Gromet's PlazaLatex Stories

My Life 2: The Relationship Changes

by Rbbral

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© Copyright 2008 - Rbbral - Used by permission

Storycodes: F/m; D/s; latex; bond; fem; bdsm; vac; susp; fist; trunk; toys; cons; X

Part 2: The Relationship Changes

The next four weeks actually went by very fast, the flat sold quickly, and as luck would have it, a foreign buyer who only wanted it for a few weeks a year and was happy to buy all the contents. My workmates took it all very coolly; the firm was on the way up and the idea of buying my shares appealed to them. I got the feeling, good or bad, that they wouldn’t give me a second thought once I was gone. Friends and family, small group though it was, were also very pragmatic. I was off to “discover” myself, and not too worry if they didn’t hear from me for a while. They were used to my little eccentricities of wandering off for a while and that was it really. Anna gave me the number of the account in Zurich and all the money was passed over. It really was surprisingly easy to do this. I was worth quite a bit of money, but I didn’t think twice before handing it all over, I kept a few hundred for cash emergencies.

During this time I didn’t have any second thoughts, and this perhaps surprised me a little; this world was fine, and the next would no doubt be strange but possibly exciting, at least to my particular psyche. I packed all my rubber clothing, videos, and magazines and books, and sent it over in a big trunk to her. I had to move from my flat and I set up in a hotel nearby. I informed her of this.

I was left with literally the clothes on my back and I waited for her call in the hotel room, now perhaps beginning to get nervous. The second morning she called and told me it was time for the move. She said a steamer trunk would arrive at my room at midday, with instructions I was to adhere to, and that was all. She hung up; I think to increase my nervousness, which it did.

A standard issue solid steel trunk arrived two hours later, with an envelope of instructions. I read them eagerly, with a beating heart. She had not disappointed me; her understanding of the fetishist’s psyche had been put to the test and she had passed! I had again that intoxicating cocktail of fear and excitement. There were no keys to the trunk and it opened easily. I read the instructions in detail, she wrote.

“Dear slave, for that is what you are now, Alan no longer exists, and I am not Anna, but mistress. The trunk is your mode of transport. At 4pm you will strip off all your clothes, place them in the plastic bag provided, you will have no need for those types of clothes any more, clean your room of all your personal items and place them in the bag”.

“Now here are your specific instructions regarding the trunk. Read them carefully, a suffocated slave is not much used to me, and I do have a soft spot for you, although there is no point in getting sentimental about it. The trunk is lined with two skins of heavy rubber; you will also see a full head helmet with attached breathing tube to the outside. In the bag there are two inflator bulbs. Once inside you will inflate the bag until you cannot move, please understand me, I don’t want any movement when I open it. You will be punished for defying me, as you always will be! I will come and pick you up, leave the hotel room door unlocked, then I’ll check you out of the hotel – and your former life!”

“Your new life will begin. I know it will be an adventure, perhaps more so for me. But knowing how you tick, I think you will be excited too. I have prepared the house for you, there was no expense spared (your money helped) and the specialised equipment only arrived the other day. You will not be disappointed, a little surprised perhaps at some things, but well, a slave must endure! I suppose I do have a mean side or at least a dominant one, for I am actually looking forward to being your mistress!”

“We have not seen each other for six weeks, and I have to say I have missed you, yes I have. But when we meet again the relationship will of course be entirely different. I have been wearing a lot of rubber recently; I have bought a lot for myself, and a lot of “equipment” too - again your money helped. Your money that I choose to use will not go to waste I assure you; you and I will get the full benefit of it, and so will you! I look forward to expanding our horizons shortly…………your mistress.”

No, I was not disappointed, but I was nervous. By 4pm the clothes and personal items were in the bag and I stood by the trunk naked. I stepped into it, and shivered at the cool touch, the rubber was already partially inflated. Already I could feel an erection coming on. I took the mask and hose in my hands and slowly slipped it over my head; immediately I felt a large rubber cock rest at my lips, gently pressing in and I had to open my mouth and suck it in before zipping down the back of the helmet. My mouth was now well plugged and all my breathing was through my nose. I could see out of two small glass lenses into the room, and as I reached over and pulled the lid over myself, I wondered what I would see, and when I would see next! As it came down over me I heard a click as I was thrust into complete darkness. I knew I would now be entombed for as long as she wished in this cool, clinging prison. I tried not to dwell on this, as in complete darkness and breathing in the aroma in my mask, I started to pump the two inflators. Slowly, gradually the rubber crept over me, encasing me. It began to warm up, I didn’t shiver at its cool cling now, but to a familiar smooth, warm embrace.

I continued to pump. I did not want to displease my mistress! The inflated rubber could now support my back and I sat back as I was enveloped me in the stygian darkness. It crept into every crevice, squeezing into me, pressing me harder until I could hardly squeeze the bulbs anymore. Now I hoped I had pleased my mistress.

I half lay and half sat in my warm darkness, hearing my breathing, smelling the rubber in my mask, utterly, completely powerless. This is what I had fantasised, dreamt of for so many years and now I was living it! A small part of me was terrified but that is what the whole point was – fear, excitement, the unknown. In my naked prison my cock was now rock hard, and despite some trepidation, the cock never lies!. I could make myself come right here now, but I did not want to displease my mistress on the first day.

And time moved on, and on. I started to sweat in the heat and tight grip of the rubber. Believe me, when you are locked away like that you lose all sense of time, your mind wanders and you fantasise – you drift off to sleep, or do you? Time slows down and speeds up and you can do nothing but breathe, in and out, the pungent aroma of rubber. The cock seemed to get bigger in my mouth, I bit down on it but it was hard and sprung back. Sweat was now forming around me and dripping down my shoulders to my buttocks, and I wondered when I would be released.

I remember the fetish mags and stories rarely talk about cramping, but you do! I started to cramp in my legs but could do nothing, except try and concentrate on the pleasure of being in there! And time drifted on. I could not hear, see, nor do anything; I smelt rubber and felt rubber and that was all. Supposing on the way here my mistress had a car accident – killed, taken to hospital – my mind raced. Or was she just sitting here, perhaps on my trunk, barely three inches from my head and enjoying her power over me. If she was a true dominant, yes, she would enjoy that, all my suffering was all her pleasure. I concentrated on not gagging on the cock. Accidents can happen, I thought, and I continued to feel the underside of it with my tongue, trying to get used to it, welcome it as a friend and not an intruder.

I had no idea how long I had been in there, certainly many hours, but I was suddenly snapped out of my little world when I felt movement and the end at my back lifted up, and then I think I was placed on a dolly, and I was moving! I was now facing the floor, although distinguishing between up and down is difficult sometimes. But I was now on my way to my new life with my mistress!

My New Life

And so I was transported to my new life, as a piece of baggage. That was nearly three years ago and as you can tell, as I write this, I am still here. My life, needless to say has changed beyond belief, my past life a distant memory. My mistress plays, no lives, the role in the extreme. She is very demanding, as a mistress should be, sometimes cruel and sometimes real fun, revelling in her power. There are times when I struggle with my sole role in life – to please and satisfy her, but I know that I was destined for this life of subjugation and suffering, and yet deep devotion. I do love her, deeply; she’s demanding, cruel, and beautiful and in her own way, I know she loves me. But more of that, and how it came about, later.

She had obviously read and studied her role before and during her time with me. I have been subjected to all the “traditional” practices enforced upon a slave. I shall here give you a brief description of the “highlights” of the last three years of my life of devotion, slavery and of rubber bondage. To tell the whole story would take hundreds of pages, and sitting here in the chair with a vibrator up my arse and a rubber cock in my mouth, I don’t think I have the stamina for that! Briefly then, some vignettes, from the last couple of years.

On my arrival she released me from the trunk, unscrewed the air hose but kept the full head mask on. After so many hours I was dripping wet and stiff but she ordered me to stand in the middle of the room – clearly the future playroom, or torture chamber! The mood was immediately one of mistress and slave, the past was the past, and there was never a flicker in her eyes that we had known each other before. I was slave and she was mistress and I was never to utter a word unless in reply to her.

She was dressed in a form fitting scarlet rubber catsuit, with attached gloves and feet, which she had squeezed into five inch heels. She walked around me slowly, placing her rubber-gloved hands over my cooling body, testing muscles and limbs, saying nothing. As she did this, and I almost held my breath, I looked around the room.

It had every piece of equipment one would expect of a domina, and more. A vaulting horse with straps for tying down and whipping or inserting things into the prone slave; a suspended double skinned inflatable rubber cocoon with straps and full head mask and gag; a stationary bike with adjustable dildo seat; a suspended rubber vacuum bed with single breathing tube; a gyno/ob chair with straps and hoses for inhalation, extraction or suction and in glass display cases all manner of latex clothing, masks, helmets, suits, and costumes of all kinds – oh yes, the kinky nun, the schoolgirl and the nurse. Despite myself, as I glanced around I began to harden. She saw this and as she came round to face me she took me in her hand and I saw her smile through the lenses of my helmet.

“Don’t worry slave, you’ll get to experience all the equipment and clothes, soon enough. And I will get to punish these jewels here.” And she fondled my cock and balls in her palms like marbles. I was fearful and excited.

“You have a fine slim body which needs some training and some adjustments, but it’s a start. Over the next few days we will begin the modifications. You will be denuded of all hair, permanently; it just gets in the way of dressing in latex hoods and so forth. With exercise and corseting your waist will be reduced. I have not decided on the precise piercing and ringing but you will be pierced in the traditional locations, ears, nose, nipples and cock and balls. Branding and tattooing are also options I will take advantage of, the precise extent and locations I have not decided on.”

As she gave this speech she moved around the room, placing her hands on pieces of equipment, tantalising me, enjoying her first day of ultimate power over me.

Off the main chamber she showed me a small apartment area, living room, bedroom, kitchen, and a separate large bathroom. These would be my quarters, perhaps for the rest of my life. There was a TV, stereo, DVD and video player. There were lots of DVD’s and tapes and I could imagine their content. Books and magazines were along one wall on shelving, not all fetish oriented, but plenty of them. She opened a fitted closet and I saw row upon row of yet more latex clothes, she pulled out drawers and she proudly displayed stockings, tights, gloves and, of course, masks.

She looked at me coolly as I inspected them through the helmet’s lenses. I was otherwise naked but strangely not embarrassed at my hard erection, she would be seeing plenty of that in the future, no doubt. I noticed the bed had rubber sheets and pillows and manacles and a collar by the steel headboard. Above the showerhead was sophisticated enema equipment. Yes, I thought, she had covered just about everything, even a large make-up table and mirror. She seemed to have plans for me to spend a large amount of my time dressed as a female!

We were in the basement but I noticed there were ceiling height windows, not barred but certainly double or triple glazed – for soundproofing no doubt, we don’t want the slave’s screams to be heard, or the crack of the whip! The door to the remainder of the house led to a ground floor exit and the upstairs. Although it could be locked I noticed it wasn’t a permanent locking system. She noticed me looking at this, and said.

“I can’t keep you here locked up for ever. I haven’t got the time or the inclination. On occasion you will be punished and kept here, but if it crosses your mind to “escape” to the other world well….you can. Although, as you will be dressed in….whatever, and with no money, and not too many contacts you had better have a good story. Slavery is in the mind as well as in the physical side. You will be allowed out with me, in a form of bondage of course. Half the fun is knowing you are in bondage and knowing that everyone else doesn’t know. Maybe in time you will be allowed out on your own, a true slave to his mistress, a trusted slave.”

I was encouraged by this, of course I would accede to her will, but even a slave likes the fresh air once in a while – and while in bondage, an extra excitement.

The first order of the day was my complete depilation. Within minutes of my arrival the helmet was taken off and I was in the shower, naked, head bowed, as she clipped away my hair with a pair of scissors to ugly stubble. As it dropped to the shower floor I realised as each moment went by I was dropping deeper and deeper into the role of complete slavery. With a deep snigger she cut away my pubic hair.

“Don’t want to damage these, at least not accidentally!” And she chuckled as she clearly had some plans for their punishment. Then in rubber smock and gloves, she smoothed, very sensuously, the sticky depilatory cream over my whole body, head, face and crotch. It took a while and she seemed to enjoy rubbing it into every crevice. The cream was white and soon I looked like a snowman, only red lips, blue eyes and brown eyebrows visible. I had to stand and wait for twenty minutes while the devilish, ticklish, burning cream did its work. I wanted to scratch and rub it but knew better, so stood in silence, not for the first time contemplating my fate.

She sat on the bidet, silent, admiring her work, I think. Soon the shower poured over me and I watched all my hair, from head and body, swept down the drain. I then stood still, denuded, and a little pink. Then she rubbed pleasant smelling oil all over my body and head which almost brought me to a shine.

This process was repeated several times over the next months until the hair just seemed to give up growing; I suppose she had killed off all the roots, but the oil treatment continued and it did wonders for my skin. There seemed to be a light dye in it as I slowly adopted a light brown tan. Soon I looked forward to the oiling and even if I were in stringent bondage I would never fail to get an erection that seemed to amuse her. She would chastise and threaten me and would slap it hard a couple of times but more it seemed in play and I was never really punished for this – for other things, oh yes, but not for this. She of course enjoyed the knowledge that her touch could make me hard so fast.

She seemed to want to break me in slowly and left me for the first evening. But before she left she handed me a number of sheets of paper in a small binder.

“Your duties, for now. The rules you will live by. Break them, and of course you will be punished. I shall see you tomorrow, at 7.30 sharp, or else, suitably attired of course.” She slapped my rear and with a sly smile, she left.

I explored my new “digs” – food in the fridge and wine (!) in the cupboard – I considered myself a lucky slave, so far. Tomorrow I would start my new life as a bondage slave. Before going to sleep I lay in bed and read, very carefully, the rules. There were plenty of them, and I hoped I would make it through the first few days without too many punishments. I slid down between the soft rubber sheets, lay my head on the rubber pillow and tried to relax. So this was it, no turning back now, far too late. I slept a little fitfully.

In accordance with the instructions I awoke at 7.00, did my ablutions and then dressed for the first day of my life as a rubber slave.

And the first morning, and for many mornings to follow, I was to be her maid, dressed to the nines as her rubber French maid. There were strict instructions as to what I should wear, and I was very careful to adhere to them. The corselet was then, and sometimes still is, the most difficult to get into. Attached at the back of the corselet at the bottom, above my crack, were two press studs. To these were attached two strong rubber straps and a small rubber pouch that my cock and balls slipped into. The straps were pulled between my legs and yanked backwards, then attached to the press studs. This was not comfortable, but through the weeks and months, like everything I suppose, you get used to it. It gave my groin a nice smooth feminine appearance, as it was intended to. It also made me walk a little gingerly, with no sharp movements or squatting, as I had a fear of emasculating myself! I remember the first morning pulling on the corselet, drawing the laces as tight as I could and looking down at my new “boobs”. I breathed in steadily, then slipped my cock and balls into the pouch and with some difficulty attached the straps at the back of the corselet.  These straps had the effect of exposing my arsehole, something which I learnt very quickly, was intended, for soon this cavity was to be invaded! I pulled on black latex stockings and attached the stocking tops to the garters, pulled on shoulder length gloves and then pulled on a pair of white latex panties with black frills. I smoothed them out over my “mound” and you would never detect that my cock and balls were imprisoned underneath.

Then came the black latex dress, with attached white pinafore,  and white frilled hem, collar and cuffs that ended above my elbows. I slipped my feet into three inch black pumps, and although I wobbled a bit, I had worn heels before in my private life so I was fairly used to them. She had given me no lessons in make-up by then so my instructions were to wear a full head mask, black with red surrounding the lips and eye holes. Looking in the mirror I have to say I looked every bit the kinky rubber maid. I was now ready to serve my mistress!

It was precisely 7.30 as I moved upstairs and knocked on my mistress’s bedroom door.

“Enter.” She said and I entered slowly and stood by her bed. Despite being asleep during the night she looked wonderful as she raise herself against the pillows. I stood to attention by her bed as she coolly inspected me. With a smile she raised my dress, and ran her forefinger over my smooth latex mound. I breathed out hard as I could feel myself harden, but my poor cock was trapped in its rubber embrace. She could see my reaction to her touch and seemed very pleased.

“Turn round.” She ordered and raised my skirt again. She lowered my pants and pulled on one of the straps. I winced and she said.

“Good, nice and tight, but slave, you have a crease in your left stocking. That is careless, and you will pay for that later today. Now go and make me my breakfast while I shower and dress, we have a full day.” She pulled my pants up and slapped me hard.

And that morning was like most mornings, unless I was in punishment or something special was on for the day. I made her breakfast, whatever she demanded, and then knelt by her chair as she went through her mail, her appointments and what she had planned for me.

So, like training an animal for the arenas or raising a child and nurturing it, I was introduced and immersed in a life of subjugation and obedience. Like all good fetish stories, fictional and true, this involved certain body modifications and training. Slowly as the weeks progressed, little by little my life changed as my mistress became more and more interested in the power she was able to exert over me. I won’t give it to you in any chronological order but suffice to say in this first six months of my new life my body and mind were subjected to many indignities, some permanent and others temporary. I shall give you a not comprehensive idea here.

As I have noted from the description of my first morning, right from the start it was clear that for much of my time I was to be dressed – and to act – as a female. She knew that I had been fascinated by being a rubber dolly and she had taken this to heart. For much of the time this was as the French maid, for I had many duties to perform around her house and office. But when she felt perhaps a little more mischievous I was also forced into the schoolgirl’s costume and then the nun’s. Apart from my cock and balls that stayed relatively intact, to outward appearances I was a female. She achieved this with ingenuity and over time. I wore various corsets a lot of the time, sometimes even in the shower; occasionally I would be allowed to take them off, only to be replaced by a marginally tighter one or one of thicker texture. They were of varying designs, some buckled and zipped and others just a very thick rubber tube, wider at the ends and narrower around the waist, this one was hell to get into.

As the weeks and then months wore on, I gradually got used to their constriction, but each new and smaller one would take my breath away for a few minutes. With a light diet, within three months my waist within the corset was without much difficulty down to 27 inches – and would go marginally further.

She had threatened to permanently emasculate me, transsexualise me, but told me later she had decided to keep my goodies intact for entertainment and punishment – something I was to learn she was very good at. I think the emasculation was only a threat; she liked to play with my mind as well as my body!

So from waist down I was beginning to take shape. She had threatened to provide me with breast implants and this I was not keen on, but she relented, thank goodness. So there were no permanent changes to my male sexuality. I think she preferred the idea of me being a man imprisoned in female attire rather than a female body, and I also got the sense she liked to punish my maleness!

While I remained as an “intact” male my mistress did however like to tamper with my maleness and feminise me in other ways. Continually she would berate me for my posture or the way I walked and would punish me, slapping my buttocks, as she would show me how to walk, stand and sit as a female. Part of me tried to fight this but as they say, I was in for the duration.

From day one when she had painfully plucked my eyebrows to an attractive arch I was under strict orders to keep them in perfect order. Similarly I was ordered to work on my cuticles and nails. They were to be kept short, as she didn’t want me tearing some of the thinner rubber I wore, but they were to be kept with a feminine curve to them. My hands were naturally quite small anyway. With my pouch pulled back between my legs and the silicon filled rubber bra and corset, I was outwardly a very presentable young woman, with no body or facial or head hair, but a variety of wigs could take care of that.

She also gave me very explicit and firm lessons in make-up – the whole deal, lipstick and gloss, eye shadow and liner, blush and base. No matter what my function was to be that day if I was to be in the feminine mode I spent at least ten minutes in front of the mirror applying it, eventually I think quite expertly. Eventually the depilations ceased; there was simply no more hair growth, so my face was a smooth light brown tan, thanks to the dyed oil treatment.

That was the outside sorted, for all you enema fans, well, you will be pleased to hear that I had a treatment every morning and still do. She started by administering them herself, dressed in a cute nurse’s outfit, complete with latex face mask, but eventually she ordered me to do it myself., which I do now. It’s a discomfort, not a pain really, but I do it as efficiently as possible. There are CCTV cameras in my suite- I don’t know if she watches me all or part of the time – but I am not prepared to test it!

Another painful exercise occurred after about six months. She had befriended a body piercer and with the assistance of a good fee she had him come over to the small “theatre” she had created in her playroom. I won’t go into it in detail, although you would probably like me to, but within a short time my ears were pierced once in each lobe. I usually wear two small studs or rings there – you can’t wear large rings when wearing tight helmets or masks.

She also got him to pierce my nose, not the soft sides but the grisly septum, which he did painfully with a punching device. The result is that my septum has a nice one eighth inch hole surrounded by a smooth gold grommet. Outwardly you cannot see it, but she can swiftly slip a ring through it, fasten a lead, and lead me round like a prize bullock with one finger; believe me it is very effective. But she didn’t stop there, for shortly both my nipples were adorned with horizontal gold rods with small balls screwed into each end. She can then release these and replace them with any number of rings or weights to punish me. Yes, she is very imaginative.

It was past my sixth month under her training, when she was hearing the meanderings of the sexual concerns of her patients, interspersed with punishing me, when she came upon the idea that she would change both our lives. She could do both – training and counselling – and make a healthy bit of money at the same time. If she could expertly beat, mummify, enema, gag, force feed, suspend and stretch me to the limit for free…..then why not do the same, and get paid for it? Plus of course she had me as the perfect assistant.

After much investigation, she placed an ad in one of the international dominatrix directories. She included a picture of herself and, interestingly, she masked herself. Most of the dominas, nearly all of them, show off their charms, some smiling, some looking cruel, some with more success than others.

Being masked, I thought on reflection was a touch of genius. It gave off the mystery of the domina, imperious and cruel, but who really is she? This is what every submissive seeks. She was obsessive about living her two lives separately, and that the two “businesses” must not cross over. If the medical community found out she would no doubt be struck off and lose her license, not to mention her reputation.

This took a huge amount of planning and it was here that my “assistance” was required. In order for there to be a clear separation of “upstairs and downstairs” the downstairs clients must never see her face or where she lived. This again was smart, it kept the clients mystified (which they probably revelled in) and would keep the medical authorities at bay. So we would have a legitimate counselling service upstairs and a more devious practice downstairs!

Somewhat amazingly, I thought later, she entrusted me within six further months with vetting, organising, and doing background checks on all her new-found downstairs clients. This involved much correspondence, by email, and P.O. Box and telephone calls by cell phone. I took this on happily; it meant less punishment for me! I enjoyed her trust in me and it was also nice to know there were so many other perves like me out there.

Clearly, again, our relationship was changing, with much more of a partnership feel, but it did not stop her from punishing me severely when she chose. She would use me to try out new forms of discipline or bondage, carefully gauging my reactions to each form of torture or humiliation she would dream up. Over those intervening months she had become a supremely efficient and cruel domina, honing her skills on me, and it was clearly a role she was born for, and revelled in.

One of my duties was to act as chauffeur in collecting the clients from the pick-up point, a railway station or car park, anywhere public but not too public. I then ferried them to the house, having provided them with very efficient wrap-around glasses with the insides blacked out. I then did the same when they left after their “therapy.”

Could I have run away, driven away during any of these exercises? Of course, but well….I didn’t. I so enjoyed the skulduggery, not to mention helping my mistress in her dungeon, helping her hand out punishment to others. But what other life would I have had? My long absence from the “other” world meant that I would have had real difficulty getting started. And, well, frankly I had asked for this, hadn’t I? I was a born rubber sub, and I was living with a rubber domina, why would I run from that?

To get the clients all excited – to give them their value for the money, I would pick them up in her car dressed very provocatively, but not too sluttish! Underneath everything a transparent wafer thin latex catsuit – at only rare times during the last three years have I worn anything else next to my skin. Over that I wear seamed stockings, high heels (after months of training I can easily walk in 5 inch heels) a short leather skirt, or perhaps a pair of tight leather pants, a high necked blouse in silk or satin and a jacket if it is cool.

I love it when it rains as it means I wear a full-length cape and hood, very imposing! I like watching their reaction when we meet for the first time. Once in the car the sunglasses go on and away to the torture chamber! Rarely do they ever speak, but I can tell they are excited about the session to come.

We go through the garage and down to the basement, never do the upstairs clients meet the downstairs ones, it all works very well. I run both diaries for my mistress and sometimes appointments almost overlap so I must prepare the downstairs client while mistress finishes upstairs. I enjoy this very much, they strip and put on their appropriate attire – cuffs, collar, mask, whatever, and I prepare them for their fantasy to be lived out.

Never, ever do they suspect I am a man. The wig, make-up, the narrow waist, high heels, long slim legs and inflated boobs would fool anyone – and has!

Although I had gained her trust, that didn’t mean I was alleviated from any of her attentions. Very regularly, almost daily, I was thoroughly punished in the torture chamber, for she used me as a sounding board for her new ideas and techniques. She truly liked spanking! She would calmly, slowly strap me to the St. Andrews cross or the vaulting horse and then placing a hand on my buttocks, flog me with a good, firm paddle. She didn’t use a whip on me, or a cat, I don’t think she wanted me marked, she didn’t mind using them on her clients though. So my cheeks would be sore and red but not terribly marked. Yes, she enjoyed that, but she enjoyed much more the vacuum bed!

The bed was vertical and held firmly in a steel frame about 6 inches off the ground, suspended by heavy chains. As I slipped into it naked she would smile cruelly as she zipped it closed down the side. My mouth would seek out a half-inch diameter breathing tube, my only connection to the outside. The bag is a transparent, light yellow colour and once the vacuum is turned on it soon envelops me in an initial cool, clammy embrace, sticking to my every pore. My hands are usually out at 45 degrees and my legs at about 30 degrees. Without exception, despite having a good idea I will be punished and fearful (?) she will keep me in there for an expended period, before the rubber immobilises me I have a rock hard erection. It’s almost like a Pavlov effect as the front sheet clamps my hard cock to my stomach.

Through the transparent latex, although it is tight on my face, if my eyes are open I can just see out, but it is very hazy. I can see movement and I know it is her, moving around me. She starts by running her hands over my inert rubber-entrapped body, and all I can do is breathe slowly through the narrow tube. She could leave me in there for hours, days, weeks, to die even, and I could do nothing. It is a frightening thought having your life in someone else’s hands, but of course for me, it is also very exciting!

Her hands pass lightly over my body, my face; sometimes she playfully squeezes my breathing tube. I hear her laugh; she says I am far too valuable to suffocate for I provide so much entertainment for her, but it pleases her to see me wriggling and mmmfing into the large snorkel-type mouthpiece that is attached to the inside of the tube. I could actually come without any further stimulus. I have done so a couple of times, which makes her mad and I have to clean out the bag afterwards, crawling in to wipe it down. One time she zipped me up as I was cleaning, and I soon I had to take in the mouthpiece for fresh air as the pungent rubber aroma assailed me.

What she also loves doing is to beat me when I am stretched out, immovable between the two sheets of rubber. She again uses a thick paddle that makes a tremendously loud thwack on my rubber-covered cheeks. Thank goodness the single skin of rubber gives me some protection, but she still lays it on pretty hard and I usually yelp loudly through the tube as I swing in my rubber prison.

She has left me there for as many as six hours, which believe me is an eternity. At the end I am bathing in my own sweat and there is a puddle at the bottom of the sheets. I am tired and disoriented at the end and after wards she usually allows me to rest.

The other option she has for mummification is the rubber inflatable sack. This double skinned sheath of heavy rubber is also suspended from strong chains attached to the shoulders and hips. In addition there are several horizontal straps for tightening. As if you could get out – which believe me you can’t.

There is no attached helmet; there is an opening for the head and a central zip from shoulders to arse at the rear, so I have to step in gingerly, lean forward and push my head through the tight neck opening. It’s pretty tight before inflation and there are two inner sleeves that go up to my biceps so I’m not going anywhere, even before being inflated. Once it is inflated I can’t move an inch; but that doesn’t stop her from tightening the straps. I can’t even bend my knees more that a couple on inches and my head peeps out almost as if I am being born!

I have saved the best for last however. There is a six-inch diameter hole at my crotch, so that my cock and balls are horribly vulnerable to her calm cruelty. There are so many options available to her. She may just gag me and I can watch silently as she moves down to punish my cock, or she may pull an inflatable helmet over my bald head so I am thrust into an impenetrable darkness and can only sense her presence.

She likes this, the sense of power, of foreboding and is happy to leave me like this, swinging slowly for a couple of hours. Yet despite this trepidation and just a little fear….I am still erect! I can’t believe this myself, although she may…, will punish me. This, my utter helplessness, hugely excites me.

I will feel her fondling me, rolling my balls in her hand, stroking my hard cock. If she feels me coming – and she is very good at this – she will quickly press two fingers behind my balls and I am immediately stopped, an old trick she has picked up. If not wearing a helmet, I plead with my eyes for release, my brown, bald, smooth head barely capable of any movement, but she just carries on, bathing in her complete supremacy.

Another feature of the bag is that the rear double zip can be opened such that a section round my rear hole is then exposed. Then she likes to don a pair of rubber surgical gloves, theatrically pulling them tight over her long fingers; and as I groan she will then explore me! With the help of plenty of lubricant she reams my ring, squeezing and pushing, then one finger slides in and comes out, then fingers press in at the sides and I feel two fingers slide in. Then there is more lube added and she moves the fingers in a circle. This occurs over at least twenty minutes, during which I am often helmetless but securely gagged. She can gauge my reactions as she stares into my straining face.

The first time she did this, she could get two fingers in, and this discomfited me, but there was no real pain. As time went by, and in the intervening periods she would like to push a butt plug up inside me before I slipped on my pants, I would accommodate more. Patiently, gently she went to three fingers and then a month later, four. Then, later she introduced a thumb and she was up to her third knuckle, the widest part of her hand. She would take it easy withdrawing and then she would relax and take a drink, as I swung silently in the sack, resigned to my fate. She would then return to me and with a silent smile, continue.

Then, about a year into my rubber slavery, she slid easily up to the third knuckle, and slowly twisting back and forth, slid over the third knuckle; then checking my facial expression – which was alarm, discomfort and exhaustion, with one firm, slow push she was inside me up to her wrist. I groaned into the large ball gag firmly strapped around my head, saliva dripping down my chin and onto the inflated sack. It felt almost as if I had a stillborn child – it was huge and my ring was stretched beyond belief. I worried about her tearing me, but she had taken great care (!) she had been slow and methodical and now, like a strange human puppet her hand was in me!

Slowly, oh so slowly I felt a finger move, then another, I hung there, impaled on her. I don’t believe I have any latent gay tendencies – nothing overt anyway – but this was the strangest sensation, having someone move him or herself around inside me. I was degraded, humiliated and horrified; yet somehow I felt we were forming some sort of bond! Bonded of course we were, bizarrely, at that moment, literally. And again, I could not help but notice, and she did also, that I maintained an erection!

So she played with me for a while, as I swung slowly, with sweat and saliva dripping down the sack from my, no doubt, red face. Nothing was said during this, I couldn’t of course – just mmmmffff and grimace, but when she withdrew slowly and I gasped into the gag she came round and faced me as she took off her surgical gloves.

She gently touched my cheek and wiped the sweat from my eyes – the tenderness in total contrast to my brutal “rape.” Then with a faint smile she walked out of the room, turning off the lights, leaving me and my sore ring cooling in the darkness.




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