you. That should work. I am sitting at a desk in front of the computer – nothing odd about that, but I will describe my dress and predicament.

I am tied to the chair; straps encircle my ankles, my thighs, my stomach and my chest under my armpits - also my arms below my elbows. I can move my head and my wrists and fingers, hence the typing.

My typing is not very good, for I am wearing thin latex gloves, and I am wearing a mask with small glass portholes, so my vision is restricted. You are beginning to get the image now. Well, here is something more, I am in bondage, and dressed, wait for it, totally in latex rubber. There, that is an image, isn’t it? I will tell you more now, I am writing this story, because I have been ordered to, and I am used to doing what I am ordered to, you will find out why soon. If I do not, then I will be punished, severely; but more about that soon too.

I am a Caucasian male of 35, blonde, very slim, fit and (reasonably) attractive. Now I will tell you I am dressed as a woman – in latex rubber. Pretty weird, eh? Well that is just the start of it – be patient. I’ll start at my feet and work upwards. Black 5 inch heeled pumps – very sexy and I am now very good at walking in them, I have had lots of practice; stockings, rubber of course, thin, tight and shiny, showing off what I think are pretty good legs, hairless legs, depilated what seems a long time ago now. They are held up by six suspenders, which are attached to a heavily reinforced rubber corset/bustier.

Prior to getting into this “predicament” I had a small waist of 30 inches, but thanks to rigid figure training and exercise it is now down to 25 inches! Oh yes, quite the hourglass. The bust part is padded with two silicone implants, giving me two very fine, perky boobs. I have never measured them but I must be a 35 or 36. They are big enough and real enough to fool anyone, and they have – many times!

I wear this corset a lot of the time, or others like it, and I am now used to its firm constriction all day and at night too. On my arms I wear tight latex opera gloves, all the way to my armpits, so tight my fingers have lost some of their movement and I have to exercise them regularly. Over all this I wear a virgin (?) white dress, tight over the torso and pushing my boobs out, tight to my wrists but with a flared skirt to mid thigh, barely covering my stocking tops. It does cover my ruffled latex panties, in black with white frills. They hold my cock and balls in a warm, slippery embrace.

There is a further feature of the panties and chair I should tell you. There is a reinforced hole in the panties opposite my anal passage. This is to accommodate a substantial plastic vibrator fixed to the chair and presently embedded in my anus. Even if I weren’t strapped down I would find it difficult to rise anyway. It is not turned on right now, but could be if I do not behave properly, but more of that later.

I am used to things, all manner of things in my ass, but that doesn’t make it any less uncomfortable. My ass has been stretched over the years and I am sitting in a pool of sweat in latex panties impaled on a vibrator, quite a sight!

I did mention I was wearing a mask, didn’t I? It’s a full head mask zipped down the back and locked in place by a 3 inch reinforced rubber collar. There are two small glass eyes and an oxygen mask type cover over my nose and mouth. From this a single rubber corrugated tube extends under my seat to a canister. This is full of old rubber panties, gloves and stockings, and this is what I breathe through my nose – intense, pungent rubber.

Why through my nose? Well, because my mouth is stuffed with a large rubber dildo gag! It is wedged firmly in my mouth and I cannot push it out. It has the perfect shape of a thick cock and it is inflatable, and at the moment it is inflated to a quite high level. The inflation bulb and tube dangle in front of me, resting between my boobs.  So now you envisage the scene – me, a rubber doll, bound and gagged and masked, and breathing heavily scented rubber aroma, while plugged in the ass by a vibrator, sitting at this desk, typing out this story for you. And the other thing is, of course, I couldn’t be happier!

How did I get here? Well that is the real story. As I have been commanded, I will write my story here, and like all good stories should do, I will start at the beginning.

The Early Years

It’s funny how when things start out, you never know where they will end, not in a million years. You feel that when you started out you were in control and somehow over time you lost control and your life, your whole existence somehow is not in your own hands. That is what has happened to me, I don’t dwell on it. Of course I have to now because I have to tell you my story. But I just get on with my life, and by and large it is a wonderful one, but a vastly different one to four years ago when I met my mistress. Yes, you were wondering when I would get to that, weren’t you?

I knew her then as Anna, but now as mistress and only mistress, unless she has a role for me, which as our relationship gets stronger and stronger, she continually has. I am putting this down on paper at her command. I must be honest, for she will punish me if I am not, she may be behind me now, watching me, I don’t know. She enjoys punishing me; she truly relishes it. And, as you will find out, I enjoy being punished by her, but more of that later. When I met her, she was a doctor – well, she still is. She is a sexual psychologist, she’s only 28 now, so you’ll understand that she is pretty bright, and believe me, well experienced for her years. She is also beautiful (well, she had to be, didn’t she) and has now developed a very lucrative sideline that you will learn about soon. She lives a double life you see, and I am part of that life.

But first I will tell you about me, and how I got here. I wasn’t an only child but I did tend to be a bit of a loner. I wasn’t unhappy, not at all. I liked sticking to myself, living in my own little world. This is not unusual for a child. But that solitude drifted into manhood and I suppose led to where I am now. As I grew up I noticed I began to develop obsessions, or fetishes, and even more strangely at a fairly early age.

Who knows how they start? Maybe mine were very early, I do remember I was a bed wetter, but then does every child that wets his bed end up a fetishist? I doubt it; otherwise there would be an awful lot of us around! I do remember the rubber sheet under the cotton sheet, which when I pulled it off I slept on the rubber sheet. Maybe that started it all. I also liked being in claustrophobic places, I remember a small cupboard in my bedroom that I could squeeze into and hide in the pitch dark, I liked that, I wasn’t frightened at all.

I remember in all the movies I watched and all the books I read, I obsessed about being kidnapped, tied up and taken away. I was always associating with the kidnappee (nearly always a damsel in distress) not the kidnapper, and I would fantasise about being her, wrestling in her bonds, mewing into the gag as she was swept away to the white slave trade. I never thought it odd that I would associate with the voluptuous woman rather than the dastardly villain. In fact what I really wanted, even at that early age, was to be swept away by the voluptuous woman, but that never happened in the movies!

As I grew older I would however play both roles. I recall when quite young and we were playing cowboys and Indians; I was tied up by two young neighbours (girls!). I put up a bit of a fight but in my heart, even then at such a very young age I wanted to be tied up and helpless. They were older than me and soon had me in a very efficient hogtie; I pretended to shout for release and they very quickly gagged me with a handkerchief. I wriggled and mmmffed, but in truth I was having a great time and really didn’t want to be released! I don’t recall if I had an erection, maybe I was too young to have one, I don’t know. But I do know that the game we played that afternoon is still imprinted in my mind as if it were yesterday.

Another incident I remember involved an inflatable dinghy in our garden. We used to fill it with water and play in it, but on this occasion we turned it upside down and I got underneath it. Curled up in the dark with the pungent aroma of rubber around me, maybe I was back in the womb, I don’t know; but that memory also is as clear now as if it was yesterday.

I recall lots of moments in growing up that seemed, on reflection, to take me to where I am now. My fixation with rubber continued even at an early age. Fixated, I was, with the old-fashioned rubber bathing caps, of which my mother and sister had several. When alone I would put them on, often one on top of the other. And I would gag myself, very efficiently. A handkerchief in the mouth then tape around and around the head over the first bathing cap, then another cap over that and I was truly gagged, not a sound coming out. I certainly got an erection then, I remember. Then I cut two small holes in one of the bathing caps, gagged myself efficiently and then pulled the cap over my face, lining up the holes with my nostrils, then pulled a further cap over my head. In the pitch dark all I could do was breathe in the rubber scented air – shades of full head masks to come.

One time I remember, I was still very young, filling a small party balloon with water, tying it off and cramming it into my mouth and then taping over it – shades of the inflatable gags to come! It worked very well and I got a real buzz from it, you might try it, it’s certainly different.

I liked stockings and tights and swimming costumes but apart from the bathing caps and balloons there was no other rubber at that time. Not then.

Was I a tranny then? No, I don’t think so, but rubber was a big magnet, and the bondage, and it was the tightness of the clothes that I liked.

The Avengers of course I had to watch over and over again. I didn’t see the originals but they would often be reruns on at night. Diana Rigg in skintight leather, not the later shows with the crappy cloth suit, the early ones – I even recall her in PVC on occasion. The stories were a bit silly, and witty as well, but she would arrive somewhere in leather or PVC. Again I would fantasise (I couldn’t have been the only one) both roles, the bad guy tying her squirming leather encased body up, and then Mrs Peel herself, zipping herself into her suit. It’s never really been beaten, or matched.

Other snippets in my memory are a movie called “My Favourite Sport” (another old movie I saw late at night) starring of all people Rock Hudson; there was a scene in it with a woman in a skintight rubber diving suit – for some reason I have never forgotten that. The old Sea Hunt series I remember, in the hope of seeing some woman diving with Lloyd Bridges. Yes, even then my mind was imprinted.

University passed, interestingly with the fetish almost suppressed; there were girlfriends but I did not express my interest to them at all, probably the fear of being laughed at and getting dumped put me off the idea. So sex was very vanilla. On one occasion I recall seeing in a magazine a girl wearing vinyl tights, which I thought, were fantastic.

Then one day while rummaging through an old second hand book and magazine store I came across a copy of a “Men Only” magazine. This was a fairly straight sex magazine, but this edition had an article on rubber. I think it was written in the 70’s. This one article seemed to cement my addiction. The first page of the article showed a picture of a rubber helmet, oddly pink, full head with tubes coming out of the mouth, nostrils, and a tube out of the crown. It discussed how to make a rubber helmet (!) and then the control it can bring, water to the stomach, air through the nostrils, and water, hot or cold to the scalp. I was utterly transfixed and would read the article over and over again. “Alternate” sex or pervy sex was now coming out of the closet in all its addictive glory.

Also at college, I once went into a newsagent and saw a magazine with a drawing, a very detailed drawing, on the front. There were two female figures wearing rubber (or maybe tight leather) and full head masks. One woman was strapped to a chair; she had a very high neck brace and full helmet with straps holding in an inflatable gag, the inflator pump extending beyond her chest. The other was squatting in front of her, she was also helmeted and with a ponytail extending out the rear, I can’t recall if she was gagged, but she was intent on doing something around the area of her crotch!

This was very daring for the newsagent in those days. I left and later went back, not being able to resist buying it, despite my embarrassment, but it had gone! Again, another regret, the opportunities I missed!

I now felt that I had to learn more about myself and my sexuality and I recall buying a book called “The Outer Fringe of Sex” which was all about rubber fetishism. It’s probably now out of print for I found it in a second hand store. I liked the stories and photos, but it was a not very sympathetic view of my obsession. The author, some sort of psychologist seemed quite dismissive of the fetishist, perhaps thinking it an aberration that had to be “treated”. Well that was those days I suppose, thankfully we have moved on.

But there weren’t really that many magazines to satisfy my cravings for rubber back then. There were the American magazines, Rubber Life and even Rubber Nurse, and does anyone remember the early Nutrix magazines? I never saw the originals but I did get my hands on reprints, they were years ahead of their time. And how about “Pussy Cat”? It was a great magazine, very risqué in those days. I remember one of the covers had a lady dressed in a pink catsuit of latex, complete with long rubber tail. And the women in those days were a little more “substantial”, bigger boobs, hips and thighs! And who could, of my era, ever forget Atomage and the sister publications?

So like many fetishists I kept it pretty secret; the Fetish and Rubber Balls were just starting but I was still a little nervous of “exposing” myself, but did enjoy those early fetish magazines, there seem so many now – and the Internet, well that’s a whole new story, somehow I wish I was fifteen years younger and wiser!

So university passed and with a degree I started work with an engineering company. Again there were mild flirtations and affairs but my whole psyche was now firmly rubber, and it’s smell, sheen and feel. But I never did pluck up the courage to share this with my partners, silly really when you think about it, why I should have been so ashamed, I really don’t know.

My collection of latex clothing increased enormously. I managed to buy it through adverts in papers and magazines. My magazine and video collection expanded too. Does anyone remember the “Viola” videos, now they were really wild, not even surpassed for kink to this day. They were really even a bit heavy for me. But it was a solitary existence for the most part and often wracked with guilt – again, silly really. I do admire those who shout it out aloud and damn the consequences, but I was not one of them.

Strangely, the first thing I bought was a catsuit, a wonderful full body suit with mask and back zip to my crown. The feeling was just phenomenal, I wore it so much I wore it out, and another one too. Then came the helmets, stockings, masks, a couple of latex dresses and then the “heavy stuff” – the inflatable body bag, the inflatable helmets, all manner of gags and masks. The inflatable body bag, which had an attached inflatable helmet with ball gag, was entered through a zip in the chest and had inflation bulbs and release tube inside so you could inflate yourself to near breaking point until, literally you could hardly move a finger. Sometimes I had to wait with my hands pressed to my thighs, while my body heated up and I began to sweat, before I could move my hand to the release tube and extricate myself. It was, of course, and little frightening and very exciting all at the same time. The fear, and excitement, that I may not be able to release myself. There must have been about half a pint of sweat in the bag when I finally released myself, and I’m not exaggerating. And it was also around this time that I began to write my stories, and as you can see, still do.

I could not get enough, but the guilt was getting worse, and finally with a lame excuse about not being able to satisfy my latest girlfriend, I went to my doctor. And in turn, I finally met Anna, or Doctor Stone. On reflection I don’t know why I did this. I loved latex so much, why would I want to be “cured”? I think I just needed to talk to someone and be reassured that this was all perfectly normal – whatever normal is, and I don’t want to get into that!

Meeting The Doctor

 Oh, she was, and is, a real beauty. I would not recommend falling for your doctor/therapist but I certainly did, and I’m sure I wasn’t the first. And of course it was highly unethical on her side, “fraternising” with a patient. Everything went slowly at first, as I suppose it should. Gradually she drew out of me my obsessions, fantasies and of course guilt. By the tenth or twelfth session I was describing my most pervy fantasies, and she seemed to encourage me. She didn’t make me feel perverted and the guilt, very slowly, seemed to dissipate.

We had group sessions where we would sit in a semi circle and compare our kinks, and this worked well. No one sneered or criticized, the worst you would get was…..well that doesn’t turn me on but – whatever. Everyone thought his or her own kink was the worst, it was funny really. She handled it brilliantly, making us open up and we all came away feeling normal, well maybe not “normal” but at least not stigmatised.

She however was encouraging me to explore my deepest fantasies; she asked me if I really wanted to live them out. I thought about this hard; many people don’t, (do you really want to be a “slave”?). If you are looking for an accomplice then you have to be really careful and trusting. I didn’t really answer her question at the time, but I think I was coming around to the idea that maybe I did.

But soon she was requesting me to bring some of my clothes to our private sessions as she thought I would be more at ease if I wore some of my rubber. I didn’t feel that this was odd at the time. I remember her smiling and saying, don’t worry; I won’t be shocked or offended. I was a bit shy at first, but she encouraged me. I was innocent of her motives, whatever they were then, but she did instil in me more confidence.

The first time I came out of her anteroom dressed in my rubber catsuit with gloves and feet attached she smiled appreciatively and helped zip it up the back. She was very beautiful and understanding of course, and didn’t mention the large erection that was clearly visible under the rubber! I was extremely nervous, I remember, but also very excited.

I knew then that I was falling in love with her, and I think she knew this, and in her practised way she sort of encouraged this as it made me feel more comfortable. By the third time I think it was, still dressed in my latex, she suddenly commented on my hard-on, saying with a coy smile was it for her or was it the rubber? She saw my embarrassment, and laid a hand on my arm, laughing and telling me to relax. I stuttered that it was probably for both, and gripping my arm, she said she was flattered.

Over the next sessions she continued to encourage me, saying I was not a freak, and telling me there were literally thousands, tens of thousands like me. Didn’t “Marquis” and “Skin Two” sell in the 50,000 copies or more brackets? And thousands went to the Rubber Ball each year. I didn’t know how very knowledgeable she was about this at the time, I did not remember mentioning it to her, but thought nothing more of it. As the weeks wore on and the therapy continued, I became more comfortable with myself, and she clearly became more comfortable with me and my latex.

I looked forward to our sessions, and she suggested I keep a small wardrobe of my latex at her place and I would arrive and change into something more comfortable. With her open encouragement, sometimes I wore stockings, gloves, panties and a dress, but always with a full head mask; I now noticed I simply wasn’t shy with her any more, and funnily I didn’t think it strange at the time.

She commended me on my brazenness and said if I didn’t wear a mask with my features, light beard and clear skin, with a wig and make-up I could very easily pass for the real thing. I needed little encouragement with the masks and she would help me zipping it over my hair, commenting that with all my hair, it would be better if I had very short hair, or none at all, so I would get the full benefit of the feel of the latex. I thought she was very perceptive but, again, gave it no further thought at the time.

We were gradually becoming less doctor/patient and more friend/colleague, and I noticed quite quickly that our “relationship” was starting to shift. Then one time when I arrived I was stunned to see her dressed in one of my dresses, complete with stockings and gloves! They were a little big for her, but she still looked stunning. She smiled at me and asked me if I minded. Of course not, I said, barely able to get the words out. She ran her hands over her pushed-out rubber covered breasts and said she felt quite strange, attractive and also, she hesitated, empowered. She said she was beginning to see rubber’s allure, the tight cling and high sheen. Was she doing this to put me further at ease, or was she really getting to like it? This was the first time I had seen her in it, but maybe she had been wearing it before. I didn’t know of course, but I drank in her beauty.

The next time she asked if I would be more comfortable if she put me into bondage while dressed in rubber. She said it might be good therapy!

Of course I didn’t mind, this was a huge fantasy of mine, a gorgeous woman putting me into rubber bondage! In my naiveté it never occurred to me where this might end. So as I sat on the couch in my rubber suit she handcuffed my wrists behind me then wound thick rubber straps around me, from ankles to shoulders (and I noticed she did a very good job) while also dressed in rubber. Again she made no comment on my huge erection!

And as I lay on the couch I spoke about how wonderful it was to be utterly powerless and in the hands of a beautiful woman who can do anything she wants with me. Then she did something extraordinary, and I should have known right then that this was a precursor of things to come.

She said she had another patient in five minutes and I wouldn’t have time to change and leave! I was aghast, but she helped me up; I was feeling really panicky but she calmed me, placing her arms round my bound body, and helped me hop over to her closet. We’ll have to stuff you in here for an hour or so, you’ll be fine, she chuckled. I stopped there, and I remember her saying, well, isn’t this what you really want. And of course it was. Must keep this a secret, she said, don’t want you making too much noise, and then she pulled out one of my masks from the closet. It was now clear she had planned this all day!

The mask had a built-in penis gag, which was inflatable; I remember when I first showed it to her she took a great interest in it. She said something like, my, that should do the trick; you won’t be making a peep with that on. Now she smiled at me, and said it would only be for an hour and surely I had worn it for longer than that. I had of course, but never had a beautiful woman place me in it! As she approached me, I lowered my head, opened my mouth and took a deep breath; I accepted the gag, licking the flaccid ovoid as she carefully zipped me down the back. It was tight but she finally zipped it to the bottom. Then she ran her hands over my head smoothing it out, and I nearly came right there and then. She gripped the pump and grinned mischievously.

“So this is what makes you nice and quiet, is it?” I nodded mutely, and the gag in my mouth then jerked and began to expand.

“Mmmm, I have to say Alan that this is rather fun, tying up and silencing a full grown man, I could get used to this.” I should have known then that our relationship had changed, for good! She continued to pump, smiling coolly at me, and as it got bigger and bigger and my cheeks ballooned out I began to shake my head, but she shook her head and pursed her lips as if to say, I am the boss now. Finally, touching my cheek gently and feeling the pressure of the gag inside it, she was satisfied and I could barely make an mmm sound. She helped me, pulled me, over to the closet and eased me in.

She had clearly prepared for it, for there was a small bench there and I sat on it. I looked up at her in silence and she smiled and then unzipped the rubber dress she had been wearing, and hung it above me, thus increasing the rubber aroma in the small closet. My eyes just about popped out as I saw she was wearing rubber stockings and panties and a lacy bra. And she looked stunning. She was well aware of the effect she was having on me, my erection was trying to burst out on my suit. She looked down at me and smiled again. I’ll keep these on, I think, she said, I’m getting to really like them.

She slipped into a silk pantsuit, which covered all the underclothes perfectly. She then leant over me, looking into the small eye holes of the mask, patted me gently on my rubber dome, pecked me on the cheek and said, now behave yourself, and shut the door!

I looked around, there was very little light in there, and I heard the lock in the door turn and the key removed, leaving a small chink of light. I was at once terrified and excited at my imprisonment in a heavily rubber scented cell. I breathed slowly through my nose, the pungent aroma of the clothes around me almost overpowering. I heard the new patient faintly, but no real conversation; I was sweating like a pig in the fetid atmosphere, hating it and loving it at the same time. Time passed very slowly. As I breathed in slowly and sweat bucketed into the suit, I tried to concentrate on making no noise at all. The smell was almost overpowering, but of course I loved it. I think I had a hard-on the whole hour. Finally the patient left and I heard her shout from the other side of the door.

“Maybe I should leave you in there; my little rubber slave!” I screamed NO into my rubber cock gag, but no noise came out of course. However, I was relieved when she finally opened the door and helped me out, coyly looking at my huge hard-on. Then she released my leg straps and placed the handcuff key in my hands behind my back, saying, let’s see how dextrous you are! I stared at her through my mask and for the next three minutes struggled, breathing hard through my nostrils, to release myself. She watched this with amusement, sitting on the couch, her arms folded, cool as cucumber. Finally, by luck and feel, I got them off. I deflated the large cock gag and unzipped the mask, the sopping gag plopping out of my sore mouth.

“Okay?” She asked, and I nodded, actually I felt wonderful.

“I’m not sure I want you out of that suit, you really look quite hunky.” She seemed to be sort of flirting, which I didn’t mind but it didn’t seem very professional, although I was well aware that our relationship seemed to be changing, by the hour almost. Soon I would find out by how much!

I have just felt a hand resting on my head, and here she is beside me, reading this. Her other hand has moved to under my dress and is feeling my hard-on in my panties. She is admonishing me for enjoying myself while writing this. Today’s writing is over now; she says she will punish me later. She is still holding my cock in her rubber-gloved hand. I have to stop now; I’ll continue this tomorrow.

Well, I am back, she did indeed punish me last night, but has told me not to go into detail, only to resume my tale, which I will do here. I am back in the same dress and mask and, just to get me charged up this morning, she has turned the vibrator in my arse on low. So I am finding it quite hard to concentrate.

So how did my life proceed? Well it went along normally, outside of my meetings with her. This may sound strange, but I carried on at work, played my sports, and met with the guys in the pub. But I have to say I found it just a bit dull, and in the back of my mind there was always the next session, which I waited for with excitement and a little trepidation.

It was during the next meeting, a two-hour meeting that she instructed me to expand on my deepest, extreme fantasies. I lay on her couch again, in my full catsuit and mask, my hands were cuffed in front of me, and this time she had blindfolded me with a latex strap, so that I could concentrate better, she advised.

She asked me if I ever dreamed of living them out. I talked about being a permanent slave to a cool domina, living in servitude, away from the “real world”, in rubber and in bondage. She chuckled during this long ramble of mine, and I continued to expand on it, detailing my encasement in latex. The conversation got deeper and deeper as she explored those recesses in my mind that I had never before talked about. Then she said, surprisingly.

“Many people have these fantasies, Alan, many, but do you really believe they live them out, are there real lifetime slaves, say in this city?”

“I’m sure of it.” I replied, confidently.

“Are you jealous of them? Would you, could you really turn your back on your life completely, and disappear into a world of never-ending bondage and slavery, permanently?” Well, this was the question that could change a life, I thought. And I thought hard before answering.

“Yes, I believe I do. It is now so embedded in me, that it occupies so much of my waking time. Yes, to serve a mistress, but there would have to be a bond with her. She would have to be a skilled domina, one who truly, truly understood what goes on in the mind of a submissive fetishist like me. Not someone who needs a slave to do some housekeeping now and again, but one who can truly control a slave, with understanding and even love, and for a lifetime.” She felt her lean over to me.

“And you would seek a woman like that, even now, and give your freedom, your life, to her. Everything controlled by another.” I thought hard again, not really sure where this was going, but I felt her eyes on me as I thought.

“Yes, for the right woman.” And I thought hard again. “I think I now know enough about myself, my true self that I would give everything up for the right woman, in order to satisfy my true self. I think about this all the time as it is, I want to live it.” There was silence for a full thirty seconds. And then she took off my blindfold and looked, unblinkingly into my eyes.

“With no going back?” And I nodded firmly. “And what kind of woman would it be, how could you find her, where would she be?”

And I remember pausing and looking at her; she was wearing my rubber dress again, and looking fabulous. And she waited for my answer, and I thought I saw a faint smile break her professional exterior; almost as if she knew what the answer was even before I knew! And then I said it.

“Well, someone….like you. Beautiful, understanding, smart and with a real knowledge of the fetishist’s and slaves mind.” She looked at me quizzically, perhaps pretending to be a little shocked, and I’m sure she was faking it, but she knew I wasn’t joking all right. She knew that, here and now, I was surrendering myself to her.

And the conversation continued in this strange vein, and me, willingly falling deeper and deeper into an unknown future, with one part dread and one part excitement. I remember her leaning forward when I said this, and smelling her rubber clothing mixed with her warm perfume.

“Now Alan, let’s get this perfectly clear. You want me to be your mistress, not your counsellor. You want me to…punish you and keep you in servitude…not understand you and help you.”

 “Yes, but you do understand me, don’t you? What help is it, if you wean me off rubber and bondage, it is not what I want, is it? Those are the two things I cherish, I obsess about. What you have done is to help me acknowledge this, and encouraged me to act on it. Which is what I am doing, offering myself to you.” I couldn’t believe I had said this, but there it was. Again she leaned over and looked me hard in the eyes, unwaveringly.

“I am a therapist, Alan; I know the roles of slave and mistress well. I deal with people almost every day, who try to either act out their fantasies or suppress them. You know it is not a game; there are sets of rules that must be adhered to, by both parties. It is, for the slave a life of punishment and reward, he must commit everything, body and soul, you should know that. I’m not sure you know what that can really mean.”

And like a hooked fish I could now be played, but I was not naïve, oh no, I knew the extent of any slave/mistress relationship. And I told her this.

“But there has to be a commitment from both parties, obviously. I’m putting my future, my life in your hands. That’s a large responsibility as well, for you. You have read enough, studied enough about the relationship between the parties. Yes, you will be able to do anything, by and large, that you wish to do with me.” And then I remember pausing and thinking about the reality of “anything”. I felt my heart pounding in my tight suit, now wet with my sweat. She smiled again, and put her hand on my tethered wrists.

“But why me, Alan? Are you by any chance falling in love with me, or an image you believe to be me? I’m being very bold here, but it wouldn’t be the first time a patient has fallen for his therapist.” I thought hard again, before I spoke.

“I’m sure of that. But I suppose conventional love is not what I am feeling. I am in love with a vision of you I suppose, I would love to know you more, but my fantasy is not one of the dutiful housewife, but as my demanding mistress. I realise that this may not fit in with your future, but I am being, as I always have been, open with you.”

“I know very well that this is an enormous leap for you, a life altering leap. I must think about this for a while. I have to admit,” and here I remember she smiled, almost like a cat about to swallow a canary, “I am very flattered, for someone literally to put their life in your hands. It is a challenge, but as we all know many of us live double lives, don’t we Alan, and there is a cruel streak in many of us.”

And it was here that I thought, with some hesitation that she might take me on. Again I visibly shuddered at the prospect, and she smiled and she said that all of a sudden behind the mask she thought I looked nervous….and I was. She gripped my wrists.

“Give me a week to think this over Alan, and you should think about it too, yes? We have really come a long way and today, well, neither of us wants to get ahead of ourselves, do we?” She said, and I thought again very hard as to what had transpired in the previous two hours. This was, as they say a life altering decision, and I was now very nervous, but again, deep down very excited.

So the next week was the slowest of my life, I couldn’t sleep, I didn’t feel like eating, my work deteriorated. I walked around the neighbourhood, not seeing anything. Had I made a mistake? No, I told myself, no. This is really what you have thought about for years.

I went to her house/office the next week, if she said no, would I be disappointed? If she said yes, would I be terrified. For better or worse I would know in the next five minutes. The early part of the day just dragged, and I was almost a nervous wreck when I arrived. When she opened up the door, my heart almost leapt out of my mouth. She had a broad smile on her face and was wearing my catsuit; it did not fit her perfectly, a bit loose around the waist and a bit tight (beautifully tight) around the breasts and hips. Oh yes, I was in love with her, or at least who I thought she was. She closed the door and ran her hands over the shiny suit.

“I’ve been wearing this a lot in the last week, wouldn’t it be ironic if I ended up the fetishist too? I really do like the feel of this. It’s funny, you can read all the texts on fetishism but how can you know what a fetishist feels if you don’t try it? The more I wear it the more I begin to understand the fetish. How do I look, Alan, good enough to worship?” She laughed at her joke, but for me of course it was not a joke, she was indeed a vision. We went to her study and she sat and watched me.

“Sit down Alan. You look nervous, nervous for a yes or nervous for a no?” I sat down on the couch; I could feel my hands shaking, this was ridiculous I thought, pull yourself together.

“I leave that to you, I am in your hands, literally.” And she leaned over again until I could smell her perfume, her aroma.

“Hell of a decision isn’t it, Alan, giving up everything you have for me. I don’t suppose you have stopped thinking about it, have you?” I shook my head.

“Well, neither have I and I will make you wait no longer. I’ve spent all this week thinking about this, I have had no other patients, I have read texts, and two nights ago I went to a BDSM club! And dressed in your catsuit. I have to say it looked quite shocking at first but what struck me most about it was not the bondage or the spankings, but the level of trust and tolerance in the place. I felt safer there than I do in some pubs and clubs. I actually enjoyed myself very much, talked to a lot of people, and they were very understanding and helpful. Alan,” she stared me in the eye. “Alan, the answer is….…yes!”

And for a moment I felt as if I was going to faint, anticipation, fear, excitement, I felt my heart pounding.

“Now before you start getting all excited, I am going to tell you my rules, and there are a lot of them. I make the rules and you obey them, correct? I have spent al lot of time thinking on the rules…..for me to set, and you to endure, correct?” I nodded, dumb now, my mouth dry, not quite believing my ears.

“Very well Alan, future slave, here they are.” She crossed her rubber encased legs, her feet in high heels, I took a deep breath. “This will be like a marriage, only in this one there is no divorce, this is for life. Very simply, you will do what I tell you, when I tell you and how I tell you, without question. As you say, this is not a game. I will punish you, whenever I wish, for any reason or for no reason. Understood?”

And as a she went through her rules I very quickly realised that she was no neophyte at this and as she continued I further realised that this beautiful woman had clearly more knowledge and experience than I had credited her of the misty world of slavery, bondage and fetishism. I was the fly in the web, a web that I had flown into willingly. She continued.

“As this is for life, your past life will end, for good. You will give in your notice at work, sell your shares, advise them you are going away for a year or more – health, family, I don’t care, but make it convincing Alan, because you are going to disappear. Your next self will be here, but your former self will cease to exist. It has to be that way. Likewise with your flat, it is to be sold together with all your possessions and your car,” and here she smiled, “you may bring of course all your fetish clothing, books, magazines etc. everything else must go! You will advise your friends, contacts, and family you will be leaving, anywhere; you make it up, for a long period and for them not to worry about you. Eventually they will forget you, or criticise you for not keeping in touch, and you will disappear.” She smiled and watched my reaction to her speech. I just nodded, mutely.

“You will have no need for money or possessions; everything will be cashed out and passed over to me, all of it. I have very good advisors, most will be invested in my name, and some will be used for my entertainment and running expenses. You will have no access to it. After all, why would slaves need money? As I say, you will live here, under my tutelage. In the basement of this house there are rooms that will accommodate you. I haven’t quite thought out your duties yet, certainly you will be made useful; here in my practice and in the house, after all, a slave must be put to work!” Again she looked at her hard. “Are you getting second thoughts?” I though for a short while and then shook my head slowly, and she stared at me for fully ten seconds and resumed.

“You can still leave of course, but I hope you don’t, I am warming up to the idea, the more I think of it. You will have six weeks to sell everything; by the time you arrive here I trust your past will be untraceable, you will have ceased to exist. You will be abroad on a sabbatical….whatever. What it means of course is that should you choose to escape from here or return to your former life, it will be difficult for you to start up again. Alan, I don’t do things by half, as I hope you would not want me to. This is, as they say, the real deal. Not some fantasy in a magazine, this is real life, yours and mine. I don’t want any misconceptions. I have read enough texts, enough on the Internet, to know about the mistress/slave relationship. I know, and you should know I know, about piercing, branding, mummification, sensory deprivation, catheters, enemas, and everything else that you naughty perverts get up to. And how could I disappoint you by not exercising my mistress’ rights?” At the sound of this wonderful, exciting list I felt just a little faint, but tried not to stutter!

“I have made a commitment and I will not back out now.” I said, as bravely as I could muster.

“Good.” She stood and embraced me. It felt odd, she wearing rubber and me in street clothes, and the irony was not lost on her.

“Things are going to change quite fast; I have a lot to do preparing for you, and you for me. I’m getting quite excited by it, and you I hope too – and a little fearful too, nerves are good sometimes. You report back here in a month. By then the flat and most of your contents should be sold, the market is good, together with your interest in the company. I’ll give you the number of the account, and after that I will only have access to it. You, dear slave, will be penniless, reliant on me for everything.” She looked deeply into my eyes and placed her rubber covered hand on my cheek.

“Want to quit now?” I shook my head and turned and kissed her gloved hand.

“Good slave. Now I need to know all your measurements, for you will have lots of clothes to wear.” And over the next twenty minutes she took every measurement you could possibly take of the human body, thorough she certainly was!”

When she was satisfied she smiled and kissed my cheek, then shooed me out of the office, with the parting comment that she would stay in the catsuit for the rest of the day as she was really getting to like it!




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