Chapter 3
Rachel took to rubber like a fish to water, even surprising me with how enthusiastically she embraced it. She pleaded and cajoled me until I consented to letting her take away one of my many pairs of latex panties, and a simple bra. She later told me that she was wearing them under her regular clothes for days, and if I am any judge of her reaction, no doubt rubbing herself to orgasm in them before she slept.
By the time the next Thursday session came around, she had persuaded me that she was ready to try a catsuit, and whatever else I saw fit. I had convinced her that she shouldn’t splurge on all of the expensive rubber she was drooling over until she had tried a few more pieces and decided which she most enjoyed.
On top of that, she was determined to overcome what she saw as a failure, clearly kicking herself that her body had reached its limit too soon, on my devilish machine. I was quite insistent that it was no such thing, that there was no-one who would be able to withstand such torment for long, and that she was still very new to all of this. But she would look me in the eye, with a seriousness that I found quite ridiculous on her normally very jovial face, and demand that the next time she be allowed to endure it for much longer. Demand! Anyone would think she was in charge. But such requests only served to cement my intention to push her capacity for pleasure in an entirely different way.
She did look absolutely luscious in the full length catsuit. I picked out one in white, rear-zipped and figure-huggingly tight. Lacing her into the tight, red, under-bust corset was an ordeal, she squirmed and wriggled so much that cuffing her to the lacing bar was my only option. Well, not my only option, but certainly the most enjoyable one. By the fourth pass through the laces, her waist was substantially reduced, and her breathing had been reduced to a delightfully shallow level. Bending over, I knew from experience, would be difficult if not impossible, at least if she wanted to remain on her feet. Adding four inch heels to that turned her into a beautiful, tottering, nervous mess.
The posture collar I wanted her in was sadly, not the shade of red needed to match her corset, but instead standard, shiny black. It is always so much harder to coordinate bondage accessories when you stray from the monochrome colour palette. But having every colour of every cuff and strap is beyond even my ample budget, and the lesser-used ones would end up so neglected.
As I clipped the leash into the ring at the front, she gave me the helpless look I was expecting. “Well you are going to need some guidance, if you’re going to learn to walk in these.” A little tug of the chain startled her into a graceless stumble, and I had to catch her by her corseted waist before setting her upright again. “Little steps, my dear. And plant your weight carefully before you take each one.”
I knew that the advice would make her legs rub together as she walked. No matter how slippery the outside of the catsuit had been made with shiner, the friction of the tight latex rubbing at her crotch would be the most vivid of distractions for her.
Back and forth I led her, up and down the dressing room. Neck stiff, she couldn’t look down at where she was placing her feet, another deliberate tool in my training arsenal, and another way to make her feel helpless. Have you ever found yourself unable to do something as basic as walking? You would be amazed at how quickly your confidence ebbs away. Trust in me was all that was keeping her on her feet.
By the time she was steady on her feet, she was already breathing hard. Propping herself up on the back of a chair, I fetched out the next part of her outfit: the soft, rubbery mass of an armbinder. Where the corset and collar had brought out pained, nervous looks, this produced a very different reaction. Biting her lip, she simply stared at it, chest heaving what little the corset allowed, breasts bulging over the tight constriction.
“Everything is going to feel much tighter this time. But you said you wanted to prove you could endure for me, didn’t you?”
She blushed furiously, her pretty red hair falling down in front of her face as she fidgeted, and she summoned up, “Yes, Mistress.” She would learn to be careful, throwing around demands, and overestimating her abilities. But the lesson will be fun.
The binder slipped snugly over her arms, and the laces made the snugness into solidness, her wrists firmly held with buckles, her shoulders wrapped in the tight rubber, and a pair of straps criss-crossing above her breasts, further sandwiching them with the corset. I let her test the fit, and the latex gave an ominous creak, which brought out an involuntary little whimper from her. I slipped in close behind, arms wrapping around her waist, pinning the binder between us. My fingers, encapsulated in shoulder-length black latex opera gloves, slid down her stomach and to her crotch.
“Those arms are going nowhere, and that makes you just the sort of vulnerable I enjoy.” Finding the pair of zipper pulls between her thighs, I slowly, carefully unzipped one to expose her bare crotch to the open air. “And judging from how wet this slutty little pussy is, seems like you do too, hmm?”
I felt the shiver go through her body, heart thumping in her chest. “Yes, mistress,” she squeaked. Opening the zipper a little further, I released her from my embrace. She moaned softly and wiggled in her bondage, trying to discover what little range of motion she actually had. So she was a little distracted when I produced the next elements of her session: two bulbous, rubber toys, from which dangled tubes, and bulbs with which to pump them. “Oh fuck.”
“We will have to do something about that potty-mouth of yours. Honestly, every time things get a little more intense, you’re swearing like a sailor.”
She blushed furiously at that, eyes darting around and then back to the toys. We had discussed her limits in that regard already, but that was some time ago now, and the potential for her holes to be stuffed probably felt like much more of an abstract notion at that point. Slick with cold lube, the first toy went inside her sex, and I had to keep a grip on her leash to stop her from pulling away instinctively. She moaned as it nestled snugly into place. I could feel her own slickness, the toy wouldn’t stay in on its own if she was this wet, but I had a plan for that.
The second toy encountered much stiffer resistance, even with the copious lubricant, dripping down between her bum cheeks. With an arm around her corset I took my time, whispering words of encouragement even as she whimpered. If I had to bet, I would say she had overstated her experience with ‘butt-stuff’, perhaps thinking she would impress me, or embarrassed that she wasn’t as familiar with all of the kinks I had been grilling her on.
When her body finally relented, the plug slid quickly home, swallowed up to the narrow base. Her shallow breaths turned into a gasp, and her body shuddered in my embrace. It took a moment for her to collect herself, before she gave me a nod of acknowledgment. Straightening up almost let the pussy plug slide out, so I quickly closed both sides of the zip, using them to hold the plugs inside. Her cute little butt twitched as she tried to squeeze her cheeks together, the firm base of the plug resisting.
“Mmm, it’s really in there, isn’t it? Are you feeling full?”
She had to bite her lip, I presumed to suppress the swearing that was bubbling up inside of her. “Yes, mistress,” she stammered,”they’re both kind of big!”
I’m sure that she knew the purpose of the bulbs, now dangling between her legs, but I didn’t feel the need to dwell on that, just yet. Instead I leashed her and marched through to the blue playroom. To her credit, she had enough confidence on her heels to avoid falling. I could hear her laboured breath behind me, struggling in the corset while the toys between her legs made walking a stimulating experience.
I love the colour scheme in the blue playroom, the paint a rich, dark, heritage blue, against which the oak furniture really stands out. Unlike most of the other playrooms, which have particular pieces of furniture around which they are themed, this one’s main purpose is for me to feel regal. I suppose the soft, velvet-upholstered throne could be its centrepiece, but really it is a room where I can sit and luxuriate while my playthings kneel at my feet. The beams that cross the roof overhead are an affectation, not structural, but evoking the theme of an Elizabethan townhouse. They match the sideboard and cupboards so well that you might not even notice the anchor points and pulleys attached at convenient places. And while they might not be structural, they are certainly solid.
Rachel seemed determined to put that to the test, once the cuffs were applied and the ropes pulled taut. Her wrists were pulled up and outwards. The cuffs were designed for suspension, having a bar built in that she could hold on to. I wouldn’t go so far as to call them ‘comfortable’. As she gripped the bars and pulled, it did nothing more than lift her feet from the floor, and as she dropped back down her breath was already short and ragged. They wouldn’t injure her, but there was no comfort in any of the positions she might adopt. If she fell limp, she would simply dangle.
“Satisfied? Today you get a little more slack than usual.”
“Slack?” She bit off whatever sassy response she was considering.
Good, she’s learning to avoid the consequences for bad behaviour. “It will be more fun, if you can struggle a little, when we play our game.” I busied myself with another pair of cuffs, snug around her ankles. Adjusting these took a little more time. On her heels she was precariously balanced. I wanted her legs spread enough that the bulbs of her plugs would dangle freely, but not so widely that she had to take all of her weight on her arms.
“I… What is the game, mistress?”
I took my time standing back up, running my gloved hand up the inside of her leg. I lingered on her crotch, checking the zippers were still holding the toys inside. A little push to seat them more firmly brought out an anguished little moan that made me smile.
“Today, pet, we are going to play a game of endurance.” By now I was level with her eyes and the posture collar no longer stopped her seeing what I was doing. The bulbs, one in each hand, must have been tugging on the intruders inside of her. “The first test was simply to get through here without them falling out. But that’s no longer going to be an issue.”
Her eyes widened as I pumped each bulb in turn, a little hiss accompanying the bulge of them inside of her. Pump. Pump. Pump. Pump. Pump. Pump. Her hips began to wobble, and her hands gripped the bars, arms in tension as the toys filled her.
“Because when they get big enough…” A little tug on each tube made the shafts inside of her wiggle. “They don’t want to come out any more. At least, not without some serious tugging.”
Her eyes were locked onto mine, and she nodded her understanding, as much as the collar would allow.
“And when they come back down,” I continued, as I twisted the little release valve on her pussy plug, letting it hiss all of its air back out, “you are left with such an empty feeling, that the only thing to do is to pump it right back up again. Pump. Pump. Pump.” I said the words out loud as I squeezed the inflator. “Now tell me, how does that feel?”
“Oh god, it’s…” She was squirming in the cuffs, chest heaving in the restrictive corset. “It’s really full, mistress. I’m really full.”
“Mmmm. I know. But it can always get a little more intense.” Pump. A little, involuntary whimper made me smirk. “But that isn’t the game.” Hiss. A long, soft moan. “The game is that I am going to bring you to the edge. With my toys…” I indicated the sideboard, with its array of vibrating toys already laid out. “With my fingers…” I let the tips of those fingers dance across the rubber of her catsuit, pressing the flap underneath the zipper so that it rubbed against her clit. “And eventually, just with my words…” Pump.
“Ohhhhhhh ffffff…..” She bit her lip delightfully to cut off the swear that was no doubt brewing.
“If you go over the edge, well, then we will explore just much of a spanking you can endure. Because I expect you to resist.” Pump.
She nodded fervently, the collar squeezing her throat as she did.
“But really, that would be a failing on my part too, and I have no intention of failing. I have more than a little skill in sensing your impending climax.” I smirked, as I leaned in closer and lowered my voice. “And every time you reach the edge…” Hiss. “The one in the front goes away. And the one in the back gets bigger.” I emphasised the last with just a little pump of her rear plug. “Then we start again. All the way to the edge. Over, and over. Bigger, and bigger. No relief. No shrinking.”
She was squirming in the bonds now, my body pressed up against hers, catsuit squeaking against mine in a delicious rubbery chorus. Her breath was still ragged, and her eyes looked haunted as she gauged my intent. She said nothing, but I did not need a reply. The plan was the plan, and her words would change it not one bit.
I plucked the wand vibrator from the side, always my favourite. Later this would be too intense, able to push her over with a single touch. For now it was just right, throbbing with a relentless, deep pulse. Pressing it firmly to her mound, I used the tip to push the dildo back inside of her, slipping out as it was, slick with her arousal. Pump. Pump. Pump. She writhed against the cuffs, twisting the ropes back and forth, hips dancing around trying to escape the torment of the wand. It was easy to follow her motions, trapped as she was in my rudimentary web.
Her first edge was a few minutes in arriving, but I could feel it in her hips, a tension and tightness of muscles. The buzzing wand was clicked into silence and the realisation that the simulation was stopping brought a full body thrash from my luscious victim. I had lost count of how many pumps had gone into the front plug, certainly no more than a dozen. Her thrusting pelvis, desperately seeking stimulation, made it hard to grab the valve and deflate it, but when the slow, deliberate pump of the butt plug sent a pulse of air into her bum, she was defiantly still.
I took the time to run my gloved hands all over her body, slippery with shiner, chest heaving and straining against the corset. Her nipples made little tented shapes under the catsuit. The white latex hid them from sight, in the soft light rendering her body a seamless, blank canvas. Her chaotic red hair spilled over her shoulders, and I gathered it up tenderly, returning it to a tidy mass behind her.
She looked at me intensely, saying nothing, saving all of her breath for recovery. Her expression was equal parts lust and anguish. I could see her bum jiggling as she clenched muscles around the plug inside of her.
“Break-time is over, pet.” Pump.
“Oh, mistress, please… I’m…” The look on my face must have told her that excuses would not be appreciated right then, and she trailed off.
For this round, I selected a smaller, pen-shaped toy, designed for direct clitoral stimulation. As my fingers brought it to bear, I could feel the wetness all around her pussy, making everything deliciously slick. Each pump of the bulb brought a helpless little groan, and her wrists and ankles pulled taut against the ropes. I could tell the instinct was to bring her hands down, defend her vulnerable sex. Being so open, and exposed, only served to bring the climax closer. The whimpers grew in frequency and volume, and it wasn’t long at all before I could feel the shivering, shuddering approach of orgasm in her hips. I countered with a full press of my rubber-clad body against hers, pushing her back against the ropes. The stimulation at her crotch ceased suddenly, leaving her hips thrusting useless against mine. Carefully angling my body allowed me to control her movements while denying her the stimulation she was craving.
Hissssss. Goodness, had I pumped it up extra large, that time? I made sure to capture Rachel’s gaze before I pushed the large whoosh of air into the plug in her rear, revelling in the long, low groan it brought out.
“God, mistress, it’s really big, too big…”
“Mmmm, shhhh. You can’t be full, I just let all of that air out of the other plug, didn’t I? So there is plenty of room.”
Her head lolled back and forth in the embrace of the collar, sullenly denying the reasoning of that, but saying nothing. My lips roamed the white latex that had replaced her skin, branding her body with hot, little kisses while she cooled off. My hands roamed over her legs, her bum, squeezing and caressing. The touches were so random, and all in places that her rigid neck prevented her from seeing or anticipating, that the next pump made her gasp in surprise.
“Nooooooo…”
“Yes,” I corrected. “Mine.” The word sent a little shiver through her. Now that is interesting, I thought, even in this moment of being lost in pleasure, she is thinking about what that means.
Pump. This time around I decided to change tack. A simple, short, riding crop, its soft leather flap on the end waggling. Her eyes widened as she saw me brandish it. A gentle tap on her breast, then a swish, the leather connecting with her rubber attire, making a nice, loud snap. Aimed at her perky nipple, she closed her eyes and cried out, then clamped her mouth closed. A soft kiss of the sensitive little nub would soothe the tingling, I knew. Watching her face as my lips wrapped around it, sucking the flesh softly into my mouth, I could see it melt away the pain.
Tap. Pump. Snap. Kiss.
Over and over again. Varying in strength. Finding all of the sensitive, vulnerable parts of her. Breasts… Bum… The inside of her thigh… I could see her struggling for breath, fighting the corset for every gasp of oxygen. By the time the tip of my crop found its way between her legs, and the tap marked her clit for the next strike, she was so very full. Her eyes clamped shut, teeth clenched, in anticipation, knowing the pattern and what came next. Pump. Her breath was coming out in a high-pitched whine, fists gripping the bars in the cuffs tightly.
Only… the snap never came. The tip of the crop, wet with her juices, circled her clit instead, nudging against the obscenely inflated shaft inside her sex. The gurgle she emitted spoke of denial, arousal, need. I smirked wickedly.
Hissssss. This time the whine was a lament, only cut off when the plug in her rear was filled, one more time.
“Please… Mistress… It’s too much… I can’t…”
I gathered her body into my embrace, feeling her gasping breath make her corseted chest rise and fall against me. Caressing her hair, I whispered soothing words into her ear. “You can. You’ve been so good. But it’s not going to stop. I’m not done with you yet.”
Her breath continued to come in ragged, short bursts. Her hips twisted randomly, weakly, and I could feel the occasional shudder of her muscles, struggling under tension. Patiently, I held her in my arms, letting her whining noises ebb away, and my hand slid slowly up and down, over the corset.
When I felt the tension in her body start to ebb away, I let that hand roam a little further, between her legs. The latex covering my fingers only amplified the sensation as the tips found her puffy, engorged sex.
Pump. Circling and stroking, I could feel the toy inside her growing. Pump. Moaning and wriggling in my embrace, her hips twisted in my grasp. It was hard to say if she wanted to get away, or was seeking my fingers out. Pump. So easy to slide my fingers over her lips, flushed and inflamed, wrapped on either side of the toy. Pump. Her body starting to tense again, breath gasping against the corset, I had to grip her waist firmly with the hand holding the bulb. Pump.
“Please…”
I didn’t alter my rhythm, didn’t relent in the stroking.
“Please, mistress, I need to cum.”
“Cum without permission, and you will need to be punished.” Every flick of my fingertip over her clit made her hips buck. Pump. “Do you want to be punished?”
“Nnnngg… No… Fuck… Maybe…” Her arms tensed against the ropes, eyes pressed closed. “I want to be… Gaaah… Yours…”
I tried not to let it show, in my teasing, how much that surprised me. The pacing was crucial, I knew, she was so very close, and the slow, maddening tease was the point. I knew she wouldn’t be able to resist, wouldn’t be able to stop herself. This wasn’t the first time I’d used this ploy. Most subs would be lost in pleasure at this point. Begging, yes. Defiance, yes. Sheer, mindless, thoughtless moaning, yes. She’s not fantasising about pleasure. She’s fantasising about submitting to me.
I confess at this point, my own hips were grinding against her, the arousal hidden under my rubber layers. My lips were close to her ear, and I whispered, “Just one more pump, in both of them. Show me you can take it, and then you can cum.”
Her body tensed, eyes remaining closed, readying herself. I gathered up the other bulb, holding them both together as I held her around her tightly corseted waist. Puuuuump. I felt her push her hips forwards, muscles clenching around the bulbous, inflated intruders inside of her. Every rope was taut, every muscle in her arms and legs in tension.
“Good girl. Cum for me. Cum nice and hard.”
Oh my gods. The scream. The thrashing I expected, I’d braced myself for. But the scream, the cry of pleasure, was loud, piercing and utterly primal. It started low and burst out of her, only stopping when her breath failed her, shuddering gasps as her body bucked and convulsed. Her sex, twitching and throbbing under my fingers, was awash with her juices. I didn’t know if she had squirted or this was just arousal in overdrive, but either way I kept the teasing slow and steady until her heaving, wracking orgasm had subsided.
Letting the air out of the toys was done carefully, slowly, a seemingly ridiculous amount of air coming out of them. At a certain point she started shuddering again, muscles that had grown accustomed to the size of the invasion finding an absence. It took a fair amount of strength to steady her, on her lofty heels. It was clear her body was limp and spent. Her head was lolling, an idyllic smile on her face, staring at the ceiling.
“Earth to Rachel. Earth to Rachel?”
“Mmmmm?”
“I do need you to stand up, dear. Otherwise when I cut this puppet’s strings, she’s going to fall down in a pile.”
I could see the effort involved in understanding that metaphor playing out on her pleasure-drugged face, before she gave a cute little giggle. “Sorry, mistress.”
As she stood up, the deflated plug inside of her sex dropped to the floor with a loud ‘clunk’, streaking the leg of her catsuit with a copious trail of arousal. She looked at me with an expression evoking a rabbit caught in headlights. But the comical timing of it overwhelmed even my dominant veneer, and I broke out into laughter. Then she was laughing too, and we just couldn’t stop.
Not the most dignified end to a scene I have ever managed, but it did wonders to bring her back up from sub-space. And as we cleaned up, undressed and showered, we both felt in the lightest of moods.