Gromet's PlazaLatex Stories


by Unknown

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© Copyright 2014 - Unknown - Used by permission

Storycodes: FF; F/f; other/f; latex; catsuit; corset; gloves; hood; harness; toys; insert; computer; majick; transport; cons; X

"That parcel is here Susy!" Cheryl shouted, as she battled through the front door of the flat. Cheryl kicked it out of the way and busied herslef with the shopping: Susy's damned projects always seemed to involve some disaster - late night, long journeys, and this latest one... She couldn't even get Susy to admit what this one was all about. All she was told was to look out for this large and important parcel. And here it was - in the way of her shopping, swathed in tons of sticky tape.

"Now," said Suzy, bustling around in a bathrobe, "They emailed me the instructions, and you are going to have to give me a hand. It's going to be quite an exercise and I have to be able to do it in time to music. Where's the scissors?"

Cheryl barely had time to put the milk in the fridge before Susy had the parcel open: lots of smaller tissue enclosed parcels fell out all over the floor. Cheryl despaired of Susy's housekeeping sometimes: tissue packages were strewn everywere. "OK, first we use the lubricant..." Susy was reading from the email message on the screen, muttering to herself, as the bathrobe fell to the floor. Cheryl came in, arms folded, and watched in surprise as Susy began spreading a translucent, slippery fluid over her feet and lower legs. Her hands slipped on the small bottle: where the fluid passed, a light translucent foam arose on her skin.

Typical Susy, no forward planning: Cheryl caught the bottle before there was a major spill on the floor. Susy scrolled the email message a little further and looked sheepish: "...with the applicator gloves provided" she read. "Could you, honey? I'm sorry, but this stuff's on my hands already!"

Cheryl impatiently turned over the packages, found the right part, and slipped them swiftly over her hands. After a moment's thought, she pulled her wooly jumper off: it wouldn't be much fun getting this stuff off the wool, what with the funny washing instructions... It didn't seem unusal to be naked together - they'd had their little fling when moving in for the first time - but Cheryl didn't feel even slightly sexual. Susy was a pain when she went off like this, and the latest project, featuring some idiotic show with dreams of Vegas, was just the latest in a line of scatter-brained ideas.

The goop made Susy slippery, and shiny: it felt expensive - a tiny amount went a long way. After a few minuites they were giggling - with the initial mistake Susy had made the bottle was almost uncatchable. This at least got the atmosphere heading the right way: Cheryl even started to feel a little amused by it all, though there were too many spats and arguments in their past for her to be really horny - Susy had been just a trifle mean-spirited to her over some of her interests in the past. Cheryl had no guilt complex over giving her a firm slap on the hand as she started rooting around the tissue-papers.

"And don't touch that keyboard either! I'll do it!" She said sharply.

Susy would make a mess anywhere, given the chance. The email said to unpack item number four first: translucent numbers were printed on the paper. Very classy... Cheryl picked at the sellotape for a second in the gloves: then Susy jerked the whole thing away and tore it open. "Come on, Cheryl, I'm late already. I'm supposed to do this in a few minutes as part of a quick-change and I'm going out tonight... Let's get going!"

Cheryl bit her lip, retrieved the spilled package, grabbed with the gloves inside the paper... And found a pair of gossamer thin latex panties. She held them up, opened out, so she could see: transparent, nearly flesh-tone, quite full cut. She was about to speak, when Susy fudged getting her foot into them because they were held too high. Before the impatient girl could say anything, Cheryl bit her lip and lowered the panties. With scant regard for the thinness of the rubber, Susy wiggled into them with a slap: absently, Cheryl noticed the way the panties clung, smoothly, to Susy's hips: the gel or lube or whatever made the flesh and the latex slide smoothy, but stay in contact.

Susy wasn't hanging around, she peered at the screen, hands over her full breasts. "Next piece next piece!" She wailed.

Cheryl scrolled down: package three. More ripping of sumptuous tissue, and out came a pair of elbow-length gloves, black this time: Susy's hands were already wet from the mistkae with the bottle: there was only one false start this time, the thumb of one hand flapping around on the wroing side and Susy unable to pull the glove off. Cheryl removed it for her and with practiced ease flipped it inside out - she looked back quickly to see if her deftness had been spotted, but Susy was squinting at the screen again. On went the glove - Cheryl was astounded that it didn't rip, the way she put it on.

Cheryl already had the next item ready, trying to make Susy hold still - those gloves meant she was keen to get to the keyboard again, and she'd drip on the carpet if she got there. This next item was much the largest in the box, and terribly confusing once out of it's paper wrapper.

"How the hell does this work?" Susy's gleaming black latex hands flipped it to and fro, fiddling with zips and poking around with the bust-cups. Cheryl stood slightly back: owning up to knowing that it was a back-zip catsuit would not help at this moment. Susy's revulsion for pervy things in their brief fling was now a huge barrier - and yet here she was getting into some very expensively defined, extremely well made, cream-of-the-crop fetishwear. Cheryl hoped to keep her on the hop, distracted, for long enough to complete the dressing sequence - it might just, she mused, be the right thing to get them back on track. And it was making her terribly terribly horny.

Susy, as per usual, went off at half-cock with the catsuit, trying to put it on with the zip at the front (and the bust cups at the back!) While Cheryl was reading down the email further, to hide her blushes. When she realised that the corset - the next item - had to go on first in order for the suit to even do up, such was it's tightness - she turned around to find Susy yanking at the zip at it's tightest point, face contorted. Thankfully, there wasn't a scrap of shoddy workmanship in the whole package, because neither zip nor suit gave way. Patiently, Cheryl took Susy's hands off the zip. "You have to do the corset first, silly. That's why it won't do up."

Susy's response was a wail: "I have to be out soon, and I'm supposed to be able to do this to a time limit! Come on!"

Cheryl smiled. "You've also got the suit on the wrong way. Look at the wrinkles round your ankle: it's all wrong. Off with it." They peeled it all down, the lube not helping much with this process, turned it around, and slipped it back up. This time, the tight black latex cupped Susy's ample rear, the zip slipping between her cheeks - Susy was all for dipping into the arms immediately, but Cheryl held up the corset package. Much huffing, which in Susy-speak means "well, get on with it then!"

Cheryl was most tongue-tied when it came to the corset tightening: she could flip herself into a cross-lace in an instant, and Susy was in a hurry - but that would give the game away awfully. Keeping her presence of mind with the aroma of warm latex developing right where she was lacing fiddly eyelets, just at the top of Susy's ass-cheeks, was a real trial of strength - and the lube/dresser made tightening the corset an absolute dream, the heavyweight latex and boning sliding across the restricted flesh as if in water.

With the sides of the corset drawn together, the catsuit zip proceeded up to Susy's shoulderblades, until Cheryl realised two minor but important points: Susy was standing with her arms still outside the suit, and there were other zip pullers further down the zip, dangling cheekily, permitting other openings at other times. She became suddenly aware that standing here slack-jawed with arousal, nipples aware of every tiny imperfection in her T-shirt, was going to make Susy even more impatient - and every moment she delayed would prolong this sweet agony further. The second realisation was that a loose bag flapping over Susy's breasts, pert in the suit's seamed cups, was an integrated hood.

Cheryl cleared her throat. "Where have you put your hairclips, Ms. Scatterbrain?"

"What *for*?" Susy's voice betrayed nothing more than her usual disorganised desperation - Unlike Cheryl's, which was beginning to thicken with desire. "Oh, they're in the bedroom. Be a love and get them for me. Which pacakge is next? I really cannot see how one could get into this lot in a five minute quick change..."

Cheryl dragged out package number one - a large and lumpy mass under the tissue, with laces poking out in various directions. Unable to face opening it with shaking hands, she threw it past the shimmering latex form of Susy, kneeling in the midst of a mass of tissue and goop, and sought momentary refuge in Susy's bedroom, searching for hair-clips. Once in the dark, away from the rustling sounds of packing and clothing, relieved from the sharp, tangy scent of new latex warmed by a body and the look of Susy's scatty - but picture perfect - figure wrapped in a fetish dream - she made an attempt to calm down.

It was just another of Susy's bizarre media jobs, and the Email meant nothing special - just another of her flakey friends. Next week it would be flower power or bovver boots or some other style - this was purely a coincidence. If that's so, she said, how come these panties feel so tight, and why are my nipples aching so? Her fingers hovered indecisively over her crotch, and she dropped the hair-clips three times befoire she had a sufficient set. Her searching through the bomb-site which was Susy's room was interrupted by a plaintive cry from outside. "I'm not sure I've got this right, you know?"

She stuck her head out of the door, to see Susy's apologetic face surrounded by a small rat's nest of thin straps, wobbling laces and small flat pieces of stiffer patented latex. Her hands, slick inside their latex gloves, had been trying to put the last piece together, and failing miserably.

"No honey, that's not it at all. Wait a second. First we have to get your hair done up."

She stepped across the piles of rubbish on the floor, gathered Susy's long hair up into a twisted plait, and skilfully entrapped it in a cone-shaped swirl on the crown of her head with a few hairpins. This took her mind off the whole scenario - as did looking down in deep puzzlement at the flapping mess hanging half in and half out of the suit.

"Susy baby, why did you put this neck-chocker thing on underneath the suit?"

"Oh, I don't know, I thought it was like the bloody corset!" Susy was reaching the end of her patience, that was clear.

What was also clear was that this flappy collection of straps went outside the latex layer, not inside. Cheryl didn't need to look to the email message to work out the instructions for this top part of the harness-thing - the fit around Susy's neck was in any case too loose underneath the neck of the catsuit. It would never zip right up with that in place: happily, Susy's hands were so restricted in the gloves, her ability to get a grip on something finicky like a lace so compromised by the latex and the dressing lubricant underneath, that she had only just started lacing.

Frowning theatrically, Cheryl knelt immediately in front of the somewhat despondent latex covered girl, flipped the loose sack of the attached hood out of the way and flipped the laces out of the holes in the choker. Once free of the object, Susy slumped down, looking at her hands in the shiny material and muttering sulkily. Cheryl knew this state of mind: a couple more minutes of stewing in the consequences of her own overexcitement and she'd go off the boil entirely.

"We have to get this done up first, baby..." Cheryl couldn't help letting her speech slip back into a fantasy style: kneeling on the floor like this was making her panties ride up and her heart beat faster already, looking at the patterns of tiny creases in the latex across Susy's abdomen, the line of ridged bumps where the rubber rose and fell across the corset laces. She lifted both Susy's downcast head and the loose flap of the hood.

Susy smiled, looking either tired or a little dreamy: "Oh, yes... I forgot, you like this stuff, don't you..."

Cheryl held her breath for a fraction of a second - but it wasn't a sharp accusing look, of the kind that Susy had been much too good at giving whenever Cheryl had suggested experimenting in the past: rather, Susy's hands were rubbing up and down her thighs as she said it, feeling the interplay of two compound surfaces of skin, lubricant, latex, latex, lubricant and skin, all moving together. One leg was folded under her, the other straight out in front: she did a dancer's stretch and ran a black gloved hand all the way down to a black stocking'd foot, pushing the latex inbetween her toes and wriggling: just as Cheryl was getting intense shivers from watching, the stretching which the catsuit allowed was counteracted by the entirely fixed dimensions of the zip, which ran all the way from between Susy's legs to the crown of the hood: Susy was brought up short by the zip sliding up to her adam's apple.

"Ack!" she said, dreamyness retrating a little. She sat upright and added, "Come on then, how does this bit go?"

It wasn't until Cheryl expertly turned the hood inside out, to start the process of inserting Susy's head chin-first, that she realised: the suit had a wide and sensuous, red-trimmed mouth - but no eye holes. She couldn't remember - Susy had been in such a hurry - but when the suit had first been laid out on the floor, she was sure that eyeholes had been there: some niggling reminder, some state of mind or notion was battling with her arousal, but only for half a second. She held the everted shape up on front of Susy (who looked as if she was beginning to enjoy this herself) and tried to be firm when she said, "Ready?"

The attempt to be firm failed dismally: her voice caught and stuttered on just the one word: Susy looked up at her dreamily and said, "Ohhh, yessss": intuitively, she straightened her posture and arched her back, to make the zip looser. Cheryl found herself in exquisite torture, leaning over Susy's arched form to smooth the hood into place - across her chin, settling the mouth in place around her lips, up her cheeks, folding the latex back over her ears and matching up the sides of the join at the base of her skull before pulling the zipper up, tick by slow tick. She didn't trust herself to say anything about the lack of eye-holes - but Susy's eyes were closed in anticipation anyway as the black tide slowly rose around her.

The zip made it all the way to the top of her head, the top of the hood stretching slightly into a cone shape to cover her piled-up hair. Such was the quality of manufacture of the suit that a minature open pocket at the top of the zip took the zip runner in under a protective latex flap. Cheryl turned back to the screen, frowning at the email - she was sure that there would be mention of the lack of eye-holes in the costume: no matter how weird and wacky the stage show, movie role or other project, nobody in show business could expect a performer to complete the outer layer - the thing with all the straps and the neck-choker - with their eyes covered.

The email described wriggling into the zip - it even included a sentence on straightening out a wire coathanger to help with pulling the zip up - but once it described tucking the zip puller into the little pocket on the hood, it came to an abrupt end. Beneath the last paragraph was a web-site link.

"Hmmmm..." Cheryl turned around.

Susy had put her hands behind her back and lowered herself to the floor, a perfect shiny black reflective form, picked out only by the zip between her legs and the red outline of her lips in the hood. Inevitably, obviously, she was running her hands over her smooth, slick head, feeling the way the latex formed over her hair, tracing the faint outline of her ears pressed against the sides, feeling the slight dips from eyebrow to cheekbone, even pushing a finger slightly between her lips, tasting the residual sourness of the gloves. Her hands moved on, around the curl of her chin, back to the side of her head and then down her neck, feeling the unbroken expanse of slick, stretchy, tight material.

There was a slight crinkling noise accompanying this process: Cheryl was positively giddy with lust, watching from only feet away. By the time she turned back, the link was chugging away: some cheesy magician's site with flickering animated 'stars'. Fetching purple outlined chunky letters and - "Hey! I have a schedule to keep!"

Whatever Susy's movements might have indicated to the totally overwhelmed Cheryl, her voice was on form. Cheryl flipped back and saw her groping after the outer harness on the floor, almost making sniffing movements like a rubber dog - a very curvy, female rubber dog, but nonetheless a pain in the ass dog.

"I'll give you pain in the ass" Cheryl muttered, and pulled back the hunting, black rubber figure until she was lying face up again. Holding her legs flat with her own outflung foot, she wrestled the bottom straps of the harness over her legs, pulling them and their attached dildos quickly up the giggling girl's leg. Wreck *my* evening, Cheryl thought, lips compressed into a tight line. Hijack *my* fantasies and tease me with them!

Not much pause getting the vaginal dildo into place: Cheryl convinced herself not to look up at those cartoony red latex lips as an 'ooooh' came from the top of the figure beneath her - but the anal dildo took three goes, only going in once Cheryl spat on, blew on and then lightly spanked Susy's very exposed clitoris, pushed forward between the harness straps, the zip of the suit and the impressively proportioned dildo buried deep behind it. Susy couldn't stop giggling as Cheryl rolled her over, pulled hard on the sides of the stiff corset, and started rapidly lacing it up - but she was quiet again once it was finished, and Cheryl rolled her over to attend to the breast straps, the neck-corset, the ever thinner network of straps for the head - and the gag.

"OK, honey?" Cheryl had cleared her throat of the huskiness, "The message sent me to a web site and I'm looking at it now. Only a minute or two more with the gag in, I promise..."

She knew this would get some response from the feisty girl inside the bondage: as the red mouth opened, so she popped in the gag and closed the lock on the back of the set of straps encompassing her head. There was a muffled 'mmmphh': she knew it translated to 'get on with it'. The site had showed up: a tiny black frame in the midst of the white of the browser window, and a silly scrolling display of words, like some retro red LED sign in a shop window. This particular silly display said "click on the black square", scrolling in flickery, cheesy lights from right to left.

Cheryl clicked; the black square jumped, and slowly brightened, to reveal a rather unsteady, low-resolution picture of a clown's face, lit from below by a torch. The clown stepped back, and nearly fell over something. The picture was dim, wobbly, and the frame rate was slow: but, in the swings of the torch she could just about make out an angled table and some wardrobe doors. It was small room; the clown - dressed in floppy harlequin black & whites - stepped out of sight and a fluorescent flickered over the scene. Then he was back, rather too well lit now, white pancake right up in front of the webcam. The display switched to read, "and now, for my next trick..."

The clown wrenched open a wardrobe, which teetered over it threateningly, the doors and interior smothered with an oily, slippery, slick and glittering array of every imaginable piece of latex. Plunging it's harlequin arm deep in the wardrobe, the Clown retrieved a shapeless mass of latex, spun the tilted table around into the full glare of the fluorescent light - the webcam sputtering and dropping frames the whole time - and with a grand flourish he dumped the mass out. It was a catsuit; flapping the hood over the top of the table, he flourished his hand up near the screen and, as if from nowhere, produced a giant, ornate red silk handkerchief. The display changed again: "In the bottom of the box, babe."

Cheryl actually sat dumbstruck for nearly a minute - it was only Susy's hand, moving in a bored circle, trapped inside the rubber gloves, happening to catch her that made her jump up. She had been looking past the clown, managing to ignore his increasing impatience and capering antics, at the room in the webcam. That was so much latex! And only one wardrobe... The display changed to upper case and started to strobe. She spun back to the battered cardboard box: at the bottom was a large ornately patterned red silk handkerchief. The instant she touched it the clown leaped over to the table, spread his out flat and covered the feet of the catsuit with it. The display read, "a volunteer! From the audience!"

Then the clown got in a good few nods and winks and flutters of the handkerchief and it changed again, "You madam! Yes you! Follow what I do!"

Cheryl put the red silk square down over Susy's feet. At that very instant, the Clown did something rather indistinct with his handkerchief, jumping up theatrically - but keeping his hands perfectly still. The display shifted again to read: "Move it up! Slowly does it!" Cheryl frowned, licked her lips, and pulled the square upwards. Susy's feet, poking up, vanished under the first third of the square, and Cheryl watched the bumps they made slide down... And down... And disappear.

She pulled up by another couple of inches: poking out under the bottom edge were a perfeclty flat, empty pair of latex socks. She spun, heart in mouth: the Clown had stopped too. Under his red silk, poking out, were a pair of well-filled latex feet. Susy shuffled a bit: the clown's pair moved. The pair under Cheryl's hankie shifted, but only because they were, under there somewhere, emptily attached to a moving thing. The scrolling message changed again, almost hypnotically repeating the chant: "Higher! HIGHER!"

Cheryl's heart was thumping so fast, and her face so flushed, that a drip of sweat rolled down her nose and splashed darkly on the red silk. She moved it up by six inches, spinning round: some surreal effect kept the Clown's hands perfectly in sync with hers. A pair of pointed, smooth, shiny latex feet with ankles and shins were on the tilted table beside him. In turning, she moved it up further: Susy's knees disappeared under the top edge; the clown even managed to copy the angle that the handkerchief sat at.

Gulping and wiping her brow, looking up at the unusually patient Susy lying mute behind the gag and inside the layer of black and glittering rubber, she thought back, muddled in lust: if Susy wanted to try out the kinky rubber - Cheryl's own favourite fantasy - then this was one hell of a way to get into it. And after all that messing around and complaining, a bit of time in the hands of the extremely well-equipped clown would serve her right!

The handkerchief swept upwards in her hands. It was just wide enough to include the arms, now fairly quietly folded over her strongly pinched-in waist under two corsets - in rising over her ample hips, thrust up by her curvy ass lying on the ground - the edges of the red silk almost rose high enough to show the fine detail of the bizarre deflation/transport in progress - but Cheryl bit her lips and kept moving. Tiny static sparks, from the silk rubbing over the latex body beneath it, ran into her fingers as she reached Susy's individually cupped, conical breasts beneath the thin black layer.

The Clown on the screen was barely controlling himself, holding his handkerchief quite still while jumping up and down, shifting down to look at the gently squirming body on his table, shifting up to grin insanely into the camera over his shoulder - but the handkercief never strayed. Eventually, Cheryl had a flat latex catsuit, laid out as if after cleaning, a red handkerchief lying across the top of the shoulders, and the neck & head of her friend, still surrounded in rubber, gagged, and cross-crossed with straps, on the floor. Susy had gone very still...

She debated undoing the straps and letting those red lips free of the dildo-gag. She turned to the screen... The text display had shifted to, "You know you want to..."

She turned back. Almost convulsively, wanting to catch the process out somehow, she flicked the handkerchief up and over the trapped face, the coiled-up hair, the straps, and the rubber cock. Then she turned to the screen, balling up the handkerchief in her fist. The clown stood back from the table, shaking his hands to and fro as if they had stung him. Susy was evidently aware of her change in posture from lying to half-erect: her hands were pushing her up from the table, her head moving around.

The Clown reached for the neck of his harlequin costume, pulling at it roughly: a seam split wide down the front and his black latex covered shoulders, muscular and fully developed, popped free of the enveloping billowy silk. He threw the harlquin costume back over his shoulder, with unerring accuracy - right over the camera. It showed two black and one white stripe, from three inches away, out of focus. The text message switched to "And you?..."

Cheryl's hand was at her crotch. She jumped as if stung, throwing the handkerchief across the room, looking back to the parcel and to the utterly flat, glitteringly shiny suit laid out on the floor in front of her. She actually lifted it up and looked suspiciously underneath, and then the touch of it brought memories flooding back, and he lifted it to her nose and mouth. She looked at the parcel: it was suddenly full again, the tissue-paper wrappings poking out of the top. The suit had a zipper at the back. Temptation...


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