Lust in Latex

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Lust in Latex Page 8

by Rachel Bussel


  “What are you waiting for, Nadine?” Sylvia asked. I felt the rubber switch in her hand flick my bare ass in warning. I wore no clothes and my hair was pulled on top of my head in a tight bun.

  My mouth tugged the latex carefully. I must not damage the garment. Sylvia would not be happy. The first few inches would have been easy—the dress was loose at the ankles—but Sylvia had spread her feet wide so that the rubber was pulled taut like a drum between the V of her legs.

  I nudged upward with my lips and teeth. My cheek pressed against the smooth slickness, tempted to nuzzle, wanting to lick. And then the dress gave a millimeter, and another. I climbed Sylvia’s calf, revealing a beautifully sinewed length of lower leg. The dress was new and her skin carried the flavor of the silicone’s powdery sweet perfume. The scent invaded my nostrils, clogged my senses.

  My tongue poked free and slipped between skin and rubber.

  Instantly, the riding crop slapped my ass. The sting sent volts of electricity to my cunt, causing me to jerk away from her. Sylvia’s rubber-sheathed hand swooped down and yanked hold of the bun at the back of my neck. Pins pinged to the floor and my long blonde hair fell around my shoulders. She used my hair to tear me from my knees and force me to eye level. Her dark brown eyes had blackened in color with her anger.

  “Lick me again without permission and I will bloody your ass with my whip!” Sylvia said, the tone of her voice telling me she would like nothing better. The twitch of my pussy told me the same.

  The slash of her riding crop was not as frightening as she thought, but pain was pain and I did not relish the angry swipe of her rubber switch on my ass. She let go and I bruised my knees when they hit the linoleum floor. I barely caught myself from falling over. I took a couple of steadying breaths and felt the riding crop beneath my chin. Sylvia directed my head back to the hem of her dress.

  My teeth and lips took a firm bite of her dress and shimmied the flexible fabric to her knees. Sylvia took a purposeful step out, widening her stance, thus tightening the rubber dress. I tugged with my teeth. Nothing moved.

  The riding crop was caressing my asscheeks with gentle encouraging taps.

  “My last girl would have had me naked by now,” Sylvia said.

  Anger flushed my cheeks. I pushed hard with my forehead, but I was sweating and my face slid against the slippery silicone.

  “You’re an embarrassment,” Sylvia said. She brought the riding crop down hard and I made a sound of denial. My ragged breath fogged the latex.

  The narrow strip of air between the flaps of silicone between her knees gave me a clear, unfettered view of her huge rubber cock.

  It was red, veined, beautiful new rubber. I squeezed my thighs tightly together.

  Sylvia was hooked up, jacked up. She brought the switch down again.

  Desperate, I forced the roughness of my hair against the latex. It inched a millimeter, then another. Static ignited my hair. I could feel the blonde strands encircle Sylvia, wind their way around her thighs and hips.

  I wiggled my shoulders between her legs. My head was pushing, my teeth tugging. Her dress was no longer an erotic lure but a barrier keeping me from tasting her rubber dick.

  The riding crop now fell with a steady blaze of pain, my ass on fire with it. Sylvia was laughing, enjoying my frustration.

  “You desperate, dirty girl.”

  My head and teeth made their way to the dick bulge, but I could not pull the rubber dress over the great protuberance. It was too long and the layers of latex were now bunched up beneath the great strap-on dick I wanted to taste. I was panting with my desire; my thighs were slippery with pussy juice.

  Sylvia’s gloved fingers wound through my hair and she set me away from her, forcing my tender reddened asscheeks onto my calves. I moaned low in my throat and realized I was crying.

  “Is this what you want, kitten?” she asked, gesturing to her midsection.

  “Please,” I begged. My gaze worshipped her rubber stiffy.

  She took her free hand and forced the tight dress up. The cock strained, pulling upward with the dress, seeming to grow and pulse with each movement of the shiny fabric.

  “Keep your mouth shut, girl,” Sylvia said.

  And then the great thing was free. A ruler’s length of thick rubber dick slapped me hard on the face. I rubbed my cheek against the red veined beauty, pressed my forehead to its bulbous tip. My eyelashes fluttered around the length, my eyelids receiving poking kisses.

  My mouth was watering. Saliva was pooling. This was a new hard-on, straight from the package. The scent was a pussy wetter: harsh, manufactured lust. My insides were like goo. My appetite ignited. I must taste. I must sample this delicacy.

  My lips parted and my stomach quaked. Sylvia yanked my hair and my head snapped back away from my prize.

  “Do you think you deserve a nibble, my nasty, naughty girl?” she asked. Sylvia took the thick knob of her dick in her other hand and pressed the rubber against my face. My nostrils flared. The smell was driving me insane. I wanted her to fuck my mouth, to choke me with the great rubber phallus. My tongue parted my lips.

  “Nadine! You do not listen!” Sylvia pushed me away from her and I fell to my elbows. “Do not move!”

  I dutifully stared at the floor in front of me, trying not to sob with disappointment. Now I would not get to suck her rubber cock. Why did I not have patience? Sylvia kicked my legs apart and rubbed the end of the cock between my thighs from behind.

  “You nasty, wet girl!” she said, mopping the end of her rubber cock with my slick desire. My cunt was pulsing, wanting her rubber meat, but I wanted to taste it more. Sylvia slid through my dripping pussy and twisted her dick against my fuck-hole. She would stretch me. She would hurt me.

  Sylvia was angry. You would expect her to ram me with her rubber cock, but she did not. She pressed slowly. She pushed the head against my eager pussy with deliberate calm. Sylvia knew me, knew that if I could not suck her cock, I wanted her to fuck me into the floor. So she slid into me just as slowly as I had worked the dress up her body, one millimeter at a time.

  The rim of my hole strained, and I could hear the soft slurp as I took her in. Inch one, inch two, six inches, eight. And then I was too full. I could feel her thick tool on the other side of my body. I shook my head and tried to move away. She would not fit.

  “Be still,” Sylvia said, her voice calm. I froze. She placed a gloved hand on my hip and began to caress my skin in slow, soothing circles. Her rubber dick pressed forward.

  There was nowhere for the dildo to go, I thought. Sylvia slid her arm around my body and her slippery rubber fingertips embraced my clit. She squeezed the rigid nubbin and began to milk me. Swirl and squeeze. Swirl and squeeze. My insides dripped with moisture with each pass of her hand, and Sylvia sank her fat cock home, bare thighs to my welted ass.

  Sylvia swiveled her hips and I cried out. The hurting pleasure was nearly too much. She fucked me slow, with long, agonizing strokes. My clit was a hard knot of unspent desire. The wet sound of her rubber dick working my taut hole was agonizing. I needed the taste of rubber. That was the only way I would come, the only thing that would get me off.

  Sylvia’s hips began to move faster, jabbing my insides with intense little thrusts. Her thighs stung my ass and she reached around and twisted my breasts in her hands, latex-shrouded nails digging into my flesh. She came in a wave, undulating on my back, riding me into the floor, before she was still.

  No! my mind screamed. The ache in my clit was a physical pain. I rested my forehead against my bound wrists. My breath was coming in sharp gasps. My tongue was thick and dry, aching nearly as much as my pussy.

  Sylvia pulled her dick free and the acrid scent of sex and rubber hung in the air. I could feel the wet length of silicone against the back of my ass like a broken promise. She stood, and I could hear her adjusting her outfit, the squeak of her rubber-tipped fingers against the latex dress.

  “Beautiful.” The click of Sylvia’s stiletto
s echoed in the room. “Filthy.” Sylvia walked to my right, past my head. “Girl.” She came to a stop just in front of me.

  I looked up. Sylvia stood as she had when we began the evening. She bent closer to me, her breasts moving subtly beneath her dress. Her exposed nipples became even darker. Gravity pulled the blood into the beautiful berry-shaped teat. Ripe. Ready to be picked.

  Sylvia pressed her tacky fingers to my lips. They smelt of sticky clit and warm rubber. Rubber that had been in my pussy only minutes ago. The ache grew.

  My eyes were pleading with Sylvia. Please!

  “Lick,” she said.

  My tongue swiped her fingers and I began to shudder. Pussy-flavored latex. My favorite. I sucked two knuckles into my mouth and my cunt vibrated. Three fingers, four. I could have swallowed her hand, her wrist, her forearm, her elbow.

  Sylvia was like candy, a beautiful gift from Wonka. I imagined gorging my insides, her body slurped whole and perfect down my throat. Her latex-encased figure would swim through my veins like a toxin. I shook.

  My eyes were open, taking in the shiny red length of her forearm. The riding crop was on my ass again, slapping hard. The sound of my bruised flesh echoed in the room. The switch slid center and rode the crack of my ass down. Slick, thin rubber met my pubis.

  I wanted to come. My eyes caught Sylvia’s and begged for permission. With a twist of her wrists and a nod of her head, I came in a puddle of desire.

  Rubber and sex had set me free.

  HOW TO LIVEN UP A BORING PARTY

  Teresa Noelle Roberts

  Cecily fidgeted with her empty champagne flute, vaguely aware that Laine Evans was talking. Something about the school budget—or was it the other woman’s departmental budget? Or the state budget?

  She made what she hoped was an appropriately noncommittal “go on” noise, but she’d lost track of the conversation about ten pussy-twitches back.

  Wetness.

  That was what Cecily was focused on now. She could feel juices and sweat pooling in her rubber panties, making them slippery enough to stroke against her lips and clit whenever she moved. It was a warm evening, and she was sweating inside her rubber bra as well.

  Under other circumstances she’d have found the sensation unpleasant, like being stuck in a damp wetsuit on a warm day.

  But a wetsuit wouldn’t come with a built-in rubber dildo.

  Filling her.

  Stretching her.

  Making her aware of what a slut she was every time she took a step, every time she shifted in place.

  It had made the car ride over to Gary and Jessi Ransome’s house delightful torture. Every bump in the road had jarred her, pressed the dildo against her cervix, sent wavelets of sensation rippling through her body. And even when they were on the highway, she couldn’t help being aware that she was wearing rubber underwear—cobalt blue with black accents—under her chocolate-brown silk Ann Taylor dress, on the way to a party thrown by one of Adam’s coworkers and his wife.

  She and Adam had played dress-up before: silk, lace, leather (the latter for both of them). And this was far from the first time he had convinced her to wear something completely outrageous—or nothing at all—under an ordinary outfit, to liven up an otherwise boring activity. Panty-free grocery shopping was a classic, and the light nipple clips had certainly made her nephew’s high school graduation go by faster.

  But rubber was different. It was a new sensation, a weird sensation, not something she’d have sought out on her own.

  But Adam, it turned out, liked rubber. Liked it a lot.

  His excitement had excited her.

  And the way he’d looked at her once she wriggled her way into the strange garments—the way he’d gone down on his knees to lick at the cobalt blue rubber compressing her clit—made her get wetter and more open, despite not being one-hundred-percent convinced about the pleasures of hot, confining, unbreathing rubber. The dildo was helping with that.

  She’d been trembling with excitement by the time they’d arrived at the Ransomes’; she’d gulped one glass of champagne and sipped her way through another in an effort to steady her nerves enough to act normal.

  Admitting to herself that she had no idea what Laine was rattling on about, she looked around the crowded living room—a tribute to Martha Stewart and to Jessi Ransome’s OCD—until she found Adam.

  Her nipples felt like boulders, stretching the rubber bra. Her pussy jumped, contracting hard around the dildo, her lips squirming over the slick, wet rubber.

  On the surface, Adam looked as standard-issue suburban as the rest of the guests, but she knew better.

  Her slightly twisted beloved. Her demon lover in khakis and a dress shirt.

  And right now, from the look of it, a demon lover in need of rescue. He’d been cornered by Gary Ransome for some work talk and it looked like Gary was still talking his ear off, twenty minutes later. He looked only slightly more interested than Cecily had been about Laine’s budget rant.

  He made eye contact with her, then gestured with his right hand—a little beckoning motion that was their prearranged signal for “Come here and save me.”

  Cecily touched Laine on the arm. “I’m sorry. I think Adam’s looking for me.”

  “He sure keeps you on a short leash.”

  Cecily bit her tongue, sorely tempted to say something along the lines of “Not yet, but we’ve talked about trying it sometime.” Instead, she composed herself as best she could over the insistent signals of her nipples and pussy and shook her empty champagne glass at Laine. “More importantly, I need to fix this little problem, and the bar is on the other side of the room.”

  “Next to Adam.” Laine smiled. “You two are awfully cute, you know. Go on, lovebird.”

  Gingerly, very gingerly, she made her way through the party to Adam, each step a bit of sticky, wet, stretched, erotic torture.

  He excused himself from Gary, slipped his arm around her, and cupped her bottom possessively.

  Heat seared through silk and rubber, as if she’d take off her clothes later and find his handprint burned onto her cheek.

  Adam kissed her on the nearer cheek and whispered in her ear, “How are you doing, my little rubbermaid?”

  She winced at the bad pun, but had to confess the truth. Wanted to confess the truth, because it might get her home sooner, let Adam’s cock replace the wonderfully tormenting dildo, let her finally reach the climax she’d been hovering near all evening. (She might have actually come by now if she hadn’t had to use the bathroom, which had broken the cycle of arousal long enough to keep her on edge, rather than falling over the edge.) “Wet,” she whispered back. “Sticky. Sweaty. A little sore. And horny as hell.”

  This time, Adam kissed her properly, a deep, loving kiss that probably suggested to everyone else that one of them was tipsy. She leaned into him, rubbing her hard, rubber-clad nipples surreptitiously against him, barely resisting the urge to grind her aching clit against his cock, there in front of everyone.

  Gary spirited her champagne glass away. When they broke the kiss, he returned it, full again. “Glad to see you guys are enjoying yourselves,” he said dryly.

  “Oh, definitely,” Adam answered. “This is one of the better parties we’ve been to lately.”

  Cecily mouthed, “Thank you,” and sipped the crisp bubbly, grateful that Adam had answered. She was sure she couldn’t say anything sensible.

  “At last!” she exclaimed.

  They locked the door behind them and melted into each other.

  Adam’s mouth ravaged hers. Adam’s hands pounced on her sensitized skin. Adam’s hands unzipped her dress, pushing it from her shoulders. It slid to the floor in a silken heap. She kicked it aside, letting her shoes follow it on its path across the hardwood floor.

  Now she was wearing only rubber.

  And seconds later, or so it seemed, Adam was wearing nothing at all.

  Adam pinched her nipples through the constricting material, then bent to capture one i
n his mouth.

  Strange, to feel the heat of his mouth, but not the moisture, to feel the motion and pressure of his tongue, but diffused. Leather transmuted sensation, too, but in a different way. For herself, she’d have been happier to get the bra out of the way, to experience Adam’s touch directly on her skin and end the long tease.

  But his expression, just before he’d buried his face in breasts and rubber, and the way his erection was butting against her, rock hard and, she swore, bigger than usual, gave her a thrill that made up for the subdued sensation.

  He cupped his hand between her legs.

  Cecily bucked against it, grinding into his palm, feeling the dildo inside her as something the size of a rocket.

  He turned his attention to her other nipple and moved his hand slightly, circling her clit.

  Slicked-up rubber slipped and caught, slipped and caught, tugging on her folds, making the dildo twitch slightly. Pushing her, pushing her toward the edge.

  She rocked her hips, begging for more stimulation and getting it, feeling the dildo inside her, feeling Adam’s arousal, feeling his hands and his mouth touching her through the rubber.

  She fell over the edge, and would have fallen for real if Adam hadn’t caught her. Her cunt contracted hard on the dildo, fluttering around it, and she couldn’t tell if the next set of waves that passed over her was a second orgasm or the first one continuing. After the long buildup, the long tease, the release was enough to bring tears to her eyes.

  Then they were on the floor, not caring that it was hard and uncomfortable, and Adam was peeling the panties off her. It was as if the orgasm had triggered some kind of time lapse because she wasn’t sure how they actually got there.

  Some of her skin seemed to come with the panties, after sweating so much, but she was at a point where a little pain was just one more stimulus.

  The dildo slid out of her with a soft, wet pop, and its movement—and some evil things Adam did with his fingers while he was getting it out—pushed her to an aftershock.

 

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