Could You Resist?

From a series of "quickies" I'm writing - short stories meant to make you think, rather than spell everything out ;)

As always, if you enjoy this story, please let me know at lckdnrbbr@hotmail.com or @lckdnrbbr on twitter, and especially let me know what you'd like to see in future stories. Also, don't forget to show your support to grometsplaza, even if it's just to let him know how much you appreciate this place he's made for us :)

It's a warm late summer night, and the showers have made the street slick.

You look up towards the sky, and the tall warehouse building you're heading towards. You feel the cool rain on your face, but don't much mind. The latex you're wearing is pretty much impervious to rain, and the street clothes you wear over them will be in a pile somewhere soon enough.

You make your way up the stairs, and into the 4th floor space. It's dark, and smells even more heavily of latex than you do in your catsuit.

A woman walks out of the dimly lit shadows towards you. She's completely clad in latex, gagged and wearing a posture collar, manacles, and chains between her arms and feet. She offers you a closed clipboard with a front cover that reads "Allow yourself to take what you want. Seal your fate (and yourself, in rubber)" 

You open the clipboard and read the paper, suddenly curious about the details of all this. You'd read about this place online, but weren't really sure it existed. Half dungeon, half storage facility, it seemed to be exactly what you were looking for. You'd tried hard to date vanilla people, but it's hard to resist the call of latex and bondage when it's in your blood. 

But you were getting distracted - in front of you, the latex woman is standing still, waiting for you to return the signed paper. She obviously can't answer any questions, gagged as she is. 

Without hesitating too much, you sign the document. 

She takes it from you, and snaps it closed, leading you quickly to one of the rooms.

You step inside, and she closes the door behind you. You hear a "click click" as the door closes, and sure enough, it's locked tight.

There is a plaque on the wall that reads "take off your clothes and deliver them through the slot in the door. The door will not be unlocked until it's done".

You expected that you might think for a moment before you dove into this, but your shirt was already off, then your pants, then your undergarments. You stood there, clad only in your latex catsuit, and read the rest of the sign.

"After removing all non-latex clothing, cover all remaining exposed skin in latex."

You push your street clothes through the slot, and take the offered latex items.

You look at the hood - thick black latex with a built in breathe-through gag. There are also latex socks that come up almost to your knees, and latex mitts that, once on, will make working with the rest difficult.

You decide on the socks first, sealing your legs completely in shiny black latex.

The latex hood takes a little longer to work your way into, but after a few pulls, your head is encased in thick, moulded black latex, and the gag fills your mouth, connecting you to the attached breathing tube. 

Finally you try to put on the mitts. You get one on, but then hear the latex greeter walking towards you and open the door. 

She takes your second hand, and pulls the mitt down onto it. Quickly, she locks it shut, and then does the same for the other. She also spins you around and padlocks a collar at your neck.

The latex greeter motions out the door. You step out through it, and take a right, walking towards the bigger room. 

In the bigger room, you get a sense for how big this operation really is. In a typical dungeon, they might be able to accomodate a few clients a night. Here - where there was no individual interaction with a proper dominant, guests were free to put themselves at their own mercy, for as long as they chose, and they can take as many as they have room and capacity for. 

To your right, there are people strapped down to padded rubber beds and water massage tables. Probably 6 of them total. 

Below them are drawers with names written on cards taped to them. You're not sure if the drawers contain the play clothes of previous clients, or the clients themselves. 

Your question is answered quickly, as another latex clad greeter enters the room and touches the side panel on one of the tables. It hisses open, and a client is extracted. A latex pillow that was pressing her in from above deflates, and she is able to move. She is weary within her latex prison, but seems content and happy. 

The drawer hisses shut. 

Ahead of you are bags. Some of them hang empty, some of them are full. All of them are made of rubber and are hanging from the ceiling or wall at various places. Clients get in the long, heavy rubber bags using a ladder, their weight cinches the drawstring tight, sealing them in. Tubes stick out of various places in the bag, keeping them in fresh air, but that's about it. 

Finally, you look over to your left. Here, the intense clients are kept. They are strapped to padded tables, then sealed in with vacuums, straps, and in some cases what looks like glue and rubber repair kits. Machines are attached to their breathing tube, and private areas, and wires trail off somewhere into the ceiling and ultimate computer control. There are only a few slots left on this side, with 3 people in already, and 3 beds free. 

Above the beds, a sign reads "If you've met a greeter, you've met one of our intense bed clients. Clients who put themselves in this device are welcome to stay for free, but are not entitled to release until another suitable greeter is found to replace them". 

So now you are left with a choice. 

When you signed the paper, you agreed that there was no way you were leaving tonight. You'd been laid off work for 2 weeks already, and knew it would be a good many more to come. 

Do you lay down on the table to your right, and simply let them lock you down gently for the night in your latex? Ironically the most gentle option was also the most expensive, and choosing that would hurt your wallet. 

Do you climb into the every so slightly less expensive, comfortable, and lavish inflating "bed drawer", and let it close up, inflate, and seal you in for 8 hours?

Do you climb into a bag, and feeling it seal shut above you, and let a greeter deal with you sometime tomorrow at their lesuire?

Or, do you sign one more piece of paper and head to the left where they control it all - your breath, your movement, everything, and only letting you out to greet (and trap) others.

I know which one I'd pick...

Which one would you choose?

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@lckdnrbbr

25.02.10