Tombstone worked silently, coating the plaster head first with a releasing agent, and then a build up of rubber. The mask would be made of a thinner compound and slightly more pliable than the rest of the costume he would make her. He selected the dye from his many colors and stirred it into the bucket. After applying each coat, he smoothed around the edges of the mouth opening, eyes, nostrils, and ears, patiently drying each of the five thin coats until the mask had a thickness just shy of a quarter inch.
It was a remarkable compound that had the appearance of being a solid glossy finish. In reality, there were indiscernible pores through the surface to let the skin breathe underneath. It had taken two days for him to finish the mask, and he sat back to look at his creation. The woman, Claudine? Tombstone shrugged. Her name made no difference. She had been pacing and dragging the chain, and he only saw her when he fed her, ordered her to shower, and lifted her in and out of the casket to sleep.
Tombstone stretched the rubber off the form, already imagining it surrounding her head. His cock jerked and his balls filled with warm excitement. He rubbed his stiff rod. Soon. He had tried having sex with them when he captured them, but he quickly softened in disgust and went limp. Only when the shining latex covered their heads and eventually their bodies, could he thrust to triumphant climax as a reward for his artistic accomplishment.
For two days he had left her alone, and Claudine was nervously grateful. She knew it would not last forever, and despair set in when she discovered no possible way to escape. She was sitting on the floor, her stretched lips slightly raw from where she had rubbed against the wall, trying to dislodge the ring. When she looked up, she was startled to see him approaching her with a sadistic shine illuminating his blue eyes. Claudine whimpered and pressed into the wall.
“Up.” He grabbed her arm and lifted her.
He’s so strong. Claudine trembled when he unhooked the chain to lead her to the other room. No, oh please. She sobbed, her tongue sweeping wildly around her mouth while her toes tried to grip into the rough plank floor and her legs straightened, pushing back in protest. A large hand smashed down on her bottom, stinging and heating her cheeks. Claudine was horrified to feel a leak of arousal drip from her pussy.
Again she was bound to the chair with the cool leather belts. The man removed her collar and she shrieked when she saw the rubber mask. It was so form fitting and tight, it took fifteen minutes to squeeze it over her head. Another fifteen minutes were spent pulling her hair through a two-inch opening at the top and lining up the edges of the face holes. Claudine already felt smothered.
The mouth of the mask curled around her lips, secured so that her tongue could not push the edges out of her mouth. He tested the patch he had made for the opening. It was made from the same latex substance and adhered to the other surface. Claudine had an insane thought of when she was a little girl, sticking shiny plastic outfits on a glossy cardboard doll. Tombstone removed the mouth patch and stuck it to the latex on her forehead.
There was a nose covering and ear coverings, as well. The ear patches had a thin ridge of foam and tiny speakers protruded and filled her canals. The last patches went over her eyes, and she blinked, feeling the edge of the mask brush the rim of her lids before he sealed out the light. A moment later, the speakers began a slow, deep litany… and Claudine screamed when she heard Donald Strickland’s voice.
“You are a white trash slut, Claudine. With the help of my associates, your death certificate has been recorded along with an updated will. You amassed a handy sum from those men you grifted… enough to finance most of your incarceration, thank you. You stupid little whore. You had no idea what pros you were dealing with.
“Didn’t you think I’d seen your kind before? Flaunting your tits and cunt at my son, making promises you never intended to keep. Donnie was weak, Claudine, especially when it came to the need for a woman’s love. Me? I’ve never been swayed by that crap. Sluts have two purposes: producing heirs and fucking. You screwed me out of my heir, Claudine. You won’t escape the fucking.”
“No doubt Tombstone will prepare you as I have ordered. He has successfully aided several of my friends with irritating problems, such as you. After he’s finished creating and training you, he will deliver you back to the estate for six months. I’m afraid your days of spa baths and luxury are over. I have other plans for you before I return you to Tombstone for good.”
The speakers hummed static for a while, and then Strickland’s voice repeated his speech. Over and over in darkness, the smell of fresh latex in her nose, the sticky feel of rubber over her eyelids… and fingers stroking her pussy, up and down, in and out; stopping just short of letting her climax. Her panting breaths gasping in frustration through the mouth opening, her pussy leaking onto the chair in a constant drool… up and down, in and out.
The hands stopped, leaving her pussy sensitive and her walls gripping for release. She felt the collar locked around her neck, and then the tight leather belts securing her to the chair began to loosen. A hand gripped her arm, pulling her to stand just as Donald began his accusation again. She sobbed and wailed, hearing none of her cries, imagining she could.
Blindly guided to a table, she was bent over backwards with her feet on the floor. A boot batted her ankles apart and she rubbed the back of her head on the metal surface, trying to work off the mask. Without warning, a cock thrust into her, and her body shuddered and strained. A finger spread her pussy and began stroking her clit. She was already so sensitive and close to erupting that her hips began a humiliating thrust, embedding his huge rod deeper… in and out, in and out… Oh, god. Even the sound of Strickland’s voice could not squelch her burning, and Claudine’s muscles gripped tightly around the cock of the frighteningly handsome man who had done this to her.
Perhaps, that was the worst torture of all. In the dark quiet of the coffin, Claudine’s mind wandered to the man. He was tall and lean, with sweeping wavy locks of blue-black hair. His eyes were such a light blue that they appeared to be made of tinted glass, piercing with passionate intensity. His features were strong and determined, and his voice was a deep, low, menacing sound. She found herself dampening, flexing her core in the darkness, imagining him fucking her like he was doing now.
In and out, in and out… with a well practiced hand strumming her clit. She moaned and gasped to the drone of Strickland’s insults, finally wrapping her thighs around blue jeans and forcing the jerking, spewing cock fully inside her while she climaxed. Her muscles spasmed against his cock, milking and encouraging his eruption.
With the sounds in her ears, she could not even concentrate or consider her debasing performance. Her body felt electrified, and when a hand stroked over her breasts she pressed her tight nipples against his palms, craving one soft touch, a gentle caress of appreciation. Sharp pain radiated through her tips as his fingers twisted and pinched. Instinctively, Claudine understood that this man would never reward her demands, and her mind echoed with her desperate moan.
Over the course of weeks, Strickland’s voice joined with the white static and Claudine was no longer taunted by his words. In her dark rubber mask she waited, slowly following the length of the pipe, memorizing the steps until she bumped into her encasing wooden bed, feeling the stones from the bathroom under her bare feet, praying strong hands would stop her pacing and guide her to eat or lead her to the other room and once more quench the dripping desire between her thighs.
She had been fitted with a molded top that covered her fingertips, sealed to her mask, and ended just below her waist. The material was much stiffer than the rubber of her mask. Her breasts chilled in the air, exposed and squeezed through holes that were purposely cut a little too small, forcing her large mounds to project lewdly. Claudine imagined they looked magnificent, and she rubbed them against the man whenever he was near. He would slam them together between his palms, twist her nipples, or slap them until they reddened. Although she knew he would torment them, she continued to try to coax his atten
tion.
Her wrists were unlocked when he pulled on her top, sliding first her arms through the sleeves and working her breasts through the openings. It closed in the back with a sealing, permanent, adhesive. Within a few days she had matching pants, with a gaping slice in the crotch. She barely remembered the burn of the cream permanently denuding her labia. Her feet were covered, with each toe fitting into its own custom pocket and a spiked heel permanently affixed to the back. It too was made out of rubber, and widened to a non-lethal flange on the bottom.
Claudine shivered when she felt the man lean her over the table. Please god, yes. The time spent blindfolded into darkness with only Donald’s echoing words to accompany this madness, had caused her to desperately desire the man’s infrequent touches. Claudine could practically feel his cock driving into her, and her pussy was dripping and ready.
Instead, the man slid cool gel into her ass, and she froze. This was something Claudine had never allowed, and she wiggled her bottom angrily. When a finger brushed her clit she pushed into it, rubbing and exciting herself while the forgotten finger plunged into her ass. With her senses dulled for so long, any touch on uncovered skin seemed magnified. Claudine was sexually peaked constantly, begging for the man to touch her.
There was a stretching, impossibly wide against her puckered hole, and Claudine concentrated on her pussy’s search for the finger and the nerve tingling sensation against her clit. She rubbed against the elusive hand, frustrated and searching while his cock slid into her tight hole. Oh…oh, it hurts. She wailed her dissatisfaction through her ring gag and shimmied her hips, trying to encourage him to leave her sore rectum and use her pussy. In and out, in and out… and she was finally rewarded when his hand stayed still, allowing her to rub and press. Her own motion of her hips caused the cock in her ass to glide in and out, until she gasped and pushed into the warm body behind her, and cream drenched the shiny latex on her thighs.
Claudine had spent weeks in darkness, smelling only the rubber and hearing only the static of Strickland’s incessant droning and white noise. Her feet no longer felt the texture of the different floors when she paced, and she missed the sensation. Losing feeling in her hands was the worst, she decided. Although she could move her arms a little, she could not differentiate between the soft padding of her bed and the rough stone of the bathroom wall. Only when the man touched her… Tombstone, she remembered… could she feel anything but the rubber encasing her.
Added to that, it felt as though her muscles were freezing. Every morning when she was lifted out of her bed, which was much less terrifying now that she was sealed in a mobile tomb, the movement in her limbs seemed to become more restricted. By the end of the week she could barely move, and her legs stiff-walked her to the bathroom. The man had to push her down onto the toilet and then straighten her again. It was the same for kneeling to eat. It seemed to Claudine she did not have the strength to bend her body.
It was hard to concentrate with the speakers constantly diverting her attention, but Claudine finally realized the man must know that her muscles were atrophying, because he knew he had to help her bend. It was still a while before she understood that it was not her body freezing. It was the unusual compound making up the rubber suit… curing.
Finally, the woman could not move at all, other than the stiff legged walking, and she froze in whatever position Tombstone arranged her. He constantly changed her positions, checking for wear or strain on the outfit, and staring for hours to see if she shifted. Tombstone brought her in front of a mirror and he spread her ankles and bent her knees slightly, making sure that she was balanced with her hips thrust forward.
He lowered her arms and took each gloved hand, arranging her fingers so that she spread her pussy open. His hand rubbed across her clit. It seemed to be constantly red and swollen, as if any senses left to her were contained in the little bead of pleasure. He watched her cream flow, her pussy begin to squeeze, and panting gasps came from her gaping mouth.
Claudine moaned, ignoring that it was her hands spreading herself wide. She could feel her rubber gloves on her labia, but her fingertips sensed nothing. Her bottom clenched madly in the suit, straining to push into the fingers stroking her. The man’s hand abandoned her sex and she willed her fingers to move, to slide the mere fraction of an inch that would allow her to play with her clit.
The man straightened and smiled, and Claudine gasped when she realized his fingers were brushing the sides of her mask. Though her pussy still leaked and begged for release, her thoughts flew to his touch. He pulled off the flap blocking her nose, and the first thing she smelled was her own arousal on his fingers.
Next, the earflaps were removed, and she sobbed in gratitude for the silence. When his fingers approached her eyes, she trembled inside the suit. Tombstone noted the slight quivering, but she could not change position. The eye patches came off, and Claudine stared at the exotic rubber sculpture in the mirror.
The rubber suit was black, with slashes of brown and gold that matched her eyes and hair. The tresses bursting from the top of her rubber mask were wavy and splayed in a circle. Her eyes blinked in wary surprise, and she saw her tongue roaming around her open mouth. The lewd position humiliated her, but there was no way to move her fingers to close her pink folds from view.
Tombstone watched the surprise turn to horror, edged with a tinge of fascination. He stood behind his human mannequin, his ultimate sculpture, and fingered her to climax while he fucked her ass. She shrieked in indignation until her orgasm hit, and her eyes met his in the mirror when she felt his sticky cum erupt inside of her. Tombstone saw the slight smile and consuming desire in them.
The next morning Tombstone called Strickland. It was November 3rd and she would be ready on schedule, just as Tombstone had guaranteed. He stiff-walked her to a chair, sensing her resistance inside the suit. Pushing her to her knees, he centered his cock on her mouth and passed through the opening. He pushed deeper, until he hit the small tube of her throat. “Breath through your nose and get that tongue moving,” he ordered.
He felt the vibration of her sob and continued to push deeper, deep down her throat, feeling the vibrations of her protests muffled by his shaft. Gripping her hair, he pulled and pushed, in and out, ignoring her gagging as he embedded himself, plunging down her throat for half an hour.
Claudine’s throat was sore, and she began licking and sliding her tongue along the soft warm surface of his cock. She wanted him to cum and get the act over with, and it still took a long time. Finally, she tasted the thicker spend of his sperm hit her throat, and she moaned in relief. He left her kneeling and walked away with his phone. Claudine felt the tickle of her juice until it rolled over the edge of her pants, and she clenched her muscles and wished she could turn her head to see him. She longed for him to bend her over the chair and stick his hot shaft into her clasping pussy.
Tombstone placed a call to a woman. If he had friends, they were the women and man running his club. He had gathered as many of his former Room Five enchantresses as he could find. Teresa and Sabrina watched over things, with three more who had been kicked from the club and had as much a reason to despise younger fare as he had. Now, the Fives would never have one foot in the ally, and they lived the life of luxury that Tombstone afforded them.
Jude, though older, was still a commanding presence. At Tombstone’s private club he was no longer a bouncer. The specialty club was for his wealthy members only, but Jude was strong enough to both gather the mannequins to be displayed and to arrange them. Apparently, even he had been kicked to the ally when Stevie replaced him with somebody younger.
Shortly after that, Tombstone had heard that Stevie had both feet firmly planted in the permanent ally… with only a brass plaque marking his grave. Some suspected that Jude was responsible, but Tombstone remembered Sabrina returning from a quick weekend trip with a satisfied smile creasing her ebony face.
Jude backed the hearse up to the studio double doors. It took both him and Tom
bstone to slide the casket off the sawhorses and onto the huge dolly. Jude had found the contraption at an auction. It was originally used to move pool tables, but suited their needs very well.
After the hearse doors slammed closed, Tombstone squinted through the tinted back window. Claudia? Claudine? He shrugged and climbed into the hearse. Donald Strickland’s human mannequin was delivered on November 5th.
CHAPTER III
Annika stretched her slender tan legs, rubbing her sole along the thin calf beside her. Summer break had gone better than she had expected, once she met the wealthy geek. At first, she had looked right passed him, into the throng of young people carpeting the beach. Something made her glance back at him again, and she murmured, “I’ll be right back, Sandy.”
Sandy was already eyeing a guy at the bar, watching the roll of bills he took out of his pocket when he paid for his drink. “Take your time,” she replied, and she wandered towards her target.
The two girls began their treachery together three years ago, when they inadvertently hit on the same man at a ski lodge. Now, they teamed up, either working the mark together if the money was there, or helping each other out of infrequent jams. They cruised the beaches in the summer, and managed to acquire enough cash to dump the jerks and pickup replacements in ski lodges during winter. It was a perfect life.
Both young women were petite with matching figures, thanks to surgery. They had enticing busts and perky rounded bottoms that turned heads wherever they walked. Annika had big blue eyes and hair that was almost white. Sandy was her exact opposite, with Asian features and smiling dark eyes and black hair. Both of them wore their hair long, swaying down to their waists. They knew they made a fascinating picture when they sashayed by.
Annika strolled closer to the geek, studying the thick glasses and bejeweled watch. There was a heavy gold ring on one hand that was far too imposing for his slender finger. Currently, his magnified eyes were fixed on a textbook. “Aren’t you supposed to be on vacation?” Annika asked. The dweeb actually jerked and dropped his book.
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