by Violet Blue
“Come!” I urge him. “Come!”
I churn my hips as hard as I can.
He grimaces and bellows and his head is thrown back and his mouth opens as wide as it can under the gag and his body trembles. I can feel his cock explode inside me. I rock against him until his trembling subsides and his animal cries stop.
I fall on him, resting my head against his chest for a minute. I’d like to stay there, but I know I can’t. I have to clean up first.
I slip off of him and reach with shaking hands between his legs for the plug. His contractions have pulled it deep inside his body, and the wide handle is tight against his ass. I pull it out as gently as I can. Dimitri groans.
I wrap all the plugs in my teddy and carry them into the bathroom and put the bundle in a plastic garbage bag. My legs are unsteady, but I wash my hands several times with the antibacterial soap Corbin has supplied. I pick up two fluffy towels from the towel warmer and carry them to Dimitri. He is lying perfectly still with his eyes closed, his chest rising and falling with his shallow breaths. I untie his legs as quickly as I can and wrap his body in the warm towels. I untie the tie from around his mouth and pull out the wet wad of my panties. He doesn’t say anything.
I unlock the handcuffs and tuck his arms under the towels. I slip into bed next to him and pull the duvet over us both. I rest my cheek against his forehead.
He pulls me close. He sighs deeply.
“That was good.”
“Mmm,” I agree.
“Next time, we do what I want.”
“Yes.”
“I’d love to fuck you in the ass, Alexa. I’d make you scream.”
It will not happen. The Bitch in His Head will not let him.
I stroke his head until I hear the deep even breathing that means he is asleep.
Poor Dimitri. Lucky me.
SNUG DESIGNS
D. L. King
I loved the feel; loved the way the thin material conformed to the body and became a second skin. It was like a protective barrier, in a way. Rubber: It could show every curve, every crevice and bump you had in basrelief but not allow access. It was a sort of tease. I loved the way it looked on women in clubs, and I got squishy-wet watching rubber fetish films. I was dying to wear some of my very own.
At a fetish party I spotted a woman wearing the most gorgeous black and blue latex skirt and heavy rubber corset. I introduced myself, told her how amazing she looked, and asked where she bought her outfit.
“I get all my latex and rubber from Mr. Snug.”
“Mr. Snug? Never heard of it, where is it?” I asked.
“Mr. Snug is a designer.” She told me he wasn’t really any more expensive than the readymade stuff you could find on the racks at fetish stores, and sometimes you could be offered a real deal. “He’ll only see you if you’ve been referred by someone he knows,” she said.
We chatted for a while, and finally I worked up the nerve to ask if I could touch her corset.
“Sure.”
I put my hand against her waist and squeezed. The rubber was heavy and had no give. It was black with deep blue trim. Blue accents set off her breasts by forming crescents under them. Blue lines of varying width with arrow points on them radiated out from the crescents toward the nipples, giving her tits a caged look. The corset was fastened with ten silver-buckled, blue rubber straps in back. She directed my hand down toward the bottom of the corset and onto the skirt.
The latex was smooth and hot. The sensuality of it took my breath away. I moved my hand toward her ass and stroked her curves.
“Um, this is so…I just can’t stop…” I babbled.
She moved my hand to the front of the skirt and slid it down to her pussy. My fingers stroked and cupped her of their own volition.
“Honey, your eyes have gone out of focus,” she laughed. “I’ll talk to Mr. Snug tomorrow. You can call him in the beginning of the week; here’s his card.” She handed me a black, rectangular piece of hard rubber.
A few days later I arrived at a loft downtown. The top buzzer had a sign reading: SNUG DESIGNS, BY APPOINTMENT ONLY. I buzzed the intercom and heard a barked, “Who is it?”
After I’d given my name, the door buzzer sounded. I took the elevator to the top floor. It opened onto a loft, part work area and part display area. One wall was lined with mirrors. The windows facing the street were curtained.
“Hi. I’m Tim Snug. Grace tells me you have a rubber fetish.”
I must have turned beet red because he said, “No, no, I love people with rubber fetishes. Without them, I’d be out of business. What can I show you today?”
Once I regained my composure, I told him I was interested in skirts. He ushered me over to a leather couch by the mirrored wall, and I watched him disappear into the clothing racks. While I began to ruminate on what a nice ass he had, he started talking.
“I like to make clothes to suit the customer, so most of my work is custom made. I keep some stock styles and sizes here in the studio to give my clients an idea of what I can do, but really, the sky’s the limit.” He came back out from behind the racks with half a dozen different skirts in almost as many colors. “You’re about an eight, aren’t you?” he asked. “Why don’t you try on some of these; that way you can see what styles suit you best.”
He led me to a large fitting room and explained how to try them on using talc to help them slide over my skin. The feeling was deliciously tight and confining, and when I came out to the main room to look in the mirror I was amazed how hot I looked.
Mr. Snug disappeared behind the clothes again, only to reemerge with a black fitted latex crop top, which he handed me. “Here, put this on. Your blouse hides the top of the skirt.”
When I didn’t come out of the fitting room right away, Mr. Snug entered. “Here, let me help you,” he said. I was standing in the middle of the large space with my arms above my head, fighting with the tight top. One breast was half covered and the other was completely exposed, and just to complete the picture, my face was wrapped in the rubber.
“Mmmuffluffled!”
“No, really, it’s perfectly all right,” he said. I felt baby powdered hands caressing my breasts. “It takes a while to get the hang of dressing in rubber.” He gently pulled the bottom of the garment over my breasts and smoothed the straps over my shoulders. “Don’t be embarrassed. This happens all the time.” He pulled my hair out of the back and smoothed everything into place. His hands felt amazing on my tightly encased breasts. It seemed like he lingered over their swell a little longer than strictly necessary.
“See how the material shows the relief of your nipples?” As if to make sure I understood the question, he used both hands and allowed his fingers to slowly brush over each nipple simultaneously. “See how they poke up through the latex as they get more and more erect?”
I felt the most erotic full-body hug as I gazed at my reflection in the mirrors. Just thinking about the feeling of the latex encasing and conforming to my naked breasts gave me shivers, causing my nipples to become even harder. Looking in the mirror, I saw my hands slide up the sides of my breasts and pinch the nipples.
I was wearing a tight pencil skirt that fit like a second skin, and I couldn’t help running my hands down my sides and over my rear. They slid their way to the front of the skirt and made their way up my body, back to the top where they caressed their way around my boobs and squeezed. My erect nipples naturally drew my fingertips to gently circle them before giving them another pinch and a little tweak.
“Ah…you do have a rubber fetish, don’t you?”
I came back to myself immediately, but not before I noticed the slightly disheveled woman in the mirror with her mouth open and her eyes unfocused. “Oh, my god! I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to…”
“No, no, that was very nice,” he said, placing his hands on my hips. “It’s refreshing, actually. So many of my customers are a bit jaded. Do you like the skirt?”
“Uh, yes, I…”
&n
bsp; “Walk around, move in it. Sit. See if it’s comfortable and if it suits you. You’ve still got several more styles to try on.”
Eventually, between the two of us, I decided on two skirts, a fitted piece that belled out from my knees and came to midcalf, and a simple A-line. I chose silver-gray for the A-line and a combination of black and royal purple for the fancier skirt.
“Are you sure I can’t interest you in a top?” he asked.
“Unfortunately, no. This is already more than I can really afford.”
“All right then. Let me get your measurements. Did I notice a thong in the fitting room?” I must have given him quite a look because he quickly followed the first question with: “Because of the nature of rubber, I need to take my measurements in the nude, but if you have a thong, that will work, too. It’s up to you.”
I went back into the fitting room to change out of the last outfit I was wearing. While I put my T-shirt and underwear back on I thought about Mr. Snug’s sleepy eyes and sensuous mouth. He had great hair and a nice ass. I could easily imagine running my hands over his naked body, or better yet, his rubber-clad body with, of course, an opening for his cock and balls. A while later, when I left his studio, these thoughts were still running rampant through my mind.
Two weeks later, I returned to pick up my new skirts. Mr. Snug was waiting for me as the elevator doors opened. He held out the two skirts for my approval.
“I think you’ll really like these. Here, try the tight one on first,” he said, showing me to the fitting room and following me in. “These are yours now. Don’t use the talc; use the lube. Here, let me show you how. Take off your pants.” He waited while I unzipped my jeans and stepped out of them. “No, no, you have to take your underwear off, too.”
My eyes fixed on his mouth. I watched his lips form the words and didn’t even think about what I was doing. I slid my thong down my legs and stepped out of it. I felt his hands smooth the silicone lubricant over my hips and thighs. He paused to pour more into his hands, and I felt them slide over my ass. The massaging sensation of his fingers and palms steadied and relaxed me. I could have thought about how I didn’t know this guy who was running his hands over my half-naked body, but I didn’t. I didn’t even think about it when I felt the slippery hands make their way between my legs, from behind, caressing the crease of my thighs, on their way up over my pubic mound.
“Mr. Snug!”
“You feel nice and slippery now,” he said. His arms were around my waist, and his hands were covering my bare pussy. “Let’s get this skirt on you,” he said as one index finger slid down the slit of my sex, grazing my clit, before sliding back out. He held the skirt as I stepped into it and pulled it up. It glided easily over my slick hips and ass. He zipped it in back and took a step away, as if to say, ‘voila.’
Gazing in the mirror, I saw myself as truly sexy. The skirt completely suited me. It fit me like no other piece of clothing I owned. When I allowed my gaze to take in the whole picture, I saw a woman with flushed cheeks; moist, sensuous mouth, partially open; bedroom eyes, and skirt sure to make any man in the room fall to his knees. While I reveled in the sight of myself, I heard Mr. Snug over by the clothing racks.
“That skirt is perfect. I can’t have you wearing it with that blouse though, I mean, the blouse is nice, but you’d look so much better in this.” He held up a scoop-neck, latex top, in the same purple and black as my skirt.
“Ooh,” I sighed.
“Would you like me to help you put it on?”
I bit my bottom lip and silently nodded my head. I watched in the mirror as Mr. Snug unbuttoned my blouse and removed it from behind. I watched as he unhooked my plain white bra and slid it down my arms, in front. I watched while he squeezed lube into his hands and rubbed them together before massaging the wet slickness into my breasts.
His fingers caressed, kneaded, and squeezed until I moaned. “Raise your arms.” He slid the top over my head and arms and over my breasts, smoothing it down my sides. “There, now, that looks just about right.”
It looked more than “just about right” to me!
“Now all you need to do is shine it up, and you’ll be good to go.”
“Shine it up?”
“Oh, yes! You can use the same lube to do that. Here, let me show you.”
He poured more lube into his hands and smoothed them over every millimeter of the top. I had thought it looked great before but the shine added a whole other dimension to the material, making it look wet—like wet latex had been painted onto my body and wasn’t dry yet—like shiny nail enamel for my body. The strength of his hands, sliding over my curves, made me hot, and my body was producing more than sweat now.
As he moved his hands down to the skirt, I shivered. He slowly shined the sides of the skirt, then the back, paying careful attention to my ass. Feeling the caress of his fingers against my skin, but not, was an amazing sensation. I knew he could feel every curve and crease but he couldn’t feel the real thing, only the second skin covering it.
His hands moved to the front of the skirt and teased the flesh of my belly under the latex. Sliding both hands down in the form of a V, he sought out my mound. With fingers gently teasing the hot flesh, he slid lower, applying more pressure as he went. I leaned back, resting against his chest. My next-to-naked bottom could easily feel the bulge building in his pants.
I reached up and wrapped my hands around the back of his neck, stretching my breasts in the binding top while he continued to massage my sex. A finger strayed to the center and my slit. It burrowed inside, with the skirt as a barrier, and found my swelling clit. With his other hand, he reached down and slid the bottom of the skirt up to my mid thigh. Going no farther, he reached under and entered me with two fingers while his other hand was busy worrying my clit, over the rubber. All I could hear was the rush of blood through my body and the speed of my breath as it entered and left, entered and left. I felt the pressure build until I couldn’t contain it any longer. The release started in my toes and spread up my body until it centered in my core, and I stiffened as I groaned my orgasm. He gently caressed my body until I’d caught my breath.
“Let me show you a fun way to take off your new rubber outfit,” he said. He led me to his bathroom and turned on the shower. I unbuttoned his shirt and explored the hard chest underneath. I ran my fingers over his hard nipples and moved my hands down to open his pants. As I unzipped him, his cock fought for freedom inside his briefs. Unable to wait any longer, he pushed my hands down with his jeans and underwear.
He maneuvered us both into the shower; me fully clothed in rubber and him completely naked. His cock stood up proudly, and all I wanted to do was get my lips around it. He showed me how to remove my new clothes in the shower and as soon as I was naked, I pushed him up against the wall and sank to my knees under the spray of the water. His cock pulsed as I closed my mouth over it. I sucked and licked, first gently, then more insistently until I felt him begin to twitch in my mouth. Massaging his balls with one hand, I slid the other behind him. When he was ready, I pressed my finger just inside his ass to the sound of a very satisfying grunt.
I love to watch guys in the throes of an impending orgasm. I looked on as, eyes closed, head thrown back against the tile, mouth open and the most delicious sounds coming from him, his body begin it’s race to the finish. When there was no turning back I caught his cock in my fist and removed it from my mouth so I could watch him come.
As I got ready to leave, he handed me a bag containing my purchases. He’d placed the wet skirt in a plastic bag and had folded my other new skirt with tissue paper, in a garment box. “Be sure to hang the skirt to dry when you get home,” he said. I gave him my phone number in case he might need it later.
When I got home, I found he’d slipped the top into the bag too. There was a note: This looked too good on you to take back. Maybe you’d better wear it when you come back to try on the A-line skirt; we’ll need to check the fit on that one, too.
COURTING HIM
Deborah Castellano
She leaned her head against the open window-pane and breathed as deeply as her corset would allow her. She loved this time of year, the way the birds sang outside and the explosion of cherry blossoms that brushed her cheeks if she leaned out far enough. She loved watching the ladies and gentlemen beneath her window seem to suddenly notice each other, furtively trading love notes and flowers after a long winter of hurrying past each other.
The boys that came to court her always oh so originally asked her…well, told her really, “Don’t you want to be outside? See the big wide world?” Oh, they would take her to Paris, Milan, Athens, any place she (they) could possibly desire. She learned after the first young man (unimaginatively named Tom) that a thoughtful, detailed denial of such supposed desires only led to longer, more boring conversation. She learned quickly that it was best to stare into one’s teacup that was thoughtfully laced with port by her dear lady’s maid, Mimi, who was always there to glower at her suitors and chaperone her. This was inevitably misconstrued as modesty, restraint, and mystery by her gentleman callers.
The truth was, she had been what her father used to lovingly call fragile (in health at least) since she was very small. She had been fragile long before her father and mother passed away in a carriage accident when she was fifteen and she was handed over to her Master, a distant cousin whom she had never met before. She had never been well before, so how was she to know what she was supposedly missing? What was so great about outside anyway? If outside was so fantastic, why did people spend so much time indoors? She was worried when she first came to live with her Master those three years ago that she wouldn’t be able to adjust to her new home and the new staff and…him. She never could have imagined in her grief-stricken haze that she would be lucky enough to live in a home as grand as his with a staff that was never anything but kind to her. She never could have imagined him. She leaned out the window farther to try to cool the blush from her face.
