Gromet's PlazaLatex Stories

Samantha and Mouse

by DeeDee Valiant

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© Copyright 2021 - DeeDee Valiant - Used by permission

Storycodes: F/f; latex; catsuit; corset; collar; mittens; gag; rom; cons; X

The Neighbor

Samantha acquired the secure seventh-story apartment, changed her phone, and closed her social media accounts to get away from the men hassling her to come to this and that event, even after midnight. Samantha had enough of dating and men, especially those who told her how good-looking she was and how fantastic they were in bed. For the most, they weren't, and sex had become boring at best, predictable, and tedious at worst.

Returning from her Friday Kung Fu class, Samantha walked past her neighbor, a mousy girl fumbling with her keys. She politely wished her a good evening, went to her apartment door, unlocked it, and went inside. Samantha never really noticed the girl next door before. There was never any sound from the apartment, and she never had any visitors, which was good. Samantha had a good hard workout and was sticky all over. She unpacked her office clothing from her gym bag and hung it up to air, then undressed, threw her uniform, leggings, and all into the washer basket, including her black sash with two gold stripes. Samantha liked to shower hot, as hot as possible, and took a while. It relaxed her aching muscles from the twenty minutes of semi-contact sparring at the end of class.

Finishing showering, Samantha wrapped her hair in a towel and dried herself. She slipped into the black one-piece silk jumpsuit and her favorite blood-red silk nightgown. She walked about her thick carpeted floor, enjoying the feel of the silk against her skin and the swish sounds of the two materials rubbing. In some ways, more enjoyable than sex, thinking of Hubert, her stalker. Since it got out on social media that it was her lips on the DoMNnix Purple Lipstick, they came out of the woodwork. But, it also paid for this apartment in full, and she kept getting regular royalties.

The jingle of keys startled Samantha. It came from next door. Samantha drew over yesterday's red wedge medium-heeled ankle boots from work and peeked out the door. Yes, it was the girl next door, still fiddling with her keys. Why didn't she take off those winter mittens for Buddha's sake? Samantha ensured that she would not lock herself out, then stepped out to the girl who appeared frustrated and perspired. No wonder! She was dressed heavily as if she expected a cold snap when she entered her apartment.

Samantha offered, "Can I help you miss?"

The slender-faced girl startled, turned, and stammered, "No, no, sorry, no, thank you. I, I, have to do this, this, alone. Sorry to, to bother you, miss, sorry" and continued to try and sort her large bundle of keys with her thick leather mittened hand.

She really looked like she expected global cooling to set in at any moment. Samantha shrugged and turned but caught the young woman's almost pleading look when she dropped the keys again.

Samantha squatted, picked up the keys, and offered, "Perhaps if you remove those heavy mittens, miss, it would be easier. I can help you if you like." The young woman dropped her keys and reeled back from Samantha as if she had suggested that she kick the door down instead.

Even her best kick could not damage the apartment's faux-metal door. It was a secured building, guaranteed to keep the crazies out with three possible ways to exit on three different streets. Samantha picked up the keys and wanted to hand them to the young woman who had problems breathing. Her eyes would not meet Samantha's as if she could not look other people in the eye. Well, for some cultures, it was impolite to stare. Samantha unlocked the door and opened it.

Stuttering with a lisp, the young woman, "Thank you, you, miss. I am sorry, sorry to have bothered you. I was meant to return home at lunchtime, but there were so many orders coming in for the weekend, and I lost track of time and, well, it is eight hours later than I planned, and, well, thank you."

Samantha did not really like hesitant, insecure ditties but did understand how many women were afraid of strangers. She extended her hand and offered, "Hi. I am Samantha, your neighbor, and it is my pleasure to help you miss."

The young lady, shorter than Samantha, hesitantly extended her mittened hand and replied, "I am Moisure de Fellarden, but everyone calls me Mouse." As she spoke, she glanced up at Samantha's face and gasped, and immediately looked at the floor as it never happened. She had lovely huge brown doe eyes above her mouth and nose cover.

She did not let go of Samantha's hand for a while then apologized, "I am sorry, sorry. How very rude of me. I just couldn't help noticing your lips. They are so beautiful. Mine are only two thin lines. Oh, sorry, I am babbling. Thank you, thank you."

Mouse intrigued Samantha in a strangely awkward way. She smiled, bowed like a manservant, and spoke, "Mademoiselle Moisure de Fellarden, it is my pleasure." This had the exact opposite effect to what Samantha expected. The girl rushed inside and closed the door leaving the keys in the door outside. What a strange creature!

Samantha knocked, but Mouse did not answer. She could not leave the keys out here, so she opened the door and called in, "Mouse, I will leave your keys on the coat stand's table." No answer.

Samantha went inside the apartment, much the same as hers. It was very girly in pastels and pinks, many pillows, a day bed in which Mouse lay, eyes closed and breathing hard. She looked exhausted, and in the warm apartment, all the clothing must have her overheating. But it was none of Samantha's business. It was Friday, she was mildly hungry, and she had a bottle of red with her name on it. She was about to leave but thought it better to get the headscarf and mouth cover off, but then no. Mouse's beliefs may not allow her to expose her features to strangers, even if Samantha was a woman.

Samantha tried to remove the mittens, but they were very tight-fitting and would not budge. She unbuttoned the heavy coat under which Mouse wore a black long-knitted dress, wide at the bottom and tailored at the top, showing off a very narrow waist under a white cardigan. Samantha had a straight-line body shape, with her large breast, which seemed to scream to men, “fuck me, Putain.” She admired Mouse's shape and maidenly chest.

Samantha removed Mouse's coat and hung it on the coat stand. She returned and arranged Mouse in the day bed. Lifting her thickly-stockinged legs, in long-laced wedge high-heeled boots, she noticed how tiny Mouse was without the high heels. Samantha understood. Her first heeled boots were transformative for her, and she never wore anything else, not even in summer.

Samantha arranged Mouse's skirt to cover her legs evenly, then placed her head on a pillow. She unfolded a blanket and was about to cover Mouse, but no. Mouse was already well layered, and even in her silk romper and nightgown, Samantha's temples were wet with perspiration. She was refolding the blanket when her heart missed a beat. Two large brown eyes looked at her as if Samantha held a knife in her hand about to stab Mouse.

Samantha froze and rapidly explained, "I am sorry. I do not mean to intrude. You left your keys in the door. When you did not answer, I came in, and well, you looked exhausted. I did not want to uncover your face, so I helped you out of your coat. Stupidly, I automatically wanted to put the blanket over you for warmth, sorry."

Samantha finished refolding the blanket and was about to put it back down when Mouse spoke, "Yes, please." Surprised, Samantha turned and looked into those huge brown eyes, which looked longingly back at her, not afraid. As the oldest with three younger brothers, Samantha had to look after her brothers when her parents traveled abroad. She unfolded the blanket and gently covered Mouse, then automatically tucked her in.

She had done that so often that she almost gave her neighbor a good night kiss on the forehead too, but she looked to be in exhausted sleep. Samantha tippy-toed out and was about to close the door when she grabbed the keys. She could not say why.

Back in her apartment, Samantha locked the door and opened the bottle of red, and let it breathe. She went to the bathroom, unwrapped her hair, and brushed it. She was not sure if she should keep it long. It was at a length that needed more attention. She drew over the PJs hood, brushed her teeth then remembered the red. Never mind. She flossed then came back into the living room. She grabbed her favorite wine glass, dark red, so wrong for wine, or so everyone told her, and poured herself a drink. Looking at her couch, she did like the idea of a day-bed. She was about to sit, but Mouse flashed into her mind. She wondered if she was all right.

So, what plans for the weekend? Go for a run in the morning, then perhaps a long session in the sauna. It had been ages since she could go, with all the attention from the social media reveal, and she always felt so much better for it.

Thump. That had come from next door.

Samantha got up, finished the glass, and walked to her neighbor’s. The door was still unlocked, so she went in. Brûle en l'enfer! She forgot to unlock her door and was locked out. She would have to go downstairs to the night concierge and ask for the spare key. Mouse was laying on the floor, panting. Merde! Samantha rushed to her. Her eyes were glazed, and her skin was cold, pale, and clammy, and she was perspiring heavily. The foolish girl had layered too much and was now close to a heat stroke.

Samantha sat Mouse up and lifted her onto the day-bed. Leaning her against the rest, Samantha unzipped her cardigan, but the mittens were under her dress. She unzipped the back of the heavy gown and peeled it off Mouse. C'est des conneries, she wore a catsuit with an inbuilt ski hood, leaving the eyes-free. No wonder she was overheating. How long had she been wearing that?

Samantha tried to unzip the back, but the choker locket chain was tangled in the catsuit zipper, and she could not open the suit. But no, the chain looped through the zippers pull tab. Who did this to the poor girl?

Samantha tried to remove the hood through the eye-opening, but the opening would not widen. Samantha lifted Mouse into her arms and took her into the bedchamber. It was entirely different from the living room. Someone was forcing Mouse to be a rubber doll.

Samantha liked the friendlier, nicer fetish dance scene, with a better class of people. There when someone said no, it was no. She understood that the relationship between dominant and submissive was consensual, usually. Well, short of cutting Mouse out of her clothing, which may cause her problems with whoever was doing this to her, she could do nothing. But she could. It was also hot in the bedchamber, but it had a small flower-pot-sized balcony.

Mouse had a unique wheelchair standing in front of the powder desk. Samantha put Mouse into the wheelchair and brought her over to the double doors. When she opened them, cool air streamed in. Samantha wanted to put a moist cloth over Mouse's neck and wet her visible face as much as possible. She was about to walk away, but Mouse started falling forward. It was a unique wheelchair with straps. Samantha strapped Mouse's chest and strapped her head to the headrest to prevent her head from falling forward and inhibiting her breathing.

Returning from the kitchenette, Samantha brought a glass filled with cool water and two wet cloths. She placed the one on the back of Mouse's neck, and with the other, she wetted her visible face. But there was no way to pull down the hood to give her water. Well, she had done all she could. Mouse's skin was cold and pale still but not clammy. But then, will whoever come back and release Mouse from this torture in time? She was meant to be home around midday, and whoever made her wear this all may not return soon enough. Mouse had to have something to drink.

Samantha went to her apartment to get her water bottle, but she was locked out. Je m'en fiche, this is all too complicated. She went back to Mouse and looked through the kitchenette. Everything was for one person only. She went back into the bedroom and checked on Mouse; she looked better. Perhaps Mouse had something in the bedroom. She does, oh my Buddha, she does.

Mouse had a most amazing collection of boots, long knit dresses, knitted catsuits with hoods to match the dresses, cardigans, and leather mittens. In the next two wardrobes, it was all rubber! Latex catsuits and dresses and a lot of that other stuff, and all underwear was rubber. This was a fetishist’s dream, including locks, sacks, mermaid costumes, and tiny corsets. The dominant certainly kept Mouse under control. She also found one of those breath control thingamajigs. Yes, that could work.

Samantha bent the tube in half and poured water from the glass into the mouth end. No, that would not work, but the other way may. Samantha poured the water back into the glass then maneuvered the mouthpiece between Mouse's lips. She drew Mouse's chin down and managed the soft rubber snorkel-like piece past her lips. Carefully, slowly, Samantha trickled water into the tube and watched for a reaction. Yes, Mouse swallowed and did not choke. It took a few minutes before Mouse finished the water.

Samantha made her drink a second glass then she looked for a pulse. She could not find one through the thick mittens nor at the neck. There too, Mouse wore something under the knitted catsuit. Where did Mouse work that she could dress like this? Mouse's forehead felt dry and not clammy. But how long could she remain like this?

Samantha withdrew the mouthpiece carefully and wheeled Mouse to the bed with all rubber sheets, pillows, and, yes, rubber straps running from the four corners. Samantha had not seen any punishment devices, which was a small bonus. Her master did not beat Mouse, but this was bad enough. She removed the chair's straps, put Mouse in bed, and drew a sheet over her, out of habit. What now?

Samantha went over to the living room to think. Well, it was well after midnight, and the concierge would be asleep. Mouse seemed fine, but it was unsafe to leave her alone. Samantha stood and went to check on Mouse, but she was alright, looking relaxed with some color around her eyes. What now, what now? Cela me soûle.

There was nothing for it; Samantha would sleep on the day bed. She put out the lights, covered herself with Mouse's angora wool dress, and closed her eyes. Just before she fell asleep, Samantha wondered why she used the dress and not the blanket to cover herself.


It was freezing, utterly cold in the apartment. Samantha stood, drew over the dress, the hood, and wrapped the blanket around herself without thinking about it. It was too early to wake the concierge to get the spare key, and then she remembered Mouse. Samantha rushed into the bedroom, and there she was, rolled up into a ball, shivering.

Samantha closed the balcony doors, turned up the heating, and sought to find something to cover Mouse. Aside from the rubber bed sheeting, there was nothing else. She shouldn’t have fallen asleep, leaving the doors open, and now Mouse was shivering, her teeth chattering. Having nursed her brothers through a few colds and flus, she acted.

Samantha uncovered Mouse, draped the blanket she had around her shoulders over her, slipped in next to Mouse, and covered them both with the blanket. She drew over the rubber sheet and then another, then curled up around Mouse. Samantha worried for the slight fragile girl. She would never forgive herself for her negligence if Mouse fell ill. It took a while, but Mouse’s teeth chattering stopped, and the next Samantha knew it was bright daylight.

It looked to become a crispy cold sunny day in Paris. Samantha stretched and recalled where she was. Mouse lay beside her, perspired, shivering spasmodically, and she almost panicked. Mouse was sick because of her. Mouse needed warmth and fluids, but that catsuit with the face cover was a problem. Then, it wasn’t.

The choker was a lock, and Mouse had a bunch of small keys on her key ring. Samantha slid out of bed and fetched the keys. Yes, these looked like keys small enough to open the choker lock. She returned to the bedroom, turned Mouse onto her back, and saw her eyes fluttered open in confusion.

Samantha explained, “Mouse, you have a cold or flu and need fluids and warmth. I had three younger brothers and know what to do. Can I take your choker-lock off, or will you get in trouble with someone?”

Mouse whisper-lisped, “Have no one, just me.”

Samantha did not think about it any further and started trying out keys. The seventh one fit, and the choker opened. She removed the chain and sat Mouse up, who tried to protest, but just like with her brothers, Samantha spoke little nonsensical things to her as she unzipped the back of the catsuit.

Yes, as she suspected, a stringent corset over a full-body latex catsuit with a hood. Only her face was free, and Mouse shivered again. Samantha did not have time to undo the laced boots and remove the catsuit, and Mouse needed to be kept cold and hydrated.

Samantha stood, about to take off the warm dress when Mouse whisper-lisped, “No, please, leave it on, please, and stay, please, stay, please. So cold, so cold, so alone.” Samantha had to keep Mouse warm, but she needed to use the bathroom first. Oh, so would Mouse.

She looked delirious and shivered, so Samantha sat her up and pulled the zipper all the way down and through between the legs. Yes, there was a second zipper for the latex catsuit. She walked Mouse to the bathroom, unzipped the catsuit zipper, and checked that Mouse could do what she needed. Mouse certainly needed to relieve herself. Samantha supported her until Mouse finished, then transferred Mouse onto the bidet. She cleaned and dried her bottom and other parts, then zipped her up. She was shivering uncontrollably, so Samantha brought Mouse to bed then hurried back to use the toilet too.

Samantha quickly removed her arms from the dress, robe, and black one-piece silk jumpsuit and sat. Ahhh. Samantha thought of her three younger brothers. After her parents separated, she looked after them until they left home. All now well-to-do, despite her mother leaving her half of everything to Samantha, whereas they had to share their father's inheritance into three, for which they hated her. In the fight, for a ‘fair’ share of mother's money, they forgot that it was she who changed their diapers, nursed them when they were sick, and cleaned their bottoms. They were utterly misogynistic, so Samantha was unwilling to compromise, and eventually won. Samantha washed, looked longingly at the shower, and hurried back to Mouse, who was still shivering.

OK, so she was used to layering. Samantha looked about for something else for Mouse to wear. She found a whole wardrobe section of knitted pantsuits with hoods. Yes, these were like the catsuit, except they would fit over Mouse's boots. She withdrew one and came back to Mouse, whose eyes followed her movements.

Samantha sat Mouse up again, but Mouse whispered-lisped, “Same, same color, please, please, not mix.” Sigh. An obsessive-compulsive patient.

Samantha left Mouse propped up, shivering, and went to the wardrobe. Yes, there were black knitted garments: a pantsuit, a pantsuit with elasticated ankles and wrist bands, and a long plain dress. All had hoods. Samantha chose the gown, but Mouse croaked, “All, all, please. Must be all, please, please.” Samantha sighed a double sigh. She withdrew all, removed them from the hangers, and came back to Mouse.

Samantha dressed Mouse into the pantsuit first because it had the least material. It zipped at the back, and she needed to draw over the hood to close it, which also did not give around the face, but it also did not cover her mouth, so all good. Next came the knitted boiler-suit, and this zipped up at the front, and Samantha left the inbuilt hood off, but Mouse pleaded, “Hood, please, hood, cold.”

The dress was simple, with no zipper and fitted over Mouse’s head. Samantha arranged the thick turtle. Samantha stood Mouse up and let the gown fall, then placed Mouse on her bed. She covers Mouse with the latex bed-sheet. Mouse was asleep again and looked at ease. It was time to fetch the spare key.


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