© Copyright 2010 - Latexcheeks - Used by permission
Storycodes: F/f; F/m; D/s; latex; catsuits; corset; breathplay; transport; mast; toys; cons; X
I arrive at work the next morning. The sun is low behind thick gathering clouds. The dark morning dawn is chill. I feel the hint of rain in the air. It looks to be a blustery day. Evan’s car is parked in its place. I note that he seems to be in early. I hurry into the building while carrying my hold-all bag with my goodies. I expect I may have a chance to play on line again today so I am ready with my usual traveling kit. The bag contains two catsuits, three full hoods, gloves, high-heel thigh boots, corset, and posture collar. The drysuit is also inside the bag as I was wearing it when I went home. I am wearing my sheath panties with toys inserted.
I open the door to the dive locker, step in and switch on the lights. The overhead vapor lights slowly come to life and the shadows gradually recede as the intensity increases. The workbench sits to the left of the door. The team lockers are against the wall to the right with the break table and chairs neatly stowed from after the game broke up. The spare suits – the suits for different types of dive situations hang on the drying racks behind the work bench. We have three different levels of drysuit protection systems along with a couple of different wetsuit styles. Each diver has five suits, three drysuits and two wetsuits. I purchase older style wetsuits for the team. We have two styles of rubber drysuits for contaminated water diving and one laminated suit for each of us. I tend to never wear the laminated suit. I have noticed that Ted doesn’t either.
Next to the suits are shelves for the dive helmets, face masks and respirator components. Tanks and rebreather systems sit next to the shelved equipment. The rebreather packs are hung from wide hooks while the tanks sit on pallets. We have our own certified air compressor to fill our tanks.
The ceiling is not finished and the rafters crisscross above the hanging lights. The white insulation layer on the underside of the roof is in shadow above the lighted floor area. I scan the entire room to determine that everything is in proper order. The tool board has its small wrenches, special adjustment tools, screwdrivers and hammers in place. The work table is clean and ready for any intricate work relating to the care of the sensitive equipment that our lives frequently depend on. No Evan is evident.
All of the suits are hanging properly. The respirators helmets and masks are all in their shelf places. I notice that one rebreather system is missing along with its face mask. The missing rebreather is the most versatile and expensive style we have, one that allows up to six hours of continuous use under normal operating parameters. I’ve seen it used for over eight hours with careful breath management. I look back at the suits and see one of the industrial grade rubber suits is also missing…Evan’s suit to be precise.
Odd. Evan doesn’t usually take his gear home. And I still haven’t seen him though his car is in the lot. I doubt he is diving without a buddy so I am puzzled. I start for the office then my curiosity (and maybe instinct) steers me to the dressing room, the small suiting area behind the main floor with lockers and showers. The room has a wide padded bench to accommodate the bulk of our bodies inside our full gear as we make final preparations to dive or to begin the tedious undressing after a dive.
The bench is not vacant. A squirming form encased in a heavy black Hunter/Gates Pro-HRM 1200 greets my entry into the room! A rebreather pack – the missing one – is strapped to the head of the form. I hear the shallow slow paced breathing as a whoosh with accompanying valve popping of the imprisoned person. His arms and hands are tied by nylon rope passing under the bench and his legs are secured to the foot of the bench with rope.
Upon closer inspection I see his face is obscured by a full rubber hood under the wide faceplate of the respirator/mask combination. When I come into his field of vision he begins to grunt and heave mightily against his bonds. His breathing quickens and I check the scrubber status of the rebreather. It is well used but still within tolerances suggesting the victim has been in this condition quite some time – probably all night.
The squirming intensifies. I can’t help laughing at the poor rubberized form stretched over the bench. I put my hand lightly on his crotch and discover there is a raging erection trapped under a second rubber layer inside the drysuit. The hard ridge of his cock is easily defined… he is enclosed in a catsuit under the drysuit… layered encasement! How delicious!
I’m normally not interested in guys, even Ted didn’t excite me much yesterday, but for some reason this discovery of such a virgin victim displaying such strong rubberism sets off my dominant side. I find myself teasing him unmercifully. The reaction is incredible as he squirms and twists within the limits of his bonds. I place my hand right on that thick ridge and give a light stroke. He tenses visibly in response. This is fun!
“You have become a little rubber slut, haven’t you?”
He emphatically shakes his head negatively.
“You little lying slut. I can feel you under the suits. You’re ready to pop.”
I stroke his erection evilly and he shudders again.
“You love that. Bet you didn’t love it last night when Ted and Jim were introducing you to this but you love it now.”
Again he shakes his head violently.
“Your body betrays you, Evan. You are transformed.”
His shaking head replies.
“Okay, Evan, my rubbery pet, I can bring you nirvana. All you have to do is admit your total surrender to rubber.” I stroke his raging tool a couple of times for emphasis and finally rest my hand right on its hard ridge. I look into his eyes and see both fear, doubt and lust all wrapped into the two eyes.
He shakes his head again.
“You are a hard case. Hold that thought. Don’t go anywhere.”
Five minutes later I am back at his side dressed in my black catsuit with attached gloves and hood. This time I rest my gloved hand on his bulge and give it a stroke. I can see lust overpowering the other feelings in his eyes.
He squirms and his head bobs in an affirmative when I ask the question. This time I stroke his hard ridge in earnest and in seconds he is thrusting and straining in his bonds. His breathing is hard and heavy inside the mask as he is carried off to that special place where lust and carnal desire merge into erotic bliss.
“There, little rubber slut,” I purr. “It’s done.”
I loosen the straps of the mask and pull it from his sweating face. As the attached respirator mouthpiece pops from his mouth he lets out a yelp of relief.
“Oh, what did you do to me?” he asks.
“I finished what those other boys started. I took your virginity,” I say.
Then he seems to notice me for the first time, “God, you look wonderful in that suit, Shirley.”
“Careful, Evan, you’re still my employee. I think I’d better get you out of the ropes. You can take off the gear and shower on your own.”
A short time later I hear the voices as Ted and Jim get in. A knock on the door and Ted pokes his head in. “Did you like the little present we left you?”
“You guys know better than to leave a job unfinished,” I smile despite myself. “He’s getting cleaned up now.”
“Yes, ma’am. Are you wearing again?” Ted has noticed my high-neck sweater and the little bulge of the catsuit hood under it.
“No thanks to you. I had to persuade our friend that his best interest required him to submit and putting on a suit was the tipping argument.”
“Right. You loved it.”
“You know how I feel about guys.”
“Yes, Ma’am, I do.”
“Meeting in five. We need to sort out our relationships after this little episode,” I bury my head in paperwork to signal the discussion is closed and not open to any debate.Chapter 3
Other than a quick trip to LA for measurements and reviewing of my specialty suit life seems to return to normal. The team took the meeting and the rules I lay down with little question. We have revealed we are all rubbery but this cannot affect our work. Everyone agrees. I closely watch performance and find it to remain good.
Evan is hanging around the office more than usual. I ask him if there is anything he wants to discuss and find he drops his eyes and walks away.
Finally Evan comes into the office late one afternoon.
“Shirley, can you show me more of the mystery of rubber?”
“I can’t do that Evan. You work for me and your request will create a relationship that can’t be a part of the job.”
“I only hoped you can guide me some. I ordered thing from an on-line store and want very much to gain the full meaning of my growing emotions.”
“I see. I can’t help you. I don’t even know anyone locally who can provide you with professional guidance, much less a personal relationship.”
Evan looks crestfallen. “I was kind of hoping you might consider mentoring me.”
“I can’t and keep you in my employ.”
“I will quit.”
“No I won’t allow that.”
“How can you?” asks Evan.
“I can’t but I don’t see you quitting changing anything.”
“I’ll sign a contract.”
“I’ve read the Internet posts and blogs. I’ll sign a contract to be your rubber slave or whatever you want to call me.”
“But I’m in a relationship. I don’t see room for three.”
“I’ll be your rubber toy to train. I’ll do work at your house. I just know I need to learn more about this life and you have the knowledge.”
“If I was to agree and I’m not saying I will, both myself and Lydia have to agree to the terms and you will not expect any sexual favors with us, understand? Lydia or I will act as your trainers and Mistress’s and will allow you pleasure at our convenience and on out terms. Any pleasure will be much like the first day when I jerked you off through the full rubber protection. There will be no physical intercourse or direct contact.”
“I will agree to those terms.”
“We can talk again tomorrow. I need to discuss this with Lydia. If we agree, I’ll accept your resignation upon signing of the contract we prepare.”
Evan seemed satisfied with this.
Lydia agreed to help train Evan as long as he behaved himself and didn’t try to push himself on us sexually. I drew up a contract and Evan joined our household as a subservient member. He learned quickly that Lydia and I were committed Lesbians and seemed to rather enjoy being sealed and locked in rubber and be the non-participating observer of our games. He learned soon that his quiet obedience was frequently rewarded with a quick hand job from one of us. He quickly became a devoted rubber loving and reliable servant.
I fondle the orange suit lovingly and marvel at the cascade of events that find me here in LA along with Lydia and Rubber Toy, Evan, to take delivery of my newest suit. Actually, we have three suits to get today. In addition to mine, there are suits for Lydia and Evan. We were able to get all of the measurement for the last two based on the measurements that the sales representative took of me. Evan’s suit has an external sheath hidden behind a heavy zippered front rather than an internal one in front. His suit also has another surprise…it will transform him into a pretty realistic rubber enclosed she-male. The two of us will be near twins inside our suits; Evan being a few inches taller with appropriate proportional differences is about the only difference.
Lydia is dressed like a personal nurse. She is crisp and starched cotton. She provided no explanation for this charade as we took the taxi from the hotel to the Sunset Blvd. store. I’m thinking about the $4,200 price tag for the three suits…$2,100 already paid and the final $2,100 on delivery. The store waived the sales tax stating that our out-of-state address allows them to post the sale as an on-line purchase.
“Okay, Shirley, time to stop admiring it and try it on. You too Rubber Toy,” Lydia says firmly.
The store manager chuckles a little as Lydia takes charge.
I, for one, can’t wait to try on the creation.
Lydia hands Evan and me a bag, “Make sure to put all these on before putting on the orange suit.”
“Yes, Lydia,” we both say almost in stereo.
I find that my black catsuit with sheaths, attached hood and gloves along with various toys is in the bag. I figure the suit goes on first then the orange suit so that my pussy and ass are double lined with the sheaths before the toys go in and I close up the orange suit.
I busy myself with the details of dressing in rubber. Evan and I didn’t eat anything since leaving Washington. Lydia made us clean out our insides this morning before leaving for the shop. I puzzle at this extent of preparations since we are only trying the suits on at the store, taking ownership of them and then heading right for the airport to return home.
I start the process of submerging myself in the inky blackness of my rubber world. I’m not sure what the point of putting on the extra suit is as this only takes time and will surely be on only a few minutes… maybe half an hour tops with no chance of any games and assuredly just succeed in unfulfilled arousal to just put me in a pissed off mood for the return trip and longing for the three hours to end so we can get rubbery in earnest in the privacy of our house.
True to my expectations I got hotter as the rubber encased me. The black suit was “routine” and it set the fires simmering for the finale…that orange wonder of sealing latex. Well, at least I will get my first feel of the new suit and Lydia will see its perfection encasing me and Evan. Her envy will have to sate my desire until we get home. Maybe her envious looks will suffice… probably not.
The new orange suit slips easily over the black rubber and completely transforms me into an orange nether worldly being. I feel the heavy rubber squeezing me even more tightly in the special ecstasy that only rubber allows. I close the zipper up to about six inches from the top of the high collar. I work the corset up my legs and over my hips and settle it into place. The wonderful squeeze is deliciously spreading through me. I open the two-way zipper at the crotch and ease the two vibrating toys into the sheaths of the suit and close up the crotch access.
I pull the amazing helmet over my head. It’s insect like appearance adding to my anonymity and surreal alien appearance as non-human. The gag slips easily between my teeth and fills my mouth comfortably but with purpose. I tuck the neck of the helmet under the suit and finish closing the zip to the top. I pull the stretchy posture collar over the helmet and it closes around my throat with a comfortable but pervasive presence.
I admire my rubberized figure in the dressing room mirror. I admire the smooth orange rubber stretched over my skin in flawless splendor. The alien helmet adds its inhuman touch to my form. I am completely swallowed inside this rubbery alien. The living rubber suit envelopes me securely and completely in wondrous massage. Only a tiny silver ring at the top of the crotch zipper mars the orange. The similar silver ring at the top of the collar is hidden from my view. I slowly move my gloves over my body and feel my heat building. My lust is obvious and I want some outlet for this building passion. If frustration is Lydia’s goal in making me put all of the extra gear on, she has succeeded beyond her wildest dreams.
“Okay, you two whores, quit playing with yourselves and get out here so we can see the creations,” shouts Lydia through the door.
I open the dressing room door and enter the store floor. Evan comes out of his dressing room as well. He is fingering his round tits and the slight hip pads tentatively. I would have paid to see his face when he discovered the suit turned him into a rubber she-male.
“Amazing!” exclaims Lydia. “Put these on then give us a good fashion show.”
Lydia hands each of us lace-up orange boots that will reach above our knees. The white laces contrast nicely with the orange. The silvery metal toe caps and heels add odd utilitarian purpose to the boots.
Lydia soon realizes that we cannot lace the boots properly with the collar and corsets on. She is frustrated but kneels and laces my boots then Evan’s boots tightly. The added grip of the orange rubber boots on my calves and thighs is amazing. I love how these boots complement the suit. My arousal steps up another level. I am really wondering why all of this elaborate preparation is being completed. After all I am shortly going to have to remove everything and pack it away for our trip home.
Lydia plays the fashion connoisseur. She tilts her head as Evan and I parade up and down the aisle. She puts her finger to her lips as though she is thinking of some other way to improve on the look.
“Bring me those air bottles in back,” she says.
I’m surprised at this. Air bottles? We didn’t bring anything like that down from Seattle.
The store clerks roll in two heavy cardboard boxes and open then to reveal a plethora of packing peanuts. They dig into the packing material and pull shiny black air tanks out of the boxes. The bottles have stylized chrome fittings and valve handles. The clerks fish into the peanuts again and pull out two black corrugated air hoses with chrome lock rings and attached dive regulator with a ring in place of the usual mouthpiece. It is obvious that the ring fits the black ring of the hood. Again I am really puzzled by the elaborate trappings to complement the suits being brought out now. Why not save them for home and time to really get immersed in the rubbery lust these accoutrements invite?
I vaguely hear sirens. They seem to reach peak and stop outside.
“Ah, our ride is here,” says Lydia.
Two EMTs pushing gurneys come into the store. The gurneys are sheathed in white latex sheets.
“Okay both of you onto the gurneys,” says Lydia.
I climb onto the one next to me and sink into the thick memory foam padding that has replaced the usual hard and thin pad. The EMT pulls several straps across my body securing me into the appliance. The air bottle is strapped to the leg near my head and the EMT twists the regulator connection into my mask snout. He twists the valve and checks airflow. He attaches a rebreather bag to the exhaust and watches it inflate and deflate as I breathe.
“Everything is a go here, Ma’am,” he reports to Lydia.
“Good to go here too,” I hear the other fellow report.
I feel myself being pushed out to the sidewalk and lifted into the back of the ambulance. An orange rubber sheet is draped over me and tucked under the sides of the gurney. I expect Evan is being prepared in the same manner.
“You wondered how we would get you home. Latexcheeks, you know better than that. In my capable hands the two of you are being transported to Seattle for some very special medical attention. It seems you contracted an incredibly contagious disease here that breaks down your immune system. The Hutch has one of the few top medical units that can cure you and since it’s near home I believe you’re treatment should be there.
“Just imagine, you are traveling in these exclusive isolation suits designed specifically for your condition. The airline is fully aware of our needs. You will be loaded on the plane first by way of a private exit. The only down side is the gurneys only fit in the first class area so every passenger boarding the plane will pass by you.
“I’ll make certain that your toys erupt at appropriate times so you can squirm and maybe cum for the pleasure of those on the aisle. Well, fellows…time to go.”
The door to the ambulance slam shut and we are rolling down the street sirens blaring. My mind explodes with ecstasy from the speech Lydia just gave. I cum in a shuddering release as we bump on to the next peak of lust and desire. I hear my grunting she-male mate next to me. He must be in boiling ecstasy as well.
To be continued…
Story continues in Part Three